A man I know recently sold enough of his shit to travel to France and meet a woman he met online. Straight Jerry Springer action.
Leaving behind a wife and kids.
* TO TAKE THE PLACE OF SOMETHING*
That's the definition of replaceable.
When I came to prison people in my life were replaced. Bad apples replaced for good ones. I'm certain people have done that with me as well. But what about true love?
I believe lust and infatuation are often times confused with love. Love lasts for the long haul. Standing the test of time. When you love someone and they pass away, in time one heals. Given the proper time one could learn to love again. However, you will always love that other person and their memory. When you simple replace someone, that certainly wasn't love. Perhaps infatuation but not love.
What's it matter anyway?
If your able to move on with your life and find happiness, that's priceless. Just be careful not to confuse that with love. If you think of it as true love, then perhaps you should go back and thank the end of your last relationship. Since had it not ended, surely you wouldn't have found your true love.
People live their entire lives seeking true love. If you've found some way to find it in every relationship then by all means share your secret.
I consider these things while I sit here. Perhaps you've done the same. After a few relationships, ones idea of love will change. At some point you really do just wish to be happy. Some are simple afraid to be alone. Their life isn't complete without someone else to track mud on their floor.
I'm looking for happiness within myself, and look for someone else who does the same. Since it's only then that you can truly learn to love. When you look for your happiness in another, you will always feel let down. Then again, perhaps true happiness can be found in France!
Wednesday, June 21, 2017
Friday, June 9, 2017
LOOSE SCREWS...
"What level of crazy are you?"
That's what I ask myself as my bunkie explains his plan to me. He's telling me how he got the cuts on his arm. I was never a cutter but I've seen plenty. All those little marks carefully sliced into the skin. Evenly spaced, side by side. The work of concentration. He's exploring why he made these cuts.
Once they begin to bleed, he puts water on them so the blood thins out. He can then wipe the blood over his body. The face, the shoulders, the arms. So this isn't just a cutter, this is a real live whack-job. Two fries short a happy-meal doesn't even begin to touch this.
A cutter generally seeks control. Sometimes needing attention. A cry for help, to be noticed. Then it turns into an addiction, the same as with drugs or alcohol. But a typical cutter isn't wiping their blood and painting themselves red.
I should mention this is my cell-mate in confinement. I don't have the luxury of walking away when he begins to explain this to me. We are stuck. Our cell is 8' by 6'. And he's now sleeping below me on the bottom bunk.
I can't help but sit there and as I listen, I'm mentally hanging my head. All the pure shit-piles I have managed to step in over my lifetime. Talk about some tight squeezes. This is where I live.
A real-live "psych-camp" with psychological madness everywhere. Right now it's sleeping on the bunk below me.
I think prison is a test. A time-out for you to consider the choices that brought you here. Right now it's my life. Out there life consistently bombs you with one experience after the next. The good, the bad, and the ugly. There's a large level of distraction involved. Prison causes focus. You better focus when the dude in your cell likes to wipe blood on his body. I'm not real worried about the cookies in the oven or switching the laundry or picking Timmy up from school. I'm focusing on keeping one eye open tonight while I sleep.
My daughter will turn 20 in August. She knows I'm free soon. Our relationships developed with me in here. Soon that will change. I've never thrown my hands in the air while riding a roller-coaster next to my kid. I've never looked over and seen her smiling from the passenger seat. I've never seen her upset and throwing things around her room while telling me she hates me. She wants to know if I've changed. There's a tattoo down my side that states..."There once was a boy, Before you stands a warrior". The things that didn't break the boy, they made the man.
That's what I ask myself as my bunkie explains his plan to me. He's telling me how he got the cuts on his arm. I was never a cutter but I've seen plenty. All those little marks carefully sliced into the skin. Evenly spaced, side by side. The work of concentration. He's exploring why he made these cuts.
Once they begin to bleed, he puts water on them so the blood thins out. He can then wipe the blood over his body. The face, the shoulders, the arms. So this isn't just a cutter, this is a real live whack-job. Two fries short a happy-meal doesn't even begin to touch this.
A cutter generally seeks control. Sometimes needing attention. A cry for help, to be noticed. Then it turns into an addiction, the same as with drugs or alcohol. But a typical cutter isn't wiping their blood and painting themselves red.
I should mention this is my cell-mate in confinement. I don't have the luxury of walking away when he begins to explain this to me. We are stuck. Our cell is 8' by 6'. And he's now sleeping below me on the bottom bunk.
I can't help but sit there and as I listen, I'm mentally hanging my head. All the pure shit-piles I have managed to step in over my lifetime. Talk about some tight squeezes. This is where I live.
A real-live "psych-camp" with psychological madness everywhere. Right now it's sleeping on the bunk below me.
I think prison is a test. A time-out for you to consider the choices that brought you here. Right now it's my life. Out there life consistently bombs you with one experience after the next. The good, the bad, and the ugly. There's a large level of distraction involved. Prison causes focus. You better focus when the dude in your cell likes to wipe blood on his body. I'm not real worried about the cookies in the oven or switching the laundry or picking Timmy up from school. I'm focusing on keeping one eye open tonight while I sleep.
My daughter will turn 20 in August. She knows I'm free soon. Our relationships developed with me in here. Soon that will change. I've never thrown my hands in the air while riding a roller-coaster next to my kid. I've never looked over and seen her smiling from the passenger seat. I've never seen her upset and throwing things around her room while telling me she hates me. She wants to know if I've changed. There's a tattoo down my side that states..."There once was a boy, Before you stands a warrior". The things that didn't break the boy, they made the man.
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