The Cheese Grates It: 30 Days of Haiga 2017 Day 28 + OctPoWriMo 2017 Day 11: Play For Me

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Verse and text by The Real Cie

Note:

This image features Malcolm Young doing what he did so well before dementia robbed him of his ability to remember how to do this or to remember who the people he cared about most were.

I hate this damn disease. It makes me sick, sad, and angry.

Even if it seems unrealistic, I have to believe that he either no longer functions through this body (his brother has stated that he isn't in there at all anymore, and I think few people would know better than one's soul mate) or one day he will wake up free of that body and remember everything.

I believe in at least the possibility of some pretty esoteric shit. You're free to believe it or not. It's really no skin off my nose either way.

This man did not deserve what is happening to him. It's horrible and it's wrong. To quote young Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes fame, "it's either mean or it's arbitrary, and either way, it gives me the creeps."

Isn't Calvin middle-aged now?

Even so, you know Hobbes is still with him.

In closing, fuck you Dementia. 

This is why horror movies don't scare me. Real life is far more terrifying.

I hope that we get at least a bit of respite between lives.

Yes, I actually do believe in at least the possibility of reincarnation. You're free to believe the same or not. I'm not here to argue. 

Quoth the barista: "I'm just here to express."

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

Fallen

Image by Sarolta Ban

Once upon a dream

 An angel was sent to Earth

 She has lost her way

~Cie~

Prompt Used:

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads:

Where did I come from? 

NaPoWriMo:

See notes

Notes:

This Lune addresses the metaphysical theory that I may not just be trashed out mentally ill fuckup, I may be a fallen angel. I have been studying the Lost Books of the Bible and the works of Dr. Doreen Virtue, and what I am reading rings true for me. If it makes you feel better, you can file this theory under trashed out mentally ill fuckup and just appreciate the poem, or not. I don't really care, just don't be a dick about it.

The line "once upon a dream" was inspired by the line "once upon a December," which comes from a song in the animated movie "Anastasia." I would not have come up with this if it weren't for today's NaPoWriMo prompt, so although I didn't specifically follow their instructions, they did inspire me. 

 

Michael Tsarion on Irish Side of the Moon Radio November 23 2011

Jesus: A Buffer Between Humanity and a Dickish Overlord

I used to be devout, one of the believers. I was raised by a family who believed the old fire and brimstone teachings. When I was in my teens I began to question. By the time I was out of high school, I could no longer buy any of it.

I went through a period of disgruntled atheism. When I was eighteen, I was one of those acerbic atheists who felt that anyone who had faith was a perfect idiot. By the time I was twenty-five, I had mellowed on that perspective, becoming an agnostic rather than a hardline atheist. I think becoming a parent had something to do with this.

I don't think that we live in a black and white Universe. I think there are a lot of shades of gray. To me, deism has come to make sense. I believe in the possibility of a higher power or powers. I do not believe that they are egotistical enough to require human worship. I think they're pretty well uninvolved. 

At this point I see Jesus the way I see Siddhartha: a teacher who tried to guide people to treat one another better. I do not discount the possibility of reincarnation. The personality is energy. It makes a degree of sense that when energy is displaced it changes form and may find a new home.

Following my exodus from fire and brimstone Christianity, I came to see Jesus as a mediator between humanity and a dickish overlord: the God of the Christian Church. This God sees fit to send "challenges" to people to see if they can "maintain their faith" in the face of awfulness, sometimes such awfulness that no-one could come through it unscathed unless they were a completely soulless sociopath. Jesus is the one who helps people bear up under such onslaughts by their dickish, egotistical God.

I think that true Christianity has little to do with the Overlord of Dickishness. It has to do with treating one another as we would like to be treated. It has to do with extending ourselves a little to help one another so we can all live as well as possible. 

In my view, God (if you will) is not a dickish overlord. It is a distant, remote, uninvolved power. Such is the nature of deism. Jesus now becomes less of a mediator than a healer and teacher.

I like Jesus. I always have. I do not like the brand of Christianity which pervades in the modern world, which postulates judgmental attitudes and servitude to a dickish overlord. I'm done with that brand of Christianity. If Jesus were here today, I'm quite sure he'd be done with it too.

~Petra~

If I'm Living on Borrowed Time, Do You Think I'm Gonna Waste My Time Conforming?

Current age: 62 and has no memories of his accomplishments or his family and friends.
Age at onset of dementia: 55 (and fuck you, Universe)

Lewy Body Dementia discovered post-suicide Age: 63

The Real Cie's aunt: probable Lewy Body Dementia, age of diagnosis: 72

Me: Age 49, will be 50 on February 15.

TRIGGER WARNING: DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE IDEATION

Here's what I'm noticing. This kind of shit seems to be happening in younger and younger people. I'm not a scientist. Nor am I particularly given to believing in conspiracy theories. The Illumin-Naughty seem as likely to exist as the Illuminati, as far as I'm concerned. But I do see a pattern.

I think our world is polluted as fuck, and it's killing us in various and horrible ways. I think all the people succumbing to these shitty forms of dementia have been poisoned by our toxic environment, and it isn't going to get any better anytime soon.

I evidently have a genetic trigger for this shit, and I have been thinking. I may be living on borrowed time. And if I am, I'm going to off myself when I get the diagnosis. I've taken care of people with dementia for all but five years since 1988. I am not putting myself or my son through that shit.

Given that there's a fair possibility that I'm living on borrowed time, do you know what the fuck I'm not going to do?

Care about a bunch of rules set down by a bunch of stodgy, imagination-impaired, heartless, inflexible assholes. 

Believe as I do. Don't believe as I do. I really don't care. But don't fucking tell me how to think and feel. I was never going to conform to your standards anyway. Given that I may only have five or ten years left, I'm going to conform to them even less.

I have an open mind about metaphysical possibilities. I'm not going to close my mind because my beliefs make some people uncomfortable.

I love what and who I love. If you have a problem with that, take a look in the damn mirror as you point your finger at me. Then take a look at the three fingers pointing back at you.

I'm actually not afraid of this possibility. I'm pretty stoic about it. I've had suicide ideation pretty much all my life. I'm not afraid to die. My life hasn't been an easy one. Sometimes I think the easiest thing in the world would be to down a whole bunch of pills with a butt ton of alcohol and just let the world fuck off at last. I'm sick and tired of hearing what a fuckup I am echoing in my damn head all the time.

I'm not doing it today. So don't get your hackles up searching my URL to try and find out where I'm located. This isn't a "right now" suicide note. This is a "if I'm diagnosed with dementia I'm offing myself" note. Because fuck that shit.

So anyway, if I believe in the possibility of ghosts and incarnate people communicating with each other and maybe even becoming friends or falling in love, who the fuck is anyone else to tell me I can't believe that? 

If I believe the personality survives the death of the body, who the fuck is anyone to tell me I can't believe that?

If I believe in an afterlife, but not an afterlife that adheres to some particular set of dogma created by a bunch of stodgy old fucks to control the masses, well, that is what I believe. If it brings you comfort to think of me frying in a fiery pit because of my beliefs, perhaps you're the sick fuck, not me. 

If I believe in reincarnation, how the fuck is that hurting you?

People are always so all-fired hot to tell other people what they should and shouldn't think and feel. I've had it up to here with that shit. None of us knows for sure what happens after we die. My theories are as valid as anyone else's. More to the point, I don't shove them down anybody's throat. 

I guess my point is this. I don't know if I'm living on borrowed time or not, but I damn well could be. Do you think I'm gonna waste that time trying to please anybody by conforming to their particular reality? I can't live your damn reality, nor do I want to. I can only live my own. 

Stop trying to tell other people what to believe, think and feel. As long as what you're doing isn't hurting anybody else, it's nobody's damn business.

One thing I aim to do. When I do get to the other side, whenever that is, I am going to give both of the dudes pictured a great big warm hug, because they both touched my life for the better and both pulled me through when I was a very sad, lonely, and bullied teenager. I wished both of them could be my friends.

I totally shipped "Mork" as my best platonic friend back in the day, and you will never guess which band was Mork's and my favorite. When you're a sad and miserable twelve or thirteen year old, that kind of thing can mean a lot.

When people judge another person's reality based on their own set of experiences, they do the person they're judging a great disservice.

Both Malcolm Young and Robin Williams taught me a lot. The biggest thing they taught me is that having compassion is the most important thing. As neither of them are conventionally attractive, they also taught me that true beauty is in the soul. Not that either of them are ugly, but neither of them would ever be considered "hunky" by any stretch of the imagination.

Both of them struggled with depression and addiction issues. These are certainly things to which I can relate. 

These are beautiful people--truly beautiful people, not Hollywood hyped beautiful on the outside hollow on the inside glamour seeking glory grabbers. If I do end up being one of the many succumbing to the horror of dementia, at least I will know I am in glorious company. I love you Mal, and I love you Robin. And I do not give one single fuck what anyone thinks of that statement.

I guess I've said what I need to say. It pretty well boils down to this. Quit fucking judging. You do not know what another person is going through or what they have been through. Since you haven't experienced their life, you aren't qualified to judge it.

I can't live as if there's no tomorrow, because my Last Day may be here sooner than I ever would have imagined. I have to get what I can done in what time I may have left. I'm not wasting that time conforming to anyone else's bullshit standards.

~Cie~

Cross-posting everywhere because:

Won

 

Won

 

Prompt used:

Mindlovemisery's Menagerie

 

Most of the time these days I don't share my personal thoughts very much. I used to blog fairly prolifically about my mental health issues and my metaphysical beliefs. I no longer do. I used to cling to the idea that I could help others with my honesty, but I actually wasn't being true to myself.

Today, I will talk about my Won.

I once believed that it was my destiny to become famous. This is probably part and parcel of my psych disorder. I thought that I had an important message to impart to the world. At the point in my life when I was religious, I believed that I was sent by God to do so.

I discovered that I actually dislike pursuing fame. I'm a very vulnerable person. I don't like opening myself up to the kind of scrutiny that fame requires. I wish that people wouldn't be so mean and judgmental, but they are.

Losing my quest for fame was similar to losing my desire to drink. Believe me, I once loved to toss one or six back. You think I'm talking about beer? Silly you. I'm talking about Long Island Iced Teas. I liked to party. I liked to get down. When I stopped being able to drink, it became very difficult for me to socialize.

I've spent the last five years figuring out what the hell to do with myself without the pursuit of fame.

Fame is an illusory and fickle master. Those who become famous don't necessarily remain that way. Fame has a way of destroying those it creates.

I found out a lot about fame when I decided I no longer wanted to pursue it. It was sort of like finding out that my perfect husband was actually cheating his way through town with every man, woman, and sometimes underaged person that he could get his hands on, and on top of that he was having people killed.

I'm going to make a long story short. There were a lot of hurtful events leading up to my eventual decision. There was a lot of backstabbing by people who called themselves "friends," and a lot of losing parts of myself that I'd always held dear.

One of these so called "friends" caused me to lose the belief in the part of myself which was able to reach beyond the material world and touch the spiritual levels. I said that I would never connect the the worlds beyond again. This decision caused not only me but my creativity to suffer. I went into a Dark Night of the Soul.

Recent events on a metaphysical level (which I am going to be cagey about) have led to some of those parts returning. There is someone I can never thank enough. My connection to the spirit world was always very important to me. When I lost it, I lost a big part of myself. Thanks to this special soul, that connection has returned.

I will never again pursue fame, but I am no longer so hardline as I was before on the idea of never publishing again outside of blogging.

Getting rid of the Won that I had to be famous to do good was the first step.

Getting rid of the Won that I had to do things other people's way to be in tune with the world beyond was the second step. I could not have done this without help.

I'm the shout it from the rooftops type of person. I wish I could reveal more about this turning-point situation, but I really can't. Suffice it to say, it has made all the difference.

There are those who will scoff at what I'm saying here. There are those who won't scoff but also won't believe me.

For the scoffers, it is not my job to persuade you. I am not the Jerk Whisperer.

It isn't my job to persuade anyone else either. I won't be sucked into the "prove it or it doesn't exist" argument as I have in the past. I don't tell you how to believe. I trust you will return the favor.

Some people will say that what I experience is part of my mental illness. I truly believe that it is not. I have always been able to discern between concrete physical reality and those things that can't be proven by hard science. Bipolar type 2 does not tend to present with hallucinations or illusions. I've had both before, usually as the result of medication or illicit drugs, or in some cases extreme lack of sleep. I can tell when I'm hallucinating.

I do not generally see spirits, although I have seen them on two occasions. I sense their emotions. I have fairly pronounced empathic abilities.

In any case, regardless of whatever anyone else may believe, I have some very important parts of myself back, and I have shed the millstone of fame that was hanging around the neck of my soul.

I feel hope and I feel love.

I refuse to believe that these things are Won.

I tried to be completely secular for too long. That isn't me.

I am not religious, but I have spiritual beliefs.

I will not let my soul be stolen from me again.

 

~Cie~



Religion Does Not Equal Spirituality: Near Death Experience

The thoughts expressed in this video belong to the video's author. We found his ideas worthy of sharing.

~Faith~

Artist Empath

You Scored as Artist You are an Artist Empath, one who creates their own reality and infuses the realities of others with your energy & emotions. You are poetic and sensitive. You turn your feelings into creations and share them with the world. Everything you touch turns to song and is freed by the color of your eyes. Your spirit dances with the winds and paints delight in the evening sky. (from the "Book of Storms" by Jad Alexander at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Empaths/)

No surprise there.
It's hard being that way in this world. Nobody gets it.
I'm constantly told to just stop being this way. Just stop with the stupid creativity, it will never get you anywhere. You aren't really very good at it anyway. Stop being so foolish and flighty. Turn yourself to practical pursuits.
Just stop being this way.
Just stop being this.
Just stop being.

I'll tell you this. I think my tendency to suicide ideation has a lot less to do with my bipolar disorder than it has to do with constantly being told to JUST STOP BEING who I am.

Cross-posted to:
The Cheese Whines
One Love
Undead in the Netherworld

So, why would I post this to Undead in the Netherworld?
Because it's MY BLOG, dammit! I'm the one who created it. Granted, it's the one that gets the most traffic, so we should pander to our audience, yada yada.
It's my fucking blog.
If I want to share my feelings about being a creative empathic reject, I damn well will.

Here's the link to take the quiz