BRICKS
OF SADNESS MORTARED WITH SHAME
The title here encapsulates the pain
that I have been enduring since my lunch on Thursday. It has been profound and all-encompassing as
my exhaustion grew. For days all I could
do was sleep, wake up to urinate or drink something and then I would be back
asleep in minutes. A few times I had to
jostle myself back awake in the bathroom and the kitchen. Again, I attempted my MRI and again I cannot
get past that mask. My kiddos really
helped me, and I did take that medication, but I weigh over 400lbs right now
and they gave me a dosage that was less than my standard panic pill. I called the neurologist, and I am waiting
for him to sign for me to be induced at an ER for an MRI meaning I will be
complexly sedated. My kiddos have even
asked when I will start journaling since they can see how I carry this
burden. Then yesterday the images of
another homicide began, and I am so fearful of having to type in a 12-hour saga
to get all these details out and then endure another period of exhaustion.
Know that the failure that I
suffered when I attempted to create my profile format for the ‘Known offender
with the Unknown victim’ was monumental to my endeavor. I manifested 33 pages out of my brain and
then built a forum of detailed fields that explained the case in such a manner
that anyone could have solved it. However,
I believe that I wrote an academic paper that allowed my brain to spark and
flow with endorphins and will not suffice in encouraging law enforcement to
read it in fact it may have insulted some of them.
My
shame is circled around how I put all that work out there for the dead and I
failed them. This is me being hard on myself
since that structure did allow me to recall facts that hadn’t appeared
yet. It’s true I have more facts for a
new and improved victim sheet but then at what cost. There is it my conflict of selfishness
versus selflessness I gave all of myself to this endeavor and then I am
conflicted by what I received in return.
My goal was not myself nor some entitlement I believe I deserved. I had high hopes of solving a cold case and
sending a victim home and then didn’t accomplish what the initial goal was but
did add to the facts in a victim sheet.
Did my efforts, and then the consequential agony I caused myself, amount
in equalization to what additional facts my recall produced? This is that quandary my mind has been
thwarting me with since last Thursday.
Deep
in that psychic wound festered an ember that caused a disequilibrium. Like a piece of shattered glass ground deep
into my minds soft tissue, it resonated there with a pain so intensified and
layered that I couldn’t ascertain the origin.
My psyche flailed and resonated with the theme of despair. Eventually I worked that diffuseness out and
narrowed it into a profound sadness and later deciphered it into a theme of shame. I failed at one of my new cornerstones of progression
‘sending the dead home’ and that quaked the sense of the new self I am building. It did not break but the aftershocks lasted
all week and with this entry I am trying to repair those cracks and rebuild an
even stronger sense of self.
Even
the phoenix as it rises from its ethereal flames can get impacted by an
unhinging stitch from a buried suture sewn into its place with the most
functional of intentions. I was
sideswiped by an internal asteroid from my own prior life Big Bang phenomenon that
sent a projectile created in my past. Galivanting
toward my future self and requiring that I become even more aware of my own
suffering. As my heightened need for
advancement can attest, my psyche now creates the challenges I need to overcome
and learn from if I am to one day obtain closure from my ancient wounds and
move forward into the embodiment of my newly formed self-sustaining life of compassion.
My
past has advanced me again through pain that at the time is
insurmountable. Not simply a possibility
of an impregnable fortress sitting atop a mount Everest of my own creation but
a true nirvana that my psyche manifested as my next task. My soul progression is still utilizing my traumas
to teach me the lessons I need to grow but now it’s advancing the
evolution. I could not have advanced
myself without the prior suffering. That
pain had to be concocted from a potpourri of ingredient’s taken in fresh
circumstance from the bouquet of first harvest seasonals. From there it created a task where I am
facing my previous wounds as it manifests with my most recent endeavors of psychic
strength progression. Through my own
traumas laced with my dysfunctions I have become my deepest infection of emotional
cancer. A part of me is bringing its
most diabolical tinctures of wrath upon another part of me to destroy it or
halt its progression. The earliest
evolutionary coil of my new being must decipher that puzzle while using its raw
materials for the infrastructure that supports the following geniuses.
Now
onto the images that have been plaguing me with their phantom fading taunts of visibility. I am young maybe age 5 and its summer in the
radiance of the sun but chilly breezes do blow.
Robert and I had been camping out of the green car, and it was maybe 50
feet downstream from where we found ourselves.
I had been following him upstream and then we stopped at a large boulder
that was in the stream on the side that we had parked. This stream was maybe 25 yards wide, and the
deep end was on the opposite bank.
Robert was sloshing around at ankle depth until he was about 10 yards
away from that boulder and he was now above his knees. I had been following along on the shoreline
as he had instructed me too. My job was
to grab whatever he had tossed out onto the shore. He had been scooping too me for some time,
and nothing had been catapulted up.
Then
as we approached that boulder he told me to get on top. He wasn’t scooping any more, he now was
crouched down and attempting to wrangle fish with his hands. It was at that moment that this young girl
appeared atop the boulder next to me.
Out of nowhere and with no sound this girl showed up and was looking at
Robert just as I was as he was tossing around vigorously in the shallows. She was maybe my age and had her brown hair
pulled up into a genie tail that popped out the top of her head. Then her shirt was a yellow base with black
cow looking spots. She had a tie-back
halter neck dress design and cut off blue jeans. I did have a pair of shorts on, but their
size engulfed me and I had to use one hand to keep them up.
Then
I watched Robert erect himself to a standing position and he had caught a sizable
fish maybe 10 inches in length. He went
from smiling widely about his accomplishment to a blank face and then his eyes
focused on that girl. His gaze was so
intense and became rageful so fast that I was instinctively moving away from
that girl. Then as I stepped back away
from her, she twisted to watch me. Then
as her eyes met mine and she seemed puzzled in a nonchalant manner. I was watching her face when in slow motion her
eyes widened before her head turned. Robert’s
claw of a hand had made contact with her chest and had snatched a mixture of
cloth and skin. Then as her head turned
toward the pain her mouth became agape, and her feet left the surface of the
boulder. Robert had leapt from the water
below and planted his right hand as a lever onto the boulders face and leaned in
to snatch her with his left hand. He or
an alter of his had tactically become a jumping viper and leapt a distance from
a soft watery base high enough to grab an unsuspecting child positioned atop a
boulder.
That
distance from where I first saw him holding his prized catch had to have been equivalent
to the top of the key or maybe even the three point line in basketball. Sure, he could have run up to launch himself
but still that water was above his knee and most likely deeper toward the back
of that boulder. Then I watched as
Robert fell away from view and until her small feet were gone. I was in shock but not frozen and in my mind,
this was the first time something like this had happened in front of me. Then I heard laughter and voices in the
wind. That wind crossing this boulder
would have made me shudder had I not been in shock. I couldn’t see Robert when I looked out
toward his end of this elongated boulder and I couldn’t see who was making the
voices when I looked in the other direction.
I could feel the frozen state coming upon me as my legs felt glued to
the spot. Then a gust much stronger than
before had pushed me towards Roberts side of the boulder.
Below
me he stood and had both his hands gripped tightly upon this child’s body. His right hand had her shoulder and neck and
then his left hand was below her arm and around her rib cage. Robert’s face was that of a heightened beast
with eyebrows that had thickened and arched like roofs atop his swollen red
eyes. His brow was heavily indented, and
each furrow seemed as thick as a finger even from the distance where I was
standing. The front of the teeth had
clamored out beyond his lips and seemed to have triangulated in the center. Reminiscent of the fanged bucked teeth from the
Grinch who stole Christmas. This alter
was piercing his teeth down into her face and tearing away flesh and leaving
divots in her cheek and shoulder. The
face of this altar functioned like a bird of prey and then after pulling the
flesh free it left avulsions exposed and not seemingly necessary for access to deeper
tissue. Each time the teeth serrated
into the dermis for another pull of flesh it would beat its beak until that
chunk fell away. Consumption was not the
goal it seemed that pulling and releasing was the function of this alter.
Then
I was frozen just inches from this boulders edge, and I heard the sounds of
people getting louder and then just as that girl had appeared so did this woman
in her twenties that may have been the mother.
She was wearing the exact color and style of top. That woman was in my peripheral and Robert’s
form was central. I watched as the bird
face man stopped his actions opened his mouth wide and squawked. The body turned as another percussion of this
woman’s bellowing scream riveted my chest cavity. The body was bent and had plunged the girls
remains under the water and was making many hand gestures while his arms were submerged,
perhaps he was locking the body down onto the creek bottom. Then the body bolted away from the scene and
that woman next to me leapt off the boulder and retrieved the child’s
body. She was holding that body like a
baby as she sobbed, and her body tremored with shock.
My
body was feeling the pounding on the boulder and other bodies appeared and then
leapt into the creek. Below me now
appeared to be a family of five including the dead girl. The man had a full beard and moustache and
was trying to take the child’s body most likely to see what had occurred. The woman was now in such a stage of
exhaustion due to her shock that she was bent over in the water and hurling the
contents of her stomach into the stream.
The man was holding her and looking around, and a few times glanced at
me. There was a preteen boy and girl,
tall and lanky. The daughter had long
somewhat blonde hair and the boy had a short brown hair cut. The man and the two older children dressed
similarly in green t-shirts and some blue shorts with yellow strips down the
leg. All now had that facial glaze of
trauma upon their faces they sort of looked around and then at each other while
the kid’s arms hung free from their shoulders.
All living humans within my view, including myself, were deep in the
raptures of dissociation.
(It
is now 12:22 am and I have returned to the process of journaling. I had to take a break since the pain has
intensified and I have learned from the themes of other flashbacks that what
will unravel from my subconscious next will involve an even larger
increase. I am going to try and see
these images through, but I am so exhausted and perhaps not as healed as I thought
I was from last week’s episodes and struggles.)
Roberts
body reappeared walking through the stream and he looked exactly like Robert no
longer like that bird of prey. I could
see that sheepish grin he gets on his face when he knows he is playing a
role. His shoulder posturing and the way
he motioned his head was like Dwight Yokum when he was on stage. Then I could hear him speak above the water
and the wind, his voice was clear to me.
He had one of his hands in the back pocket of his cut off jeans and then
the other with his fingers shoved into a front pocket and that palm tilted out
as if to display some essence of coyness.
The woman was bent over and still gripping her baby tight as her body
still shook. The man had his right hand
on her back and was staring in Robert’s direction and the two kids at least now
had a place to put their eyes. Roberts
eyes glanced up and then sheepishly went back down several times. He was the only one moving with purpose in
this scene.
Then
Robert spoke, “Whatcha got there” was his verbal entrance into this scene of
misery that he caused. I wonder if this
was an alter since this caricature was the exact same one he had when the
Dallas Sheriff deputy came for him at the house of hate and was standing on the
ledge by the front door before he snatched Roberts body up and marched him down
to the drainage ditch. The woman began
to raise up from her previous position, and I could see the child’s feet dangling
loosely out behind her elbow. Then
Robert looked straight into this woman’s face and said, “Maybe I can help you
look for her”. The woman screamed so
loudly that I could feel it even at my distance. Then the man bent his knees and had his fists
clenched but they resided low and almost to his knees. This bellow, maybe more of a resonating pulse
of a percussive gurgle came out of him.
It hit me like the ripples in a puddle each was distinctive and individualistic
but followed by another that was in the same family of origin, just higher in
impulse. It was a primitive sound that
functioned as a horn to battle from an ancient era.
This
man who before had appeared to be a father and husband involved in a loving
family. Leapt upon Robert like a
chimpanzee goes on the attack in Discovery nature films. His fists stayed taut and swung at Robert as
this mans stomach landed upon Roberts shoulders due to the projectory of his
initial leap. Then both fell backwards
and the water whitened with splashes and churned with the arms and legs of two
men fighting. The older children stayed confused,
and the boy would run up to this blunder of physical malice and then retreat. He would turn and look at the mother figure,
but she was holding the body with her right arm and pointing with her left
while hooting like a beast. The older
girl was behind her mother touching her head and face and then walking toward
her mother but as she extended her hand to touch her mother’s back, she would yank
her arm back as if she had received a shock and then would turn her body to the
right and stomp a few steps. She
continued this turn and stomp ritual until she faced her mother’s body once again
and the sequence would repeat. White
caps churned from three separate spots and then the sound of hooting was
relentless.
Robert
surfaced and the man did not, then Robert bashed that man’s skull in with a
rock and kept pulling at his hair and smashing down which would then require
him to pull at his hair again to repeat his action. Robert was fighting that man’s body weight,
his limp body as it was caught in the current, and of course the current as it
pushed upon his own body. This action of
smashing the head had taken Robert away from the scene a few feet. Then when he turned, I could see his face and
knew this was not Robert. This looked
like the alter that came out one time and tried to drive the car when we were
evading police after the Pineville Louisiana kidnapping. His face was thick with flesh and had an
almost cretinous look. The expression on
his face was what in my mind was described in the game of thrones movie. Orson Lannister was born simple and spent his
days smashing beetles in the garden with mindless intent. That was this alters expression he had been
sent out to ‘smash ‘em,’ until he was done.
That’s
why this smashing of the man was so awkward, and the body chased and grabbed
the hair then smashed and had to chase to catch the man again. My difficulty in trying to depict that scene
was based on this alters limited abilities.
(This right here is the big releases of the flashback sequence. The pain just ended and I know that I will
sleep tonight. Earlier when I stopped
and took a break I was in pain and so reluctant to want to charge forward into
those shards of glass and the turpentine fire that I know will fill every pore
opened by that reliving of a thousand cuts to your psyche by the polyhedronic
(I made this word up I take full reasonability but it fit my expression after
some alteration. Try living in my flashbacked-out
brain where I type late into the night in hopes of clearing my mental battlefield. Hoping to sleep and knowing that the next
battle will come.) Such is the aftermath of time travel.
That
altar approached the mother as she continued to point and hoot, and he smashed
her in the head while holding her hair until she fell and the water ran red and
then her body drifted away. The two
older children had not moved from their spots.
The older girl had turned her body away from the devastation and then that
altar grabbed her hair and yanked her backwards into the stream and began to
smash her face. Unconsciousness came
quickly and again her head was held above the water by her hair and then
smashed and lifted and repeated. Her
body eventually joined the current, and her brother was gone even quicker. That young man had rage in his eyes and a
purse in his lips that signaled anger. However,
through those lips came a sobbing expression of childlike confusion. A small child, angry that he had been sent to
his room and now engaged in a cross armed pout with a suffocated whine emitting
from his clenched lips would be the exact and correct mimicry of this event. Then atop this his eyes ran with tears. He had regressed in his emotional state to a
retarded fashion of coping. His mind had
shut down and though he had not fainted.
His mind was blank as his shock attempted to fill this void caused by
abandonment of all he knew to be true.
He had no repercussive state of selection that would allow him to create
a switchboard of synaptic crisis interventions.
In a way this whole family was simplified in their trauma responses due
most likely never having had endured trauma at this level. The boy just stood erect and took numerus smashes
to the face and forehead before he began to kneel and then those smashes fell
upon his head and he too joined the current.
The
altar held onto his rock for a length of time as he turned his whole body to adjust
his point of view and look for another person to smash. Then his arms dropped to his sides he stood
there in the stream with the wind blowing his hair looking away from me. The body appeared to be in idle mode, not
ridged, not poised, just awaiting a command.
Then it burst into life and ran away through the stream and off into the
distance. I was atop that boulder while
my mind faded away into oblivion. Then
it sprung back to focus as Robert reappeared and my heart reengaged and began pounding. I could feel the vibrations in the boulder as
he climbed up from the shoreline, and I sensed that he had covered enough
distance to be right behind me. Then as
all my internal faculties whirled with the confusion of intentions. As they attempted to manifest a multitude of
possible options with none surfacing as the leader the body behind me spoke.
In
that voice that I knew and the kindness of a hand on my shoulder the body said,
“you miss me boy” and I knew that the nice guy was there to take care of me and
then my body collapsed. I woke to the
sound of the songbirds in the trees. The
bright sun was in my eyes and still that chill was playing in the air. Someone had made me a bed of long grass, and
I was laying inches above the ground. My
warmth was kept by additional foliage and only my face seemed to be
exposed. To me I had been lovingly cocooned
by nature. Then that familiar voice rang
out, and I had to work at setting myself free from my makeshift nest of
comfort. There was a fire that had
simmered down to coals and the iron skillet was atop a large rock to the
side. The nice man sat down placed me in
his lap and fed me with his fingers. He
commented that he was worried that the skillet was too hot. The camp was all packed away and no bodies
appeared to be at this scene. Then he
loaded me into the front seat next to him and we drove for hours down bumpy
dirt roads and I fell asleep.
I
feel amazing right now. No disrespect to
the dead but I have endured far worse carnage and witnessed much longer death
and burial sequences. Though traumatic
and unjust, to me this was a much better death than so many of the others. This family all arrived in their afterlife one
after the other and due to their dissociative states, they would have suffered
less than usual but unfortunately the girl took the brunt. Robert can dispatch people as quick as an eye
can blink and when he is in altar form even faster. Thus, that small girl’s demise may have been just
as fast. There is no way that I can lessen the impact
of a family annihilation. It is what it
is and Robert committed many. I do not
wish to lessen this one or pay less respect to these victims than I would any
other. However, to me right now it feels
like some how I was pulled away from that deep plunge that takes place with
many of these recall laden engulfment’s.
The
television show Quantum Leap comes to mind as I ponder just how this one worked
itself out. In that show the main
character jumps into a body in a specific situation and must solve that
historical timeline before jumping to the next scenario and all in hopes of one
day returning home. I do the same with
flashbacks in a way but in my situation, I must find the relapse trigger and
expose it, or the flashback will continue to repeat. Tonight I found that trigger in the most
unsuspecting way. I wish I could give
this style of release a title since it was so unique. Perhaps a ‘Stupor ending colossal mix-up of
an altars task’ that is just what comes to mind. I really have nothing I am just elated that the
pain ended before it had a chance to really get started and for tonight in this
one episodic nightmare of destruction, I was allowed some mercy and will not
have to sleep for days in a row trying to overcome the exhaustion these psychic
wounds cause. This time I exit my past
feeling free of all its polyhedronic spores trapped in the tornado of truth
that riddles my flashback experiences.
