How can I forget?

I came here to promote my book, and yes, I intend to do that. As I piddled around my page, changing photos and rearranging widgets, I remembered what was more important. Like I said, I will promote my book here, probably within the text as a link or something, but I want to talk about something else while I promote my book.

In alien situations, I have a hard time understanding why pain cannot be healed and forgotten. There is an apology, a forgiveness and yes, I do forgive…always. But is forgiveness the same as forgetting?

I wrote my story, not to remember but to put away the demon which would not leave me alone. I was desperate, night after night dancing with a cloaked mythical beast at the edge of the forest. This is not an analogy, this is literal. You’d have to know me and know me well to believe me. But that’s okay, you get it. I didn’t forget and that was years ago. I still have the others, flimsily controlled by narcotics. They are like knives in my juggling act, and I’ve gotten pretty good, by the way. 🙂 But about that book then, right.

If I am to promote something of sub-par writing content, then I should, rather, discuss the content instead. Better yet, I will analyze the effects that my past has had upon my writing abilities, my mental well-being and my social fears-of that there are many. So where am I? I seem lost, and yet still, I cannot forget. I forgave the paedafile bastard. He is alive, isn’t he? Well, you wouldn’t know that, now would you?

Speaking of death…I linger in a cryptic vault of sorts, a place where words winde like vines(what I used to say about Shakespeare, as a matter of fact). My words cannot be simplified, for if they were forced into a simplistic shell, then they would lose force and impact. Do you understand? No? Well, continue reading, my friends. I linger, dwell, abide and hybernate in cryptic silence then pushed into long bouts of babbling when the pressure is too much. It’s the pressure of always feeling wounded and bleeding. You see, in my spiritual beliefs, the creator made a plan, a list and a timetable of what was supposed to occur, and the schedule was stolen and burned. It was burned because it cannot be pieced back together as it should have been. It was burned.

It’s okay, keep following me. All will be clear as mud soon enough. You know how burned things make transformations physically and chemically, yeah. In cases of trauma, listen to me, I’m not so cryptic and it scares me! In cases of trauma, as I was saying, the fabric of our being is burned to ashes. This means, as with a blown-out house(like the ones in Detroit Michigan or Chicago…mind you, any large city for that matter), the insides no longer exist. It doesn’t take a day or a few weeks to rebuild the inner sanctum, in these cases. It takes months, even years. For some, the shells are abandoned or destroyed. Now, I believe that is as far into the literal side of writing I wish to do here.

So, instead of promoting my book with the regular, ‘buy this or buy that’ mumbo jumbo, I want to reach a withered hand, growing from the ashes of the severnties, to reach into the cosmos, the fields, the seas and the lands of the world to say nothing.

Because you know as well as I do, that nothing can rebuild that which was burned away…not entirely. Underneath the new wallpaper, the crisp floors and bright window sills are black places, charred and bitter vegetation which will always remember.

As social movements, protests and devastations beg us to never forget, we remain quiet. There is a silence, not sitting on the fence, by the wayside or in the corner with indifference.

Because as no words can cover, neither can they release.

A child I was, a child I am and a child I will forever be…burned frozen and forever.

How can I forget?

And I understand why you must remember as well….Oh, here’s that link.

I love you

 

 

 

 

 

By sherriehurd

Direction?

There was a time when I thought I could be anything. I thought I could climb to the top of the highest mountain, I could write a book and I could become famous too. Yeah, those days I thought anything was possible, and the thing is, it was.

Now, I don’t know where to go.

Somewhere between then and now, something, which was already flawed, completely broke down. It was a chugging machine, pulling it’s heavy load up a hillside, yeah, The Little Engine that Could-that’s the flavour. The load was huge, filled with scars, sounds and mean faces, but the load as movable. Then, I found a reward waiting at the top of that hill, wrapped in splendor, whether recognizable or not. I knew I had been successful, and through my mental illness, my success was illuminated in the bright fires of mania. Even the dark days of depression could not stifle my winnings, and so all was well even when it was falling apart. Get my drift?

Now, something’s wrong, and I don’t like to use the word ‘very’, but I will go ahead and say it. “Something was very wrong.” Every morning, I wake with a newness of life. I have plans for the day, to go jogging, to write a few articles, to bake a cake or paint a picture. By the end of the day, I have written a few articles, blog posts etc, watched two movies, ate three meals and cuddled with the dog. It’s not what I wanted to accomplish by far. I know, I know…seems trivial. But this happens every day.

I must be honest. Honesty, right now, is one of the only things that I have left. You see, I’m sick. I’m not just depressed or plagued by mania, I am also physically sick with chronic fatigue and pain. No, I probably won’t die from it like Cancer, but my life has changed. To add to my physical torment, the forests that I once roamed have been taken away from me, both pieces of land taken by way of death of relatives and friends . I cannot walk beneath the trees and sit in the leaves far past the pond, the fairy portal, and the pasturelands. Sanctuaries, once providing a place for me to escape and reenergize, have been taken away, probably indefinitely.

Things have changed, and I have yet to understand what happened to me. I know that I must adjust, but I’m not sure how much energy it will take to put one foot in front of the other. Sometimes I cannot breathe.

There was a time when I thought I could be anything. Right now, I just want to be me. file0001110957334

That’s all.

 

By sherriehurd