my careless contagion

All the lights go down as I crawl into the spaces Fight, flight, or the screams, life tearing at the seams Wait, I don't ever want to be here Like punching in a dream, breathing life into my nightmare If it falls apart I will surely wake it Bright lights turn me green, this is worse than it seems Wait, I don't ever want to be here Like punching in a dream, breathing life into my nightmare They'll get through, they'll get you In the place that you fear it the most In the corner, where it's warmer In the face that you wish was a ghost Wait, I don't ever want to be here Like punching in a dream breathing life into the nightmare *** Punching In A Dream was released in August 2010 by the New Zealand indie band The Naked And Famous on their debut album. It was featured on many platforms, including the show The Vampire Diaries, which I used to watch. The Nina Dobrev/Candice King duo kept me coming back, long after it was clear it was just a soap opera with blood. But t...

Funny thing about the last post is Blogger (Google) flagged it for having triggering content. I'm sorry if anyone was disturbed by reading about my life. And I'm sorry for breathing out trauma inflicted upon me. Sorry reading about my life could be traumatizing to someone. Imagine what it was like to live it. This is not an apology. My life and my reactions will never be an apology to those who hated me enough to harm me. Seeking to understand what happened was a level of kindness most do not possess and which I continually displayed.  It's one thing to get away from a toxic person. It's another thing to get the poison out they put in you. Trauma is stored in our bodies. We carry it with us, unless we separate it from ourselves — dispatching it with precision — or venting, lancing it like a boil. But the root must be destroyed so it doesn't regenerate. Forgiveness kills the root, but the rest has to be bled out. No, I don't want the gym. It's air conditioned...

Maybe you were curious what happened to the guy who had his heart destroyed. Maybe you thought he was a pussy for crashing out over the biggest disappointment of his life. Maybe you never knew the backstory. Wandering through Gatsby’s abandoned mansion, you wondered what transpired. Maybe you just stumbled in. In any case, you’re here. [Could have split into two posts. To save space, I refer to my ex-wife as K and the woman I fell in love with after divorce as C.] There’s a scene in the movie Drive where a bad guy calmly slits a man’s wrist (the right way — the long way) and tells him to sit down, be calm, because, “It’s done, it’s over, there’s no pain.” That’s how I imagined C ending things. I held out my hand for a friendly goodbye handshake, and she slit my wrist cooly, as if it was her duty. But, it wasn’t over, and there was pain. I sat down, bleeding. I’m still here, and it still hurts.   I hate when people experience a small disruption and attach to it spiritual significanc...