Archive for February, 2015


Anxiety Sucks!


Cranky Cottonmouth

I’m having one of those days… one of those days where my heart won’t stop pounding and I can scarcely breathe.  My ears are ringing and I hate this feeling.  Every little thing is getting under my skin. I feel defensive and easily offended… I feel like a bundle of raw nerve endings.  Does this ever go away?  Will there ever be a time when I experience my very last panic attack?  Will I ever live day after day with no heart-pounding, chest-tightening, jumping at every sound, sweaty palms, can’t breathe intrusions into my psyche??  I don’t even know how to imagine this kind of life.  How do I imagine being at home in my own skin?  What would it feel like to be at rest in myself?  What must it be like to simply sit down and read a good book?  To get lost in music?  To enjoy a cup of tea or a hot shower without feeling pressure to get up and pace, clean, fidget??  How do I get to the point where I can rest without feeling guilty?  How do I kick this voice out of my head that tells me continually that I am not good enough, that I am lazy, that I am not doing enough and what I am doing I am not doing right?  Perfection does not equal happiness…  Part of me believes once I understand this I may find peace.

rich warm red mercy


I thought this was lovely and dark and I thought I would share it with you… I love reading good prose that is not afraid to get in touch with anger/pain/longing…

markthegodchaser's avatarwildgoodness

crimson lines ran like feral runners across the sun-kissed terrain. Eyes wide with boiling terror screamed for pardon. pardon not for sin but for one more precious moment to live. strong hands held firm while the metallic judge toyed with the mouse. the mouse was once a wolf. stalking prey it feasted on frenzy and helplessness. the cries of the lambs only heightened the dark rooms of eros. feasting with relish upon the cries that only his ears would ever hear. hate for all that is holy fed the appetite of his pagan lust. the cries of the lamb didn’t satisfy anymore and in darkened corridors haunted by dead dreams he envisioned new ways of torment for his victims. a lust to possess even the soul of his prey drove his madness. nothing sacred existed anymore to the lamb. all was defiled with obsessive delight.

drip. drip. drip. the pitter…

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