Day 11 (The Feel of Psychosis) – 30 Day Writing Challenge

Psychosis, when you’re a shadow of what you once were.

Hesitation on the edge of perfection while the wind whips back past the lips of despair and a trajectory that ends splatted on the rocks below. A momentary pause for God knows what reason, soliloquy rattling like unquenched armor inside a skull aching for reasons and meaning.

No jovial tone to be found other than the laughing hysteria that comes choked off with a seemingly endless parade of tears. Coughing, bawling, howling, begging, giggling into the yawning darkness and discontent of a reality set to dissolve beneath the weight of a mind misfiring badly.

The beautiful tableau awash in sunlight and a fucking million possibilities all riots against that creeping sensation that “all is not what it seems”. A centipede who can no longer walk because he thought about how he did it. Natural instinct sold out into chained slavery inside the boundaries of nothing and infinity. Conjured by poisons and released by fears it’s set loose as a hungry behemoth on the landscape of mind, the carvings of soul, the sculpture of heart.

Hesitation on the edge of perfection with the barest sliver of hope overcoming resignation. Nothing is ever as it seems, and the worst of the world today may become the most redeemed beauties of tomorrow. Shake off the terror and walk into the fire to be forged anew.

The edge of perfection recedes against hope. Time slips forward into the next scene.

In Control – a flash fiction.

Hello there observer.

“Tom, there’s no way that they can take another round. See that ocular leakage, way over tolerance.”

“Yeah, yeah I know Bill. I can hear too can’t I? Ancestral recall or personal identification with Canis lupus do you think?”

“No family resemblance but that baying is putting my skin on edge regardless. How you want to do this? We’ll get some sympathy views if we drag it out—personal favorite of mine I’ll have you know since this is our first time working together—might even get a couple more weeks out of the budget. Holds a lot of risk with this pair though from what we’ve seen and neither of us wants to explain why we’re carting off a pair of body bags.”

“Fair point. How would you feel about a hybrid? Start off slow but keep an eye on a drop dead date where it all crescendos again and forces a clean cut. Watched Geoff do something similar once. Takes finesse, as always, but it can be done.”

“I’m game, closeouts are your arena anyways from what I hear, I’m better at the fluff and the early game. Just let me know the confidence and insecurity tables you want to use before we start so I can keep things on track.”

“Retro-consideration and empathetic quotients are going to be key factors as well. Can you send Jim to let psych know that we will need their numbers first. Future orientation has always been lacking in 5KY3 and like you said, we don’t want any b-bags.”

“No problem. Such a shame.”

“What?”

“Really thought it was going to work this time.”

Fragile Bully

Tongue twisting
word misted
lofty ethics
suddenly shifted.
Verbiage awry
crooked context,
sand quickens
sickens the truth
with maddening lies.
Bullheaded bully
vacuum packed
morals gone dead
done right
presented cleanly
above suspicion
heartless lips
soulless head.
Accusations flutter
steer recklessly
fly rashly
land poorly
eventually die.
Miserable life
distorted denial
avoids change
ever always en garde
tromping a perilously pointless
and petulant hike.
Existence’s trials
trails marching for miles
dust caked grins always grimy
shiver obscenely
spit softly back at ’em
–shake the fear off and smile.

I’ve been on both ends of the stick I suppose at different points, something that I’m not proud of, but can admit readily enough. Whether it was spawned from fear, trauma, etc, doesn’t quite qualify as an excuse for how I behaved at points during my life, it was my responsibility to “not be an asshole”. Feeling someone play out their own internal sickness in the same way towards me is an eye opener.

Tattered, tired, and angry though someone may be, it has to be an echo of some truly painful and unresolved issues to advise an individual dealing with a mental illness that they are despised and everyone is in the eaves waiting for them to die. Shitty and deeply manipulative behavior, knowing that the recipient can literally do nothing other than just sit with themselves, absent means to defend themselves without seeming more culpable as a perpetrator of something justifying such vicious and cutthroat suggestions. There is no power in the words themselves other than what the recipient gives them.

Maybe though, in some ways, it might just be how a person deals with their particular brand of sadness and pain–the only way they know how, lash out. Go for the throat. God knows I’ve done it before more times than I care to think if not totally in that literal context. A whipcord reaction to hurt those that hurt you, even if it is based on incorrect judgement calls and assumptions.

Everyone heals in their own way, and while that doesn’t make it right, finally, I can put myself in the other pair of shoes and understand the feelings behind the words. Temper my own frustration and resentment at the unnecessary cruelty with patience and accept that it is what it is, and life will continue to move on. It’s not worth giving though or dwelling on someone’s words when they are bent on hating or hurting you, let ’em go by the side and don’t look back.

Someone once told me, if someone’s an asshole and lies or treats you poorly, at the end of the day, they’re the asshole, not you. I’ve been an asshole plenty across my life, and that makes a lot of sense.

We have only ourselves and our actions to control–for better or for worse.


Shine the Light

Showing denial as an image.
Denial.

An imbecile with brains to spare,

if only it didn’t get wasted on recklessness and flair.

A heart of gold that’s caked in grim so foul by

denial in fluid form quite thick with salty accusations.

The entropy which held his corroded soul?

Only his own beautiful and despairing wiles,

his mental contortions and poorly calibrated machinations.

Knowing where to breach the wall starts up a new trip,

destination target of personal acceptance where he wouldn’t have to be so slick.

So out the fingers onto board,

let introspection guide–it’s time–

now to scour honestly at what really is inside.

The good, the bad, the disgusting and the brave.

Let’s turn the light where it should shine,

come to love yourself and be unafraid.


Written during an interlude to personal evaluations that have been a long time coming. It’s not all black or white, and that’s how I’ve looked at it for so long–either I’m a good person or a bad person. Reality is I’m a good person who has done and does bad things wrapped up with a bad person who does good things as well–happens to support the delusion that while I’m doing one I’m not the other. I have despised myself, been hopped up and arrogant, placid and timid, confident and sincere, dishonest and truthful–but I have never really sat down and recognized the individual parts of the whole to welcome them in and actually come to peace….my hope is that for whatever reason, that process starts today.

Actually doing some of the work for once instead of just expecting understanding to shit brilliance on me at some random point.

This runs in conjunction to me getting back into treatment though I never thought I would and despite still (poorly) struggling with the old demons. And, while terrified that I’m just wasting oxygen while doing it, I’m finally engaged with a full PACT team of recovery specialists to help give me a pathway and outline to work within to get healthy mentally and spiritually–become a viable member of the community instead of a pariah.

Last thought I suppose, because I know I’ve ground out so much vitriol here on my vomit board over the years–self indulgent and caked with inconsideration at many points–unappreciative of much that happens around me because I don’t understand the workings of the world nearly as well as I once pretended. Today I’d like to express some gratitude for the strange things that happen, both the uncomfortable and the “saving grace” moments. Times when you find that missing pot which vanished, or you forget to turn your headlights off for two hours but your car still turns on, your friend just happens to be there right when you turn the corner, or that any of us find love to begin with. Thank you and my gratitude to the invisible universe that makes it all happen. I’m going to marvel at the beauty of it more and perhaps be less confuzzled and distressed by the parts I don’t understand.

Much love, and thank you for reading.

-Melting Neurons

Many Voices

The tails on most all the letters go wavy, curl left
to a place they’re drawn to instead of from.

Many, however, jut down aggressively as though engraved,


digging trenches in the flesh of pulped tree skin.

Some lay delicate and feminine in their perfect order

others are hewn out with unkempt urgency and demand.

Each flourish, keystone whimsy given form

holding tight the lines, the words, the sentences.

Reviewing the ink gives eyes a chance to wander

pages strewn with discordant emotional ink stains.

The beauty in being fractured as a human being

is that you speak in many voices while seeking to find you own.

Kickstarted

Expanded and unwound mind.

Deviation with a shame filled walk,

it’s plasma bubbles in a tank of thought,

where they merged and had my sanity trapped,

nuclear pendulum of massive dis-ease was the fact.

Now nebulous and scantily clad is my sight,

but I’ll find my way home though it be darkest of night.

Incredulous that it’s less real than a dream,

where logic ends, existence is black and cracks at the seams.

So pour me a round of that stuff they drink down,

that liquid ignition to confidence where rests a crown.

Smoldering with intent and delusions not realized,

kickstart your mind until it swims to the beat of life’s song.

Brain Worms

All credit to Captain Three Leg for the image.
Image credit to Captain Three Leg

Wiggling brain worms of love
cross each other on withering paths,
laying out siege plans and more,
demanding the mind bow and be labeled a whore.
Tussling tatters of titrated remains,
their infection spreads softly
but fierce is the pain.
When all is lost to the annals of memory
(that malleable stuff made of thoughts stuck in entropy),
we’ll know not the beginning,
seek to suss out the end.
But by that point the parasites will be dug in,
they’ve rewired the hardware,
unfucked the program and rewritten the codes.
Their beautifully at odds with all we call real,
if God were a worm I might be filled with more zeal.
A zest for the unknown where dreams can take flight,
even a place to call home in the bitterest of nights.
But, here I sit.
Obliterated identity left off as a stain
to be cleaned by the new host
who’d prefer I be insane.

Parenting the Sin Monster

Abaddon by Eileen Understaalz

Watched from the outskirts all rimmed in love,
you gave over no safety that I could feel of.
Watched bygone while I struggled and spit
venom and vomit up until I was spent.
Watched while the waves came on moving higher,
swore I’d tell you to fuck off from my funeral pyre.
Watched while I grew sturdier before I faltered again,
lost deep in mire of life and filled up with sin.
Watched endless triumphs burned to the ground,
seemed life went crashing down even without you around.
Watched this final run at the finish line
with new eyes and a tone that said things would might not be fine.
Watched as realities melted and took rent in my head,
finally recognized that all wasn’t right for my seeming age.
Watched with compassion even from afar,
spent time learning rather than coaching a “star”.
Watched me enroll and hit the books,
instead of crack pipes and needles if you only knew.
Watched me change for ways in the better all dulled by the pain,
I walked through the fires in flames before I saw you again.
Watched me marry and find a good woman who’ll last,
she once told you to get bent though its all in the past.
Watched me grow up finally into something akin
to man racked in regrets and scarified skin.
Watched the people I’d hurt and sometimes you’d side,
with me over others, though it crushed my pride.

At the end of my days when I look on out to consider
how far I’ve come and whether I should be bitter.
You did the best you could with your view of the world
that you did what you could to help despite all the churls.
If it wasn’t for you I don’t know where I would’ve been,
maybe the futures changed are in respect to what you did.
Parenthood must not be easy I say as a father,
one seemingly absent forever trying to reclaim self enough not to falter.
And if my children one day come looking this way
I’ve got apologies, presents, and a lifetime to share—
I’ll do it different then you did, I want them to know that I’ve cared.
And if that isn’t enough and they hate on me still,
I’ll know that I forgave you for it eventually, even without a will.




Squandered Clout

Black smoke picture from Unsplash
Black Smoke from Unsplash

Hat trick pony across the line,
shepherded wisdom you felt was fine.
Triumph and fall away
don’t presume your sacrilegious idolatry on me.
Priming pumps at the Chaos Madcap
shoplifting tears having a panic attack.
Raze the Earth come all blue
destination choke back for our school.
Anti-hero rapture chord in flight
pulled on so loosely
now cinched up tight.
Bargaining with soul to sell
minister no more hearts and regrets in hell.
Hardcore stomps and tromps on you
confinement time in a human zoo.
We’ve got no more noise but slaves to quell
freedom squandered,
no one spent it well.

Psychosis Poem

Schizophrenia inspired artwork
Artist depiction of schizophrenia

I keep trying to write something that grabs hold of the feeling of being in a psychosis–fully separated from reality in some horrible fashion. I don’t think I’ll ever fully be able to capture the experience, but hopefully some fragments of it made it onto this draft. -S

Pry them open to reality all flawed
time to see the breakdown.

Fragmented existence done in fractal recall
patterns contour the daily grind.

Never stable it will flow over you
vicious, merciless, and without care.

Trust nothing you hear or view
belief in yourself will be the only way through.

Find solid footing in personal identity
hold fast to it as the walls collapse.

Never accept what you remember
memory and truth are malleable.

Painted in a thousand shades of false
test yourself and survive.

Wiped out internally by the struggle
cleansed to nothingness, a relief.

Struggle harder and the pain will gather,
simpler by far to outlast it than fight.

Planes of existence and thought overlap
confusing rationality to no end.

Get gone boy
this is no game for children.
Sit back and let yourself be washed away
pray, pray, pray to any god listening
that it will end soon.
Sometimes they listen and sometimes they don’t,
but what have you got to lose?