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Thread: Still on the Warpath: Naiadknight's Battle Tome page 165

  1. #1641
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    naiadknight is offline Senior Member
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    Shitty day and it's not even 930. Murphy is in full effect today.
    Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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  2. #1642
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    Today still sucks, but the silver lining is that I confirmed my trip to Dallas. (Downside to that is that Geek isn't going.)
    Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
    My Latest Journal

  3. #1643
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    TRIGGER WARNING
    Hello darkness, my old friend.
    On days like this, couple with weeks of nonrelease, I end up in a stew like right now. One of the ones where the suicidal thoughts rise unbidden (the old flames: the knife, the razor, the gun) and wash over me, strangely alluring yet ultimately not an option. I think of other, less safe forms of release, ones that leave scars and don't wash clean. I think of self punishment for all my wrongs, real and imagined. I think of all that's gone wrong and all I've done wrong and rehash them, over and over. I turn them over in my mind like an old photo gone grey with too much handling. I think of the tears I wanted to spill, I need to spill, that sit in my eyes now, and that I'm too damn proud to release. I listen to the refrigerator and wonder what it would be like to crawl in it and sit until hypothermia or hypoxia takes me. I wonder what it would be like to fly for that instant after leaping from a cliff.
    None of those are options.
    I wonder what it would be like to be normal. Without my scars, without my past, without my mechanisms. I know normal is an illusion. I still wonder.
    I wonder what it would be like to express emotion without the barrier of my past, to freely express it without feeling weak, exposed, or useless. I wonder what it would feel like to have strong negative emotions without the desire/need to take it out on myself so I don't show it so I show a more ladylike version.
    I wonder how quickly I'd die if a bookcase fell on me.
    Pills have never struck my fancy, neither have chemicals. Too iffy and too much pain.
    I don't want these thought, but they have a strange allure, hard to explain to someone else. I don't act on them, for I know they are fleeting and will be gone when I can find the mental flush lever. They still have an allure, a glammer, like a will o' the wisp or Scylla.
    I want to release these emotions as they come. I still don't know how. I honestly don't. I only know to bottle them or release them like a 3 year old. I hold them or they punch through the dam, there is no spillway. Then the dam fails and floods the damn village. You could insult my Daddy, and you'd get a well reasoned, well thought out rebuttal, while inside I seethed. You could insult my most cherished work and get a gritted teeth "thank you, I'll look into it," while inside I plot the murder of you and everything you ever loved. You could insult or destroy everything I hold dear, and all I would do is try to smile with gritted teeth through the sobs. I could plot your murder and still mantain the stiff smile (albeit, that one does scare people.)
    I want to feel like a human. I want to react like a human. Not this happy Borg I am.
    I'm tired of it, but I can't figure out how the stop the damn roller coaster so I can get off. I feel like a bottle of barely controlled emotion most days, like a sunbleached plastic bottle of toxic chemicals. It breaks, I reseal it, and then throw it back out in the sun.
    I don't get it. I survived. Why am I so fucked up?
    Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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  4. #1644
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    naiadknight is offline Senior Member
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    Wow. I was pretty bad last night. Today's better. Went to the allergist. He gave me yet more drugs for the asthma. I like being clear, not that I've felt it without an inhaler in many years.
    Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
    My Latest Journal

  5. #1645
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    I'm glad you're feeling better today. I got nothing for ya. I've been there. It's incredibly frustrating to have those "same old" thoughts come up again.

    From job stress & your brain dump last night, it sounds like you could use some kind of regular activity or habit. Or just something, anything, that is pleasing and stress-relieving. Martial arts? Hobby group? I dunno, not like I've ever been good at picking up that kind of thing
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  6. #1646
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    I've thought about it, but the options are limited for what I like to do. Unfortunately, there's not a club for "blow shit up." I need some sort of violent outburst, but martial arts is too rigid after a day of hectic work. Getting into rocketry means travel outside of the city when I usually have no desire to be around humans.
    Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
    My Latest Journal

  7. #1647
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    LHT this morning (squats 5x5@ 50 lb, bench press 5x5@ 40 lb, and rows at 5x5@ 40 lb), with foam rolling, body brushing, and cold shower afterward.
    Lunch was leftover spag with leftover squash.
    Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
    My Latest Journal

  8. #1648
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    Dinner was shawarma chicken with rice pilaf (arborio, brown, white, and basmati rice with almonds, cooked pilaf style), tzatziki, and garlic sauce.
    Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
    My Latest Journal

  9. #1649
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    I've formed a new, asthma related theory. It would appear that grains cause my peak flow to plummet (360 down to 330), including rice. I'm going to run a full week of true primal to make sure it's not just the weather or allergies. It will give me a sad to give up the occasional rice, especially since I wanted to try my hand at risotto.
    Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
    My Latest Journal

  10. #1650
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    Good luck on the experiment. I hope you find the answers you need, hell, I hope you find the answers you want as a life without risotto is just sad.

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