BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,
BTRIPP
btripp

if it weren't for real BAD luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all ...

I just HATE it when I get to feeling like this. I have NO coping mechanisms for this sort of thing. I mean, the dollar amounts are, if not trivial, at least not significant, but the combination of all these motherfucking shitbag scumsucking dickheads all coming at me at once (I swear ... if I ever get back to financial affluence, these asswipes will have to fucking BEG for my business) with the current reality that I can't get a job is just KILLING me. I had a very "wavering" moment tonight involving a bridge over the Chicago River ... that dark water looked like a REAL good option for more than a few minutes. This is part of the problem of having spent my entire youth drunk. I had ONE emotional response ... drink until I didn't feel anything anymore. Unfortunately, since I quit drinking (over 16.5 years now), I have lost my one defense, so all this stuff comes at me like salt on a wound.

A lot of folks are trying to talk me into "getting medicated". I just can't see doing that (unless by "medicated" one means giving up on the sobriety thing, since I think quite frequently about that sweet oblivion that I used to know). I mean, 90% of the time I'm FINE, it's only when I have to deal with the money stuff that I lock up, get twitchy, start stuttering and spasming, and the whole panic attack "can't breathe" thing. Of course, it really doesn't help that EVERYBODY in my life who SHOULD be in a "supportive role" totally dismisses my difficulties. Hell, The Wife acts like "it's all an act" ... like I'm TRYING to hyperventillate, like I'm somehow "pretending" not to be able to get through words I'm trying to say, like I'm making up sudden localized screaming headaches! I just can't see turning my entire perceptive system over to some shrink to "medicate away" what would take care of itself IF I ONLY COULD GET A FUCKING DECENT JOB!!! I mean, I've NEVER been able to "deal with" financial stuff, but I used to always have enough income to keep the ball rolling ... now, every little thing is a CATASTROPHE and NOBODY fucking cares about how it effects me! Well ... not nobody ... Daughter #1 is quite worried about me and keeps coming up with ideas like how she could wash cars or walk dogs for money ... I haven't been able to figure out how to explain to her that the sort of money we need is WAY more than what that would bring in. No, Daddy needs a REAL JOB, but who the FUCK is going to hire Daddy these days? Hell, who the FUCK is going to hire Daddy if he's letting some shithead shrink load him up with zombie dust?

Damned if I do, damned if I dont ... story of my fucking life. That's why the "let them collect the insurance" option looks better by the day. I just can't go on feeling like this. I am stripped down to raw nerves and the god-damned world is spritzing me with lye.

The ONLY thing (except for The Girls, and even they have the GUILT thing hung all over them) that keeps me going is my poetry ... it's like my "baseline" the ONE THING of value that this god-damned mundane hellhole of a world hasn't figured out a way to tear out of my hands. I am SO wanting to get the damned archive site ... http://i.am/btripp ... finished ... I want that to stand as some sort of marker that I WAS HERE ... I DID SOMETHING ... and then let the fucking chips fall where they may. Right now the poems are the only thing between me and that world ... my last buffer ... the last wall holding back suicide or total psychotic rage. Here's another one ... hope somebody bothers to read it.


                    UNENDING PAIN


                    the dread attacks,
                    forgotten horrors
                    spring from shadows,
                    nightmares surprise,
                    unfolding in the day;
                    and every evil
                    wells to the real
                    to strike us down

                    we can not prepare,
                    we can not defend,
                    blindside assaults
                    eviscerate at will;
                    we are broken and bleeding,
                    we are wounded and lost,
                    fallen in our battle,
                    defeated by their world

                    we wake sometimes
                    and think that terrors
                    were of the night
                    and gone away,
                    how hideous the seeing
                    that these monstrosities,
                    these trials and agonies,
                    are irrevocably here

                    no, it is the good
                    which is the mirage,
                    it is the pleasant
                    which fades at dawn,
                    it is the joyous
                    which is banished
                    when mundane worlds
                    rise as they are

                    every time
                    we sense a freeing,
                    every time
                    we feel we might escape,
                    these crueller truths
                    flood in upon us
                    leaving only anguish
                    and this unending pain



                             - Brendan Tripp
                                02/12/2002

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
 
 



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