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Part 3... Chapter 14... The Train Has Crashed...

31/8/2017

Evening Thoughts. It’s been a while but I’ve returned to push thoughts onto page. Only this time I’m here in front of the computer tapping away at the keyboard, not frantically writing on paper and scribbling out mis-spelt words.

For total loss into one’s own imagination of reality I find pen and paper the best. It’s easy and absorbent.
The paper soaks in the liquid ink with every word my brain is telling the hand and fingers to transcribe. All done in a nano second without me being consciously aware of it, only subconsciously blinded by it.

The flowing ink starts to evoke my archive of gathered changes. My demons tension and silent conflicts are saying it’s time to rein in whats useful Amanda and spit out whats not.
On the plastic letter tapping, my mind is slower on getting what I want to spell out. My eyes are darting around the key board, probably making me look like some deranged freaked out woman searching for the right letter.
By the time I finish a sentence and read the screen back to me, count how many red squiggly lines have joined my moment, re-type what I had just typed, then read again. Fuking hell mum, my mind wonders off to another orb.

God me and my thinking lately, what a crock of shite, who am I? … Maybe when I read all this diary life stuff back in my last years I may find out lol.

So here we go, let the keyboard tapping begin…

Relax is something my mind, body and spirit has wanted to claim for too long a time to remember. I have known for some time what has needed to change on my path, to bring my heart beat down to a slower pace. I’m taking the left shoulders advice and siding with the devil in this time dimension.
My partner, from this point on shall be refer to as ‘Him’ or ‘He’ or even ‘It’ or 'This' and ‘That’. Followed by a few degrading add-ons. Because that is all he is and has been for me and to me for three fuking years now.
I have finally come back to my senses. My She Demon is back and I feel empowered with her.

Consequences after the action is something in the future I cannot see. At present, whatever the future holds I am prepared for it.

A year before the accident the relationship was dripping its love into a pit of nothing. Our feelings for each other were on an oil drenched knife edge, waiting for someone’s labour to sharpen its blade.

It has taken this long and it is I who has sharpened that blade. It’s time to sever the spinal cord of this relationship.

In my forming of concepts, the blade was sharpened when I became a Paraplegic, and for the past two years our relationship has been living on a blunt false promise.

I must change my life path and start my new life alone. 36 years with an able body allowed me to live my life and go anywhere I wished without question or answer to anyone. Now for the rest of my living days I belong to the NHS and my ‘dis-abled’ body shall walk no more to the places I want to be alone in. To the places only I knew I took myself for solace.

Now… Hahaaa… Aaaarrrggghhhhh!!!!!! I scream out my emotions loud because there are no words that can describe my mood or my present state of mind, again, and the unknown circumstances of how things are going to turn out when I bring up the subject of ‘Us’ to ‘Him’ for the last time.

How ‘He’, conducted himself on return from his birthday drink with the boys, was the last straw for me. Hence all the typed words above.

I hear a loud thud, a whack, a bang, all at the front door and a jingle sound from keys trying to find the key hole. What a fuking idiot, an absolute fuking ignoramus, totally lacking intelligence.

This is it, this is what I’ve been waiting for.

After his long struggle with not being ‘able’ to find the key slot I phoned upstairs to my daughter who was in bed, to come down and let the numbskull in.

As she opened the front door ‘It’ fell in. Pushing my daughter out of the way as his body slammed into the living room door frame. She asked me if I’d be ok, as he was that paralytic, could only slurrrr his words and barely stand up.

I told her to go back to bed. I didn’t want her to see anymore from this ‘Jackass’.

‘He’ stayed fixed in a crippled pissed up pose, leaning against the wall by the stairs. He'd do well in a live drawing class for pissed morons.

I watched ‘Him’, in my ‘own paralysed crippled pose’ from my bed, all awhile rolling a joint. ‘He’ could be there for some time I thought.

At the half way point on my spliff there was movement in the shadows by the stairs. He’s woken up. It was like the shadow of Dracula creeping up the stairs in the old silent black and white film Nosferatu lol.

He dragged his staggered limp walk over to my bed, lent over me and looked at me, well more of a triple glazed stare really, not even ‘He’ could tell which one of my faces ‘He’ was actually trying to speak to lol...

Mumbling fuk knows what as his legs started to slowly give way sliding him down closer to me. At this point I’m telling him to get up but ‘He’s’ not coherent enough to hear me. With the next flash in the pan ‘He’s’ trying to kiss me while getting his cock out.

I mean, for fuk sake mun. He didn’t, and wouldn’t try to partake in any para sex before and now he’s off ‘His’ head trying to get his soft cock wet… Oh My God ‘He’ has seriously lost his worth.

I tried to brush him off, within seconds his body weight is crushing me. I shout to him ‘No, what the fuk are you doing’. Drops of salty tears well up in his eyes as I’m pushing him off me ‘He’s’ saying ‘Sorry’…

SORRY!?... ‘He’ never explained or could explain why and what he was saying sorry for. Where did that come from? It was so bizarre, but that’s the way it was.

He moved away from me, well I say moved, it was more of ‘He’ bounced randomly around the room away from me. Trying to keep himself vertical was a struggle as ‘He’ made his way through the kitchen to the downstairs bathroom. This time I hear another whack, bang, wallop, equalling someone’s loss their balance.

I shout out ’Are you ok?’ I hear a groan in response, followed by the sound of vomit spray hitting the floor, kitchen, bathroom, I didn’t know where ‘He’ had landed.

I call to him again but all I can hear back is muffling and slight movements. ‘He’ has been sitting, lying or whatever position ‘He’ is in, for the length of time it has taken me to roll another Jah blessed invention. I toked in a fair few deep lungs full and contemplated, before I phoned my daughter again to come back down stairs and help the invalid.

Her words on observation were thus… ‘He’ is like a baby lying in its own sick'.

I love my daughter more than anyone. She has always come first, so to wake her up again and ask for her help to lift from the floor ‘This’ weak, pathetic excuse of a grown man, needing to be carried by a petite 18-year-old girl, to ‘His’ sofa bed. To take off 'His' boots and jacket. Peel off 'His' sick soaked t-shirt. Pull the pillows behind his head and a blanket over 'Him'.

While all I could do was watch over what I had asked my daughter to do. Looking back, I wish I had let my daughter sleep and left 'Him' on the floor of his choosing swimming in his own mess.

It wasn’t how I was expecting it but ‘He’ came out of this shell after taking copious amounts of Mr Alcohol to give him the balls to do so. Shame it made ‘Him’ look like the fool ‘He’ is. Self-defeated, by whatever has been brewing in ‘His’ head.

The Train Has Crashed...

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Part 3… Chapter 13… Now look at us…

20/8/2017

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Hi thoughts. What are you doing to me? It seems that you have an angel perched high on one shoulder and a devil perched higher on the other. Neither one will stop bickering. It goes on and on. I’m squabbling with myself about myself. I mean, get with the program Amanda.

The devil is saying, ‘Fuk him, just kick him out. What is he doing for you???...

He even answers his own question with, ‘FUK ALL’!!!

The angel is saying the complete opposite, ‘Work at it, give it time’.

I can’t go with that.

How much time do we need.

It will be two years this July since the accident. Two bloody hard years that have past sooo quick, and I have changed sooo much.

I don’t hate him. I feel for him as I feel for me. I want happiness and so does he, but we don’t want it with each other. Those days are gone.

I remember the first time we held hands before we had even kissed. We hadn’t been on dates or anything like that, we had just met up regularly for a drink or a smoke and catch up, for a good few months. Getting to know each other as friends.

Then one night after we had left the pub, I needed the toilet so popped into another pub across the road. I told him I’d catch up with him and the others.
To my surprise I find him waiting for me outside the pub and as we walked across the road he took my hand. That was the start of our relationship.

A few weeks later he said that whatever happens we will always be friends. We didn’t know if we were going to be long or short term fuk buddies or what the future held, who does. It’s only thinking about it now that I see us crossing the road again as he takes my hand.

Reminiscing on good times past.

It would be lovely to remember with nostalgic happiness if the words spoken then were true and remembered by him..

Now look at us.

I’m scribbling away in my diary thoughts that should come out in conversation. While he’s engrossed in face book conversing with anyone but me…

I’m sad.

He’s sad.

There’s sadness in every vibration we emit and surround ourselves with.

I thought we had something nobody else could ever have.

We were solid, with what seemed an indestructible passion for each other.

Now we are held together with passion destroyed and replaced with confused gestures of good will.

It feels like we’re on the tracks of a speeding train with no breaks to grind us to a haunt. Instead I feel it keeps pelting us forward until the inevitable crash brings our journey to its end…

His birthday will be upon him soon. I won’t be pulling out all the stops this time.
I have asked him if he wants to go out for a drink, although I wasn’t really wanting to go myself. To my relief he declined so I suggested why not get the boys together and go out for a few.

He answered with the, ‘Yeah, I may do’.

He did pluck up the motivation to go out with the boys, then found the energy for a deep breath to say, ‘I won’t be home late’.

Frankly I didn’t give a fuk what time he wanted to stroll home.

Why did he feel the need to say that?

He never had or needed to before.

My daughter was with me so I was in safe hands should anything go pete tong.

This is what I mean about our confused gestures of good will.

I’m more on the devils side than the angels.

My heart is creating a seal around it, bright red in colour. Not of blood but of Lucifers’ wings stopping it bleed. Until the seal becomes as hard as the shell that protects it. My mind…

It’s getting late. I’m going to put my thoughts to rest. Although they are bursting to find freedom and peace with a time to start living.

Laterzzz Pen, for now…

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Part 3… Chapter 12… Time goes fast its 2009...

17/8/2017

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Oh hello, let me see. What do I have to say this time. It’s been awhile as usual. It’s becoming a habit. It hasn’t been a regular pick up the pen to flit away the days thoughts with ink.

Christmas saw the smile on my face as happy as the Mona Lisa and as false as the Christian celebration of their Christ’ birthday. In a season belonging to the Pagan Wheel of the Year. The almanac of our Sabbats and Esbats have been stolen to control the masses with order and faith.

Bloody sacrilege lol.

For the first time in my life it was hard trying to keep the smile smiling with good intentions. It was all staged, and the performance wasn’t good enough for an applause from the audience. So, I got pissed and before I knew it, it was all over.

Thank Fuk!

The New Year came in without any bangs in the bedroom, or should I say living room. Although that was the obvious inevitability but hey ho, the year had begun.
A letter I had anxiously been waiting to arrive in 2008, finally made it. With news I wasn’t expecting at all, and mores to the point news I still have a confusing and conflicting understanding of.

I cannot understand how the police statements, my partner’ and my own don’t tally. In short, they say this;

‘He’ States:
‘He hears a scream. Ignores it. Hears it again. Wakes up. Gets dressed. Walks to the living room. Balcony doors are open, he looks over. Sees me. Jumps over to help’.
There was or he 'feels' that there was, an intruder/burglar as certain items of his are missing.

‘Hmmm’, are my thought on that. They have been from the first time he said it.

The Police Report States:
‘There was no third party involved at the scene. No evidence suggests that there was. Neither does it suggest that I fell over the balcony myself.
A high percentage of circumstantial evidence suggests that I was 'thrown over’.

I Abstractly State:
‘I enter the pub using the fire escape stairs. Saw ‘Him’ on the bed? It could have been the night before when I came back from closing Crowley's. I head towards the living room. I ‘may’ have heard something’.

I went along with my partners memory/possible intruder.

I didn't know why I went along with 'His' version of the night's events, but I/We did and it didn't make sense next to the police statement.

From what the evidence suggests, a fight/scuffle had taken place judging from the disarray of the living room. A smashed half pint glass which used to hold dried daffodils, was knocked from the book shelf and scattered over the floor. A glass of coke-cola knocked over and spilt. The two swivel wicker chairs had been spun and faced the wall. My bangles and necklaces were found in various directions on the floor. My laptop turned upside down. The whole room was clearly saying something had taken place but there was no evidence of a break in.

It’s time to call in Scooby Doo and the gang me thinks, because this certainly is a mystery case.

In my mind, I have a piece of coarse unbleached cloth affixed to a wooden frame being supported on the easel. A truth in textile is waiting to be painted onto it. Embedding each coloured brush stroke into the canvas. Bursting its story from the depths of my thoughts to make of it what I will.

Without my own recollection, there is nothing of worth to retrieve.

There are only three colours needed to paint my story, I know that much. The only colours I can see mixed on my palette are different shades of black. Ready to be sprawled onto the fibres creating its background like a tattoo. Cascading to the centre and merging into multiple shades of grey like charred coals.

With red hot lava bubbling deep inside my volcanic mind is ready to cover everything in the deep shade of blood red… exploding like fireworks.

So, no-one knows what happened. Everyone has conflicting statements. Memories are void for the two concerned and evidence is sketchy.

It’s a shock to my system right now. All of it again is filling my emotional world with now angry tears of why and why again. Why am I fuking here. I didn’t fuking ask to live in a fuking wheelchair.

What path am I on?...

Who is on it with me?...

With so many religions and so many gods, if there is just one of them on my path I wish He or She, would come clean and just give it to me straight.

What is ‘My’ mission here on earth? Hey, am I the chosen one? lol

‘Mind over matter prevails in all situations’. Is this my preaching? Hahaa! Fuk me. I think I’m going slightly mad.

I know my preaching right now would be more off the scale with my Pagan beliefs and totally not on pare with the New Testament, The Holy Quran, All Hinduism Gods/Goddesses, the Buddhism Tripitakas, the Sikhis Guru Granth Sahib. Judaism’ two religious books Torah and Talmud, Confucianism with its four texts, Jainism with The Agamas or Shintoism Kojiki….

Can the list get any fuking longer?

There are so many, which makes bumping onto one god quite likely if they are all around us rather than in our thoughts. Brainwashed into us as children only to be questioned when we’re adults.

This doesn’t amuse me. It pains me to think I’m even thinking there is a god never mind the off chance I’ll bump into one for the truth. There was no guardian angel watching over me on the 16th July 2007. Only man’s bloody intervention keeping the surgeon happy rich and the patient lives disabled and poor.

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