Category Archives: the dark side

dead

if i were to talk about my killing
what would i say?
what could i tell that would
alleviate the pain of
my ghost’s
soul?
what song would set me free
and find me flying
finally
to heaven?
what tricky story would wind
its legs around you
and run me far from
the smoking clutches of hell?
if i told you about
the day i was killed
and the way i was killed
truth would leak from this
crafted monastery of deception
and the whole of me
would crumble
and be lost on the
wind.

dead.   by denelle hobbs

*note*  this is NOT the poem i mentioned in a recent blogpost  “This girl might have been lost…”   that poem i am still looking for, but found this one today so thought i’d put this up instead

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a darker kind of lemonade

i haven’t been much on my Accidental Happiness blog for quite some time.  i don’t want to make myself out to be a liar, you know.  it’s a lot to live up to; the title.  i could see it as a mission statement of my life, as though i’ve commissioned myself to go forth and capture all the unexpected good things that are out there glimmering hope into the dark and dreary world, and sit and ponder them over a good cup of coffee and share them with all of mankind.

and that’s a good thing.  and i do that!  i find little awesome things that bring me sudden joy, that other people walk right by and fail to notice.  i share and post when i come across all those things on the internet that make you cry your eyes out; stories of strangers helping out homeless vets, and children saving puppies from destruction.  but lately my “spontaneous happiness” and my “grim reality” have been duking it out in the ring, and i’m very uncertain who’s going to get the KO.

my friend at work (hey you!) likes to say this before she goes in: “Well folks, time to go make doughnuts”.  i’m not sure where that came from or why she started saying it – cuz she doesn’t make doughnuts for a living.  but that’s how i feel i’ve been living forever:  going in circles, trying to sugar coat everything.  something difficult happens, and i find the sliver lining, the chance to grow in the situation.  someone blows up in my face, and i try to calm them down and steer them to a calmer level, make them feel they’ve been heard, understood, and when they apologize i just say, hey we all have bad days.  the whole “when someone hands me lemons, i make lemonade” rule.  it seems like i’ve been that way forever.

but the reality is this: i’m a darker brew than just that.  i might even be a Palmer.  you know, half lemonade half tea.  good thing he came up with that whole flavor marriage, and how is it possible no one thought of that before?  or did he just market it first?

anyway, not my point.  the point is, life is kind of a bad dance class.  it’s all two steps forward, three steps back, a stiletto on  the instep and an emergency ride to hospital.

something out there – Hollywood, Sweet Valley High, or an angry, violent, alcoholic parent – has convinced me that there is an eventual happy ending to the story.  that if i am good enough, pretty enough, skinny enough, or positive enough, life will right itself and give me all my dreams tied up in a pretty bow.  but there are ants on every picnic, and thorns on every rose, and believe it or not, i’ve actually cut my fingers on ribbon before, so even my pretty dreams might eventually injure me.

my life right now is full of trying to merge the side of me that seeks love, happiness, fulfillment and joy with the side of me that is stark reality, depressive, prone to cutting and emotionally unstable.

so my accidental happiness blog may seem more like a dark hole for an indiscernible amount of time…but there is much beauty and worth in the pits of man, and i intend to find it.

look out Darth Vadar; i’m coming to the dark side.

skelly 1

 

go back to bed

today i’m feeling worthless.

i’m feeling a fool.

i fall in love for no reason, with people that can’t be loved by me.  i hope for impossible things and believe in a mish.mash of curios.  i spend my time on things that i wish really mattered and impacted people, but in reality probably just comfort my anxious soul that feels like it’s wasted its life on stupid things like paying bills, fixing vehicles and dealing with crazy people at work.

i’m feeling broken, and tired, and as though i have finally recognized that i’m only a speck in an ocean of life, so now i have to ask myself if what i do or think or feel really even matters.

but really, when it come right down to it, i just need another cup of coffee.

hidey holes and such

Thank you to all of you who have started following my blog since the post “Flying Ford Anglia” was posted.  I’m glad you all enjoyed the post and started following, but a fair warning…you may not know what you’ve gotten yourself into.

I like to write, and I like to imagine myself a writer, and sometime I manage to come up with something that is witty or curious or just off the wall enough to make someone laugh.  However, this blog isn’t all full of crafted phrases and thought out ideas; it isn’t always something that deserves a thumbs’ up or a LIKE.  It is full of angst and swear words; crabby responses that can’t be voiced in front of a real person; minor ponderings of a soul gone astray.  It may interest you, it may not; but I wanted to let you know right off that it is ALL over the place.

But primarily, this blog is about my struggle and/or ease finding happiness in a crazy mixed up world.  This world is so chaotic now – what with random terrorism being more common place than shocking, and children mowing down their playmates with semi-automatics.  I don’t really know how anyone manages to go through this life without an occasional panic-attack, but I’ve been assured by some that they’ve never experienced one.

Not true for me.  In fact, lately I’ve been having all kinds of anxiety.  My heart pounds in my throat, and I can’t sleep through the night.  I’ve developed dark circles under my eyes, and l have a haunted face that I wear around the house.  You probably can’t tell this when I’m at work; I try hard to keep a stiff upper lip and carry on.  I smile and laugh and offer friendly service.  I go out of my way to help or nag, and sometimes complain about people that annoy me.  But inside lately is a belly of acidic juices churning to the beat of grumpy music.  Inside I’m a bucket of nerves that are like little live wires cut free from the electrical pole, squirming around, sparks a’ flyin.  I walk around looking like a normal (albeit odd) adult human being, but inside I’m raw and just a little thing.  In fact, I’m scared to death.

I sort of suspect that this is because of the third grade.  For those of you new to my scene, I have multiple personality disorder, and I’m struggling with working through that rather large can of worms.  Presently the worms are all coming from third grade, I think.

Third grade is an elusive situation.  I can’t really remember anything.  I have pretty much blocked the whole year out, and know only primary basics; like we lived with my grandmother that year, and my older sister chose to sleep and hang out in the garage, up in a pile of boxes that were stacked on top of each other reaching almost to the top of the garage ceiling.  We had moved out of a house we were renting, and whatever we could stuff of our belongings went into my gran’s garage, and my older sister buried herself in there like some kind of little mouse nestled in wood shavings.  And I only know this fact because she recently told me about it.

The stuff I know from that year in my life is that I was sleep walking a lot, and the next year I developed an ulcer, chronic headaches, nose bleeds, and asthma.  And the fact that pretty much the whole year (minus one or two vague memories) is obliterated from my memory makes me think something was pretty scary at that time in my life.

So all of that to say, right now – with my heightened anxiety over nothing, or little things – I sort of think that third grade personality is wanting to come out, wanting to deal with her stuff.

And it’s freaking me out.  I’ve spent my whole life squishing down bad memories and scary monsters.  I’ve spent a great many years lying to myself that there are no skeletons in my closet, and bolting it up just to be sure.  I am scared to death of the memories of a little nine year old girl making their way into my life, and making a shambles of my existence.

But I guess, to be who I need to be, and to embrace the beauty of the darkest side of my soul, I must.

So hang on if you want, follow if you dare, the ride may be bumpy, I just don’t know…

Damiona

or  Why I Must Never Be Angry

There are several emotional states that are universally known to man, regardless of race, religion, education or overdue fines from the library; Fear and Anger are just two of them.  But today proves to me why I have a longstanding Fear of becoming Angry.

I started off this morning in a testy sort of way.  I had a weird dream last night, that involved a lot of running from people, hiding, trying to avoid being initiated into the sex-slave-trade business, and breaking through windows to escape from crazy men.  Clearly, waking up I was a little off my center, and slightly touchy all morning.  When I got to work I was sort of in a panic state, with my heart beating hard, my breathing exaggerated and difficult, and sort of shaky.  Not just because of the dream, but because I actually HAVE done a lot of running, hiding, and avoiding in my life, and be reminded in my sleep is not a ton of fun.

I told my co-worker I was grumpy.  She nonchalantly smiled at me and said, “OK”.  Whew. One down, 700 more to go.  Cause it being a Saturday, I was fairly likely to encounter that approximate number of people in the next six hours.  Right away my foul mood seemed to impact my environment.  My other co-workers said it had been fairly slow all morning, however as soon as I clocked in things starting going haywire.  Lines of people came out of nowhere, strange requests popped up having to do with people losing their pants, and suddenly I was re-reminded that it was in the Full Moon bracket (two days either side of the full, and the full, and sometimes I throw in a few extra days when lingering effects still persist).  Then one of our computers froze.

“This is your doing”, was sort of the message I got from my boss.  I couldn’t deny it, really.  I have been known to set car alarms off just from walking by.  I stood next to a computer one day minding my own business, and it hopped off it’s ledge and started smoking when it hit the countertop.  When I’m in a good mood things can go really smoothly; all the lights suddenly turn green when I’m driving along the road; my sports teams win as long as I cheer them on.  Of course, if I have to go to the bathroom they will suddenly throw an interception, but when my mood is high, I seem to be able to impact things around me.  And the reverse is true as well.

Which is why I tried very hard to never be angry.  People will tell me that anger is just an emotion, and it doesn’t matter if I’m angry, because everyone is at some point.  But they haven’t seen the things that happen when I’m in a bad mood; omen

like things breaking for no reason all around me, or clocks and computers seizing up, or … well, today, when all hell breaks loose as soon as I come to work.  So yeah, my big Fear is my Anger; I’m kind of afraid  of being some sort of a Stephen King novel, carrie

or horror movie character.  I’m like, “don’t make me angry…you wouldn’t like me when i’m angry”

hulk

 

i’m not a monster…exactly

this week has been kind of sketchy for me.  a couple of different times at work i had to pretend like i wasn’t crazy.  an incident occurred where another person’s sanity – or more accurately, INsanity – was exposed and people were talking about it.  about HER.  a woman alone, by herself, talking in two distinctive voices.  this seemed to rattle the mental cages of several people around me, which i guess is pretty understandable.  most people don’t have multiple voices that they use interchangeably.

but i can relate.  that woman probably (surely) had multiple personalities, as do i.  and the people that were freaking out about the whole situation work with me every day.  if they knew I had multiple personalities, is this how they would behave?  make fun of me?  laugh about my oddness?  run around and tell everyone else at work that i was crazy?

i kind of think the truth of the matter is that most people don’t know a person with MPD.  or they don’t KNOW that they know someone.  i guess it’s fairly rare.  or at least, maybe lots of people have it but they don’t know it cause they can’t afford treatment.  a lot of therapists aren’t trained specifically for this area of mental health, and finding a good shrink/therapist is hard for us MPD’ers to do.  it’s not like trying to find a good dentist; there just aren’t that many people out there who have treated Multiples, let alone specialize in this area.  and then there is the cost issue.  so if you don’t have awesome Canadian medical insurance, you may not be able to afford to be told you are a nutball.

anyway, with people kind of making fun of this “crazy” throughout the week, it was hard on me.  i felt shame.  embarrassment.  i felt fearful.  i was jittery and switchy and had a hard time controlling my body.  i wanted to run away and hide.  because it isn’t easy being a Multiple, and it isn’t socially acceptable.

i’m not socially acceptable.

and that sucks.  because those of us that have this condition have it because once upon a time, we were scared shitless and couldn’t do anything about whatever we were scared of.  so we ran away to another part of our minds and created different worlds, people, languages and memories.

we aren’t scary monsters that need to be locked away in a dungeon.

we aren’t contagious and about to spread our ill on mankind.

we aren’t wicked cast offs from the fiery pit of hell spawned by Satan as a curse on the head of mortal man.

we’re just…many.  many of us in one body.  we’re just people.  and little.  and scared.

so don’t be mean to us.  ok?

 

prelude to Skritchy

you can spot my work schedule by my blog.  long week: just a pictue.  short week: three blogs in one day.  by the way, blog is such a weird word.

i haven’t written about my “condition” lately.  mostly because i have trained myself to walk around pretending like i don’t have it; like there is nothing wrong with me.  but sometimes…well i can’t always avoid the truth.

on Wednesday of last week, i came into work in a different personality.  apparently.  because EVERYONE commented on how weird i was that day, and one of my co-workers/friends said “i don’t think denelle is with us today”.   i’m not sure if she was talking about the Multiplicity situation, or if she just thought i was “on Pluto” which is what one of my other co-workers said.

i sort of feel like i have MPD-Lite.  like a lite beer instead of the real thing.  i’m not sure if that is an accurate summation, or a real possibility.  maybe i just don’t want to think i’m as crazy as i am.  i put up pictures on my blog because people seem to respond more strongly to my photos than to my written blogs, and somewhere in a corner of my mind, someone sighs from relief, thinking that if we just keep people happy we won’t have to talk about that “weird stuff”.

but it is weird.  Wednesday i was in whatever personality i was in, and i didn’t know i was any different than normal. i’ve never played an RPG game or Magic the Gathering or anything like that, but i think i can liken my situation (multiple personalities) with Magic:  people – like cards – are on reserve for certain situations.  i more frequently use my WORKER card, because it is an appropriate face to show the general public.  but i have all these other guys in my deck, just waiting for the right circumstance to pop in the game:  a laughing little silly girl; a cynical, untrusting old soul; a prankster type; a klutzorama.  all of them are waiting for their moment to come back, so they can hop around and eat ice cream, or stick their tongue out at someone.

and they don’t necessarily know that they haven’t been out in a while.  some of my personalities are very aware of time, others, my lifeline.  others are … well, pretty clueless and scared.  and sometimes these people pop out on accident, which is maybe what happened on Wednesday, i don’t know.  but then i had someone asking me if i was OK all night, is there some way they can help.

i’m like:  Jesus, i’m not bleeding out of my eyes!  i’m just crazy!  and how are you going to help; have you got a personality organizer handy?

well, anyway, i guess all this came on because i just put up an old poem that uses the word “skritchy”, and that is what i call one of my personalities.

but skritchy is a story for another day….

little fella

there’s a demon in my belly

just dying to get out.

well ok

in reality

it’s in my ribcage

pounding against my heart and

throwing itself against my lungs.

sometimes i can feel it’s

long

skritchy nails

stretching up toward my throat

trying to gag me –

to silence me –

to choke the life out of me.

so i drink a gallon of water

to try to drown him out and

flush him away.

little creep.

relentlessly he

comes crawling back to me,

threatening to

assault my body

and invade me again

if i as much as open my mouth

and breathe.

c. 2009 denelle hobbs

 

collector’s anonymous

i’m a “collector”.  have been since i was a wee thing.  my sister and i collect comic books, regular books, old books, ephemera, toys, vintage finds, quirky odds and ends and broken crap we think we can fix or turn into art.  it’s a fun hobby, but as of yet a disorganized one.  i’m hoping to get my “poop in a group” and get more organized and stream lined so i don’t end up like this:

this is a horader.  he lives down by where i walk every day.  i think he owns two houses that are full of boxes, cat litter, plastic tubs, old game boards, and lots of plastic sheeting.  it smells like cat piss when you walk by, and i can’t begin to imagine what it smells like INSIDE.

plus there’s this issue:

where fat, juicy groundhogs crawl up into the guys attic and run around.  i saw two of them piling in there one day, but didn’t have my camera on me.  so yeah…time to start cleaning house before i have zoo critters moving in!!

why i don’t do drugs

i’ve mentioned before on here – several times i’m sure – that i’m sort of a foodie.

not the rich and knowledgable kind.  i can’t tell you much about truffle oil or where the best foi gras can be found.  but i do enjoy food, and eating, and the process, flavors and experiences that go with all things food.  well…maybe not ALL things food.  it’s likely i wouldn’t enjoy prison food too much, even if it HAD truffle oil in it, which i doubt it does.

anyway, i’d much prefer to be having this today:  as it is overcast and breezy out, and seems like an ideal lunch for today.

but i would be happy with this as well

because i am happy to eat Mexican food any day of the week.  and sometimes more often than that.  however, what i would NOT like for lunch is the topic of this post.  i heard from my sister last night that a man was found in Florida, eating the face off another man, while he was still alive.  now, i’m not implying that this man was also a foodie, and wanting to sample other delicacies he had not heretofore attempted.

he was, apparently, on drugs, and i guess got the munchies and didn’t have enough change on him to pick up a snack.  seeing as how he was NAKED and all.  and while i find it unappetizing to be munching on someone’s face, i am also perplexed about his clothing selection at this time, and why he felt it necessary to be in the buff for this situation.

but this is why i do not do drugs.  at least other than opiates.  because while i might find some men handsome enough, and i might kiss them with a fervor that LOOKS like i’m eating them up, i don’t actually wish to consume anyone.  it’s a personal choice.   cannibalism; not cannibalism.  maybe it’s a degree, like homosexuality.  some people are gay, some people are homophobic, and others fall in the middle somewhere.

so maybe: some people are vegans, some people are cannibals, and i would rather eat Jimmy John’s.