Chasing Happiness

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Being sad is almost comforting. It’s where I’ve been most of my life. I hate it but it’s like I can’t leave it. I’ll drop it in moments I think are worthwhile and pick it back up on my way out. I can’t seem to fill the hole with enough joyful memories to get rid of it. In fact, it ferments the good memories into nostalgia and then it’s simply nothing more than even more sadness.

I’ve only had one moment in my life where I actually said to myself, “wow, I’m actually not sad for once” and at that moment I knew I was in love. Which, is quite an extreme statement for me. Since, I am very much against love most of the time. (I’ll admit, I’m pretty cynical and I, to no surprise, hate it.) But that moment was undeniably true. And yet I still deny it to myself only because it is no longer around. I woke up and and was genuinely as happy as I could be. And I savored it. But not enough to hold on to it. Somehow my mind convinced itself that I was in some sort of trap by believing I was in love and so being myself, I scrambled out of the relationship in terrible fashion. As a matter of fact, I destroyed it.

I will say, that I’ve destroyed many relationships along with the people in it in the process of running away from who knows what. Looking back, I think I was running away from the chance of something mundane, or dull. A lot of times I would wake up and realize how much time I may have wasted doing not as many things as I wish I did. And these days I think those times I may have just woken up into a panic attack that convinced me that everything I felt was because of whatever was on my mind the most at that very moment. I regret realizing that those dull moments surely pass and things can be brought back to life. Usually quite quickly. But nothing could convince my frantic mind at those times.

I know, it sounds crazy. I probably sound crazy. Like many other people, I’m a slave to my mind, to my anxiety. Not all the time, but when I am, it is very overpowering to everything else going on. So much, that it redirects my path of direction in life altogether sometimes. I’m sorry if you relate.

The only thing I’ve done to cope is to cover it up with good feelings. I remember to be grateful and to do something that I usually like. But sometimes it doesn’t work. A lot of the time actually. But I do it anyway.

 

I was explaining to someone about my substance abuse the other day and why I no longer drink. When I would drink I wouldn’t stop which would lead to me getting into some fight blacked out or hooking up with someone. Or, I would take other things to distract from one or both of those things happening. But in that case it never ends and I just keep wanting more and more in order to keep it at bay. Until finally I crash emotionally and burst into tears because everything inside me is overwhelming.

Sometimes I wish the happiness lasted longer. Or even better, was my actual natural state. Instead of something I was always chasing after.

Lately, I’ve “remembered” how to be happy without substances replacing real happiness. They aren’t hard things to do but they are hard to remember when my emotions and anxiety is so deep and overpowering.

The first thing is breathe. Literally. I take like four slow, deep breathes holding it at the top for a bit and then breathe out slowly. Then that allows for my brain to unclog quite a lot actually. It is so simple but sometimes I wish I had it tattoo’d on my hand to look at when I’m so drowned in pain to remember. Or ya know, just someone to understand when I needed to breathe and tell me to breathe. But that’s a lot to ask for someone to understand the anxious human experience when they haven’t had a relationship with anxiety like I have. As in anxiety ALL the time but controlled so well I seem fine. There’s lots of people like me out there. We are all good at blending in. But believe someone when they say they have anxiety even if it surprises you. They are probably having it rougher than they would ever let you know.

My reasons for hiding my anxiety from the world is: One, I don’t wish for people to worry about me. Two, there’s nothing most people could do even if they did know. Three, in my experience of sharing it with the few people I have, I haven’t actually gotten very friendly or understanding responses back. People seem to deny  that I am unhappy when I am smiling. Or that I am anxious when I have certain “good” things happening in my life. But its not like two positives cancel out a negative. That’s not how things work. Things aren’t connected quite like that all the time. But there’s enough anxious people to relate to at this point. I’m sure we can help heal each other in bits and pieces over time.

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disconnected struggle

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Lately, I haven’t felt anything calling to me. I haven’t been super connected to myself. I’ve been drifting into past memories of nostalgia, and usually, when it comes to that it makes me want to cry. I’m so heartbroken those days are over. But just like before, I need to clear my mind and let go of all those memories once again. I’m usually the last to move on, the last one to let go of hope but this hurts too much. And then there’s also been times when I’m too terrified to treasure the moment knowing I’ll lose it that I never really let myself be in it. It all feels unfair. I feel so misguided and frustrated. I feel like I have no support and no home to feel welcome in.

I’m usually so disconnected that I have to pretend I’m happy and go through the motions to act like I’m happy hoping it will actually lead to me believing or feeling happy. But I know I’m not.

I have found happiness through mischevious acts and when I can share those moments with someone. Whether it be lying together or using someone together. It’s horrible, I know. I wouldn’t like me from the outside probably. But that’s the truth of who I have been. And then part of my unhappiness might be coming from judging myself like that in thinking I wouldn’t like myself if I were someone else.

I know I have a handful of sad or terrible stories that may invoke feelings of pity or helplessness or even sadness. And maybe that’s how I can’t help but feel when I remember those stories mostly because I feel so misunderstood by people. I wish someone could hear me talk about my life and for once instead feel fascinated or excited, and not disappointed. If only someone could see the magic in my life and change my perspective of hating myself that way. I’m tired of people asking about my life only to look for problems in all the things I share about myself. People seem to look for things in my life or about me that need to be fixed making me feel like everything about me is wrong. I feel so underappreciated and incorrect as a being because of it.

Although I’ve been sober for a decent amount of time, I feel like I have relapsed mentally even without substance. And it’s the level I’ve juggled most of my life: where I don’t know if it’s better to spend more time alone or if I should be spending more time with people.

“Living in the Dark Moments”

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Most people like to see others who are some sort of crazy or messed up. They like to see people make bad or strange decisions that they would never do themselves. Those people like to see other people be in situations where they themselves could have only imagined which roads to have to take to end up in such situations. Those fascinated people have some awareness in those moments and are able to recognize themselves like a mirror image, even though that reflection usually is quite a few paths different. It is a fair acknowledgment to say that a risky lifestyle is expensive in losing both time and money. Many times it requires steps so messy that you cannot retrace. It’s living in the moment but taking the chance of missing the next step and then continuing to miss every step after that not knowing it was leading slowly farther to nowhere. Living a high, living ready to die. Trusting instinct, gambling luck. And once someone is to be too far gone down that road, there’s no easy direction back. You end up being left in the dark too far for most anyone to understand. All you have are memories and crazy stories that only fit in bars or grungy crowds. Piles of crowds that don’t care about much but the moment they live in which for many is set on replay. Those who lived had been shaken too many times for any wake-up calls to be of any effect. They spent their lives running the opposite direction from conformity, warnings, and restrictions. They chase the fun, the new, the exciting until there’s nothing left anymore to feel. All limits stretched to extremes. And then they fade their life away: alone, sad, left feeling like they still missed something or like they’re still running from something. And it chases one to their death or to their loneliness.

RIP Great Uncle

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“Ong Tam, your grand niece is here to see you, your grand niece Victoria.
Can you hear me?
Ong Tam?”

She calmly walks to another view of him laying on the hospital bed and then back next to his head.

“Victoria came to see you Ong Tam.
She brought her honey.
He speaks Vietnamese.”

My grandma had spoken in Vietnamese those words to her brother yesterday as he was hooked up to multiple machines. One pumping his heart, one pumping his lungs, and possibly one draining. I had my boyfriend (who she referred to as my “honey”) translate for me when we left. It was the softest voice I ever heard her speak Vietnamese in. My uncle had heavy drinking and smoking habits for most of his life. And his body paid for it. His heart had collapsed and his kidney and liver both failed as well. I was informed that when he arrived at the hospital he had swelled up in his limbs so much that they burst. I found that out when I asked what were the giant lesions on his arm from. His skin looked dry, scaly, and picked at – worse than I remembered. All of this from years of heavy drinking, smoking, and bad diet with no exercise. He wasn’t the most obese person, but he was strongly out of shape and always had the classic beer belly. Looking at his body laying on the hospital bed with a green patient shirt on, his skin was a yellow-green. I only looked for small moments at a time. It’s scary to say that none of this was the worst part. From the tubes stuck in his face and near his groin and in his leg, to the lesions on his limbs and rolled back eyes; the worst part was his whole body being blown up and down in waves like a bag of air that would inflate then deflate but more violently due to his size. And when my grandma went up to talk to him in Vietnamese, she noted later that his fingers and toes twitched in response. Which I remember seeing, but I couldn’t tell if he wasn’t already twitching in those areas from before she talked. It was hard to look at his body blowing up and then down. It looked like he was a vegetable being forced to be alive like a violent poison had taken over his body. And with knowing three of his organs were out of function, he was basically filling up with blood and all the toxins from years of alcohol and cigarette smoke taking flooding his internals. He had imploded and everything internally was combusting fast. I didn’t want to get emotional and so I took only fragments of the moment in at a time. One moment the setting of the hospital room. Another I moved to the sound of the machines working. Then the connections of the tubes into him and so forth. I cut out my emotions by chopping up the moment like that so that it didn’t all hit me at once. I was distant enough in relation to him to be able to avoid creating a connection to the moment like that. I was never close to him. But I knew I would quickly become emotional if I let myself become fully aware of a once alive man, who I lived with when younger, suffering viciously. If he was alive, he must have been in such horrendous amount of pain. My grandma also kept herself unemotional and calmly admitted hoping they let him off life support by the end of the night so that he could be put out of his pain. It was visibly a horrible state to be in. I was never close to him. He also never really spoke English. I later found out as we were leaving that he had only recently become a citizen and gotten a job and his first checks and had the unfortunate timing of ending up in here. I don’t know what he was doing before that as I didn’t keep in much touch with my grandma’s side of the family once they all moved out. I have very few memories of him outside of seeing him drink and smoke all the time when I was under ten. But that is the lifestyle of men in Vietnam which is where he is from. My grandma brought over some of her side of the family from Vietnam to give them a better life and to work and help send money back home to the rest of the family in Vietnam. I never clearly mentioned, this but my grandma on my mom’s side is the one who is fully Vietnamese. My grandma met my grandpa (who was mostly German with some Cherokee) during the Vietnam war and they married and he brought her and their first kid already born in Vietnam over to the US: my mom. It’s crazy when I think of my Vietnamese side of my family and how strong my grandma is. To take off with a military person and do everything she could for her family then and even now. And that’s a whole nother story. Just know until I tell her story, that she is true gangsta. A real badass. The actual hero of my family in many ways and also in a lot of ways the chaos at many times. She might not be the most emotionally connected at times, but she’s been through some crazy things. And she always has true intentions of being there for her family no matter what. She loves in her own way, as everyone does of course, but I’m lucky to understand how she has tried her best to love. That’s all we can really do for love; is try our best to love and hope the message gets heard somehow, someway.

They finally let him off of life support after being on it for around two weeks. He passed at 1:40 AM last night. May he have a peaceful, painless, afterlife. May my other family members who lived with him all these years heal softly from this passing.

Scorpio Sun, Virgo Moon

SAGITTARIAN MIND CONSULTING™

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In a birth chart, when the Sun is placed in Scorpio and the Moon in Virgo the core life energy which stimulates the individual is comprised of depth, intensity, extremes and the control of information. 

This placement suggests a penetrative orientation. One who desires to investigate material that’s been buried, repressed and kept “secret”. Scorpio shuns living on the surface. They would rather get to the root of life even if what they unearth may be repulsive or hideous.

Scorpio finds value in the sacred AND the profane. This allows them to be very effective in the process of healing themselves and others.

The Virgo Moon uses the light of the Scorpio sun to create a personality form that needs to be right, exact, correct and useful. The Moon in Virgo suggests an emotional need to perfect a part of oneself and offer it to humanity as a gift in the form…

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Dear Someone,

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Think back to before you were ever heartbroken. Before you were really heartbroken and left alone undistracted. A puddle of hurt. Rewind before that moment. Who were you? I bet you were brighter, livelier, riskier. I bet life was fresher and felt new. Now you are muddled in a pile of hurt. You seem to have lost you underneath some strange surface of disbelief and bitterness. Let’s try to dig them up. Maybe just a little. Think of who broke your heart. And think of who you were when you were with them. Most likely there are some parts about you when you were with them that you feel you will never get back. As if all the credit goes to them for your greatness. And that is where you are wrong. You, my dear, are giving your power away so unjustly. You believed in you at that time. And what that heartbreak did was make you not believe in you anymore because falling in love is simply so your fault for being true to yourself. No. Yes, you believed in you; no – for blaming yourself in any way. So let’s try this thing where you take a few steps back, permit yourself and try to regather that belief once again. Trust you, as you are the only truth you for sure know. Trust in what you knew made you happy was good for you and anyone who tries to bring you down is just ignorant or blocked of their own happiness. Let yourself be loved by you once again. That heartbreak is believing you were wrong for following your heart. You weren’t. It’s okay to be overly excited when no one else gets it, it’s okay to enjoy arts and things about life and people that no one else gets. Just share it and be okay if no one else gets it. They will take away something from your share. If you are radiating beauty, then that’s all that matters. The world is waiting for your re-entrance. Every moment has a piece of you missing because your light can do no wrong. Find that inner part of you and be happy once again. For you.

Yours truly. 

Poem part 2 (feelings for you)

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You’re a pain I never asked for. A pain I never guessed. So sweet, thrilling, addictive. I can taste you in all my thoughts and visions. You are the high I chase both in and out so much that I wanna be intertwined with you. If love is blind then so I may be. If I am cursed then cursed I will be. For you. I have lost myself to you and the pain feels so good. As good as love can get. And as bad as love can get. It’s worth every second of the high. You couldn’t get it unless you felt it too but it’s so good it doesn’t matter because I’m blind by now, blind, blinded by all you have tempted me by. 

Poem: My life’s love

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Where is the love you cast away for me? Where have you placed my delicate hands that became burned so deep? I’ve never known to touch someone who burned through all I had to offer. I thought it was fine until the bone shown through. If I could save you I would. Through words, flowers, whatever transalation of affection. But you make it hard, hard, hard to love you and hard to see you. Disguised as things I could hate but I know better. Love is in everyone but you need it most in my life. 

Poem: “feelings for you”

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I told myself you would be the only poison I’d ever drink and your taste would be my last. Yet this end is longer than I expected, the high is matching the pain and I hardly can bear. You wink, smile, kiss my fingers — I give in. Throw a blanket over it and pretend it’s not cold out here because I’m with you. There’s a strong distance distracting like a wind. Who are you?

I hold my eyes closed tight, holding my tears, holding any tempted fright. I never asked for this but I can’t say I’d have it taken back either. I love you. It sinks to a burn, as it flys to a euphoria I can’t describe. I’d die right now but I wouldn’t be able to addictively live amongst these feelings for you. So I stay. 

Attempt two exploring.

I was so scared.

Never knowing what of

But it was the only place I found myself

Shaking

Quivering

Cold

Scared

I accept.

And then I can move on in whatever I choose.

Usually drawing.

Sometimes writing.

And singing.

And loving maybe

Paranoid.

Of mistrust

Of interruption

That is forced.

Scared of losing control by force

Scared of being taken control of

Called “love”

I can’t handle no more.

I will be alone and small if it means I’m safe and away from being overcome with how much I can love.