Piecing It Together

Piecing It Together

I try and breathe

I take it one day at a time

Every second seems important

More important than the exhale

I hold it in

Because I can’t let go

I try and count

The moments as I lie awake

The intrusive minutes that bleed into the late evening

When the world changes all around, and yet it all feels still

I try and cope

I haven’t found the best solution

I try, and try again

Yet feel failure with each win

As if I know the peace won’t last

I can’t breathe

My cries overpower my lungs

I gasp with each tear as it chokes me

A smell lingers

A familiar stench of alcohol, cigarettes, and young masculine sweat

So bold, but disguised

I can’t talk about it

Can’t say it aloud

Can’t say how when I close my eyes, I still remember

Remember the music from my laptop, still playing

Remember coming in and out of a “dream”

Feeling more than I could see

I remember, and I’ve tried to forget

I can’t count my tears

They fall hard, staccato, and like tiny wet soldiers

They’re quickly discarded so as to not have any evidence of weakness

And just as fast as they’re wiped away, they return, unwanted

I cope by not coping

Afraid to say how terrified I am at times being approached by people I don’t know

I put on a facade of toughness

I am tough, and yet just a bit scared to let any guard down

I scream inside my head, grit my teeth, tremble, and wait for the moment when I can run

I’ll run as fast, hard, and far as I can

I’ll run from you

I’ll run from them

I’ll run from myself

I don’t know where you are

I don’t know why you did this

I don’t know why I wasn’t successful with letting it all go

Because I tried

I tried to go away

And guilt brought me back

Sometimes it gets painfully difficult to stay

I don’t trust the world

And I don’t know how to fully understand reasoning

I need a reason

I need to know how stupid and pathetic I must have looked for that night to even be thought of

I need to know when my clothes became option

I need to know why both

I need to know if I screamed, because it felt as though I should

I need to know if after you regretted what happened

I need to know whether or not you said penance

I silently cry and torture myself into believing I’m over exaggerating

That what happened wasn’t bad enough

Even my own mind wants to say, I don’t believe you

But I remember pieces

Even when I don’t want to, I feel as though I’m there

I just want to end this

End the memories

End the haze

End the tears

End the jolting behavior

More often than not, just end it

And I try everyday to not give in

I try and hold on for family, which makes me feel like a failure even more

Failing to make myself happy, by just focusing on others

I want to one day feel happy, without feeling a mask on top of that feeling

I’m trying

Contemplating (a break)

It’s hard to say it, 

Let alone scream it from the tops of your lungs —

I was assaulted!

Not even able to say the type of assault, 

You sit silently, 

Trying to catch the sight of someone who makes you out.  

Their eyes tell you they don’t believe you, 

Faster than the words coming out of their mouths. 

You clinch down harder on your tears, 

To keep them from showing just how you haven’t dealt, 

Just hardened the shell.  

Those same eyes glossing over without a blink - - wrenching fingers and pulled nails - - parts of hair in one hand - - and blood between teeth and lips. 

That’s how you deal. 

Until you just can’t. 

///////::——

Contemplating staying longer than I’d like utterly destroys me. 

I’m finding it more difficult to find ways other than excessively working out and neglecting food, to distract me from the inevitable. 

That one day I won’t be able to hold off on going through with my plan.  

That the date I’ve pushed back a few times I’ll push closer. 

And feel the breeze one last time as I choose me over them.  

The staying is destroying me, and I am trying to overcome this situation. 

What’s better: painfully living while waiting for the end? 

Or ending the pain just fast enough to feel as though you’ve lived? 

(Just trying) Keep fighting!

Just Trying

There were times where I sat right in front

In a class of as little as 30

To a class of more than 600

I sat in front, because I wanted an access to run 

If I needed to, I wanted a clear space

There were moments I knew the answers

But still said nothing 

I didn’t speak, and you noticed 

Nothing came of it

I carefully, yet forcefully trekked building to building 

Stone faced, and blaring earbuds 

I was tuning out my surroundings 

Trying to not be seen 

Not wanting to look up

Not wanting to say 

A voice not wanted, and I knew it

Never truly understanding what to say

I was silent 

Scared of what would happen if I tried

I didn’t, and you noticed 

Timid, but bashfully trying to overcompensate 

Just trying 

****************

Keep fighting

Every day I run

I run to see how far I can go

How much I can endure

How long it’ll take me to stop and catch my breath 

Ending a race that never had a start date

A continuation that will never die

I run to run out of air 

To fill my lungs to capacity 

Shatter my chest from the frigid wind that pushes towards me 

I run

I can’t stop

If I do I won’t restart 

I won’t try again 

I need to shove my thoughts down

Under my doubts of being

I run from doubt

I run towards my own second guessing 

I can’t stop running 

If I do I wont see the end

I’ll run forever hoping for a lighter path 

A safer ending 

But I can’t stop

Rise Up

I don’t know what to feel, besides anger, disappointment, and total sadness.  And maybe that’s what I need in order to understand what just took place with the whole Title IX situation.  DeVos decided survivors were not as important as their perpetrators.  Yes, I’m making that assessment, even if Betsy herself won’t come out and say it.  

Title IX is beyond important.  To survivors who tell of their assault(s); to those who haven’t yet grasped what happened to them; to those who still can’t speak of it; and even for future survivors.  Yes, there will be more survivors. And as utterly f***ed as that seems, this is why Title IX is needed. 

It goes beyond universities, and into the minds of young adults.  Title IX protects those not even in college.  Or would have protected them, had DeVos not decided what was best for them.  

My sadness and anger fluctuate, because as a SA survivor, I know, had I understood Title IX, it would have been helpful.  And now, as I continue to learn more about its benefits and guidelines, I cannot let its destruction take place. 

I stand with survivors.  I am a survivor.  I suffer PTSD, even to this day.  And some days it becomes too much to breathe.  Especially when it feels as though rights are being taken away.  But I cannot stop fighting.  I can’t stop for that person who has lost all hope in the system that should protect them.  For that person looking for justice, when everyone disclaims their story. And for the countless others who are nameless.  

I stand with you, will write letters, and I will fight with you, to make sure everyone knows they are not alone.  They were not to blame.  And that they are loved.  

#TitleIX #StopDeVos #SurvivorSupport #NoMore 

~Kyra C.

Adolescence Tested

I walked away.  I walked away from that day.  The day I told of my failures, and was dismissed.  The day I told of my losing value.  I walked away.  Well, I thought I did.  And yet I held onto those nights.  Those days where uncomfortable hands were "normal."  I didn't seem too scared in the moment.  Just confused.  And confused.  And not questioning what was routine for a visit.  Years of consistent images; feeling older than I was; made to know objects, and parts that were intended for married couples . . . I was confused.  Uncomfortable.  But not terrified of the routine.  I had been taught at the young age of three, not to cry, but take the pain.  To toughen up.  To deal.  I had been taught at the age of three to grow up.

*Part one

Emotionless Instruction Needed

Disclaimer **The following post may be triggering for some people**


I sat there, on that traction table, legs propped, staring at the plastered ceiling, the strewn curtain, the fire sprinkler, and the bright white staggered lights. I stared until that curtain began to close from behind. Those same lights now only one bulb, shadowing over my body.

And then my body slowly slid down onto the table -- fixated at the sounds of my increasing heart, drowning out the breaths I was trying to take.

Relax . . . that's what you'll need to do, so that this goes well, she said. Or was it him, telling me from before? Relax.

All I can hear is pounding. Is it my head? My heart? Or my lungs, as I try and scream? Are the sounds producing anything recognizable?

Just relax, is all I hear. I tighten up, as I am told to just relax. Was I too relaxed when I drank? Too relaxed when I partied with a crowd of unknowns? Or too relaxed, as I lied down on a couch, waiting to sleep off my night, waking up to find so many things missing?

I can't seem to recall much, but feeling. And whose feeling is this? Whose feeling did this? Two shadows, standing, and lying beside me. Splayed in a half couch, half floor position, I see them. But where am I? Was I too relaxed to move? To roll off the couch, and walk away?

And why won't this screaming stop? Where were you when I needed to scream, as I felt everything important being ripped from me? Where was that loud, beating heart? Where were the words, that blared over, just relax?

Where did it all go? My scream -- my voice -- my laugh -- my security? And why had I not held closer? Relax, echoes, but it doesn't sound like me.

T minus June 30, 2008, but now

T minus June 30, 2008, but now

The war was isolation
Contemplation, yet inward retaliation
I trapped my tears inside, where I left my screams to hide
I walked, talked, and dreamed of a way out
That same year, I tried for my way out

Nothing came, but a day of pain
And yet, I couldn't remember the names
Faces so mashed, but a taste so potent
The fact that I hadn't yet awoken
Blurred movements, intertwined with clarity

I tried, and yet failed
Something stopped
So much so, my perfectionism hadn't lead me to the drop
Dark is where I was
I was one with the blurred moments

There was forced understanding
Blaming, and second guessing
Focus on strategic placements
And loathing for my staying
One sticky eyelid drop, sleep would make it all stop

But it never did

There still lies a war with isolation
Contemplation, yet inward retaliation
I trap my tears inside, where I leave all my screams and hide
I walk, talk, and dream of a way out
This eighth year, I didn't try for my way out

I constantly wish for clarity
Although photos wouldn't help me
Feeling, it's what removes me
Back to memories, moments and movements, where I don't want to be
One day I'll see, where I can walk, talk and dream of a peace with me

Patterned Fascades

There's so much going on these days.  And yet there's so much to get done.  You'd think that with all this time left from getting rid of a job that wasn't building my future, but basically killing my lungs, I'd have at least written a few promising destruction stories or at least some emo driven sounding anthems to pass the time.  Given only a few weeks have passed since leaving my last job, which I totally worked for one year -- it stems the reason I should be celebrating the passing of those long, 60+ work hours and enjoying some respected freedom, I have been lethargic to be blunt.  And the only amount of time I've been able to subject myself to writing, has been "Happy Birthday" Facebook posts to people I haven't spoken to in quite some time.  Not that I hadn't wanted to reach out to them, but I've been "busy."  Truly busy -- trying not to jump from imaginary ledges, daily, which you can see can distract you from social media fascination.

I've patterned myself, now, to becoming more so what I had envisioned before.  You know?  When I was on a path towards doing something great with my life.  Before I had to buckle down and latch onto a job with benefits, in order to join the adult world of graduated persons.  The world where bills build up so high, you cannot see the dreams that you once gravitated towards.  I had to sell out and take a job that I knew would not build my resume the way I wanted, but just add another few lines of experience.  I worked another job, and eventually grew so tired I didn't have any time left to devote to writing.  No  time for passion.  No time for relaxation.  No time to do what I initially went to school for years and years to do.  And those same years where I grew financial aid debt and knew I'd have to pay back . . . Interesting how you go through debt to study in a field where after graduation it becomes increasingly difficult to live normally in the "real world," and you inherently turn to other realms of work in order to pay back those same loans.  But I still wouldn't trade those years of university for anything.  I know it takes many years to pay back those loans.  More years than it took me to get through schooling -- from pre-K through Graduate school.

But, today starts a new day.  A new adventure if you will.  A time to go back to what really matters.  What mattered all the time, and yet I was too scared to fail that I went and reached for something that didn't give me any happiness.  Only disdain toward my own self.  I reject the pass jobs that never helped me build as an artist.   I long for the purpose, again.  And I begin anew.  I long for more stories.  Not just out of frustration.  But because there's no other way, but to write.  I long for reaching my goals and dreams.  I long for not wanting to leap from ledges in order to find peace . . . I long for becoming who I know I'm suppose to be.  And I need not to just long, but instead go after what I want.

Though it's frightening to jump without knowledge of how you might land.  It's even more scary to continue on a path of uncertainty in something that slowly and constantly takes from you.  Leaving you with nothing left.

It took a year to break the walls of artistic imprisonment, but now that I'm free -- I'm not going back.  I'm branching into a direction that will take guts, courage and lots of alcohol (just a little writers humor -- I'm straight edge, dudes).  I'm going after my own life and career, without a safety net.  Standing on the edge and waiting to catch the wind to carry me over.  But gladly approaching uncertainty and pushing with my heart this time.  And not my school debt.

Between Nothing

Holding on to something that isn't there?  Questions seem to be what continue running through your head whenever you're trying to escape.  Escape the fact you have NO answers to them.

Why is it that when you close your eyes, in an attempt to concentrate on change, nothing does?  And when you open those same eyes, everything is passing?  Except your own thoughts.

Is it a disorder that plagues my mind, and drives my stability wild?  Is it beyond frustration which pushes my thoughts over the edge?  I don't know.  This late evening/early morning I sit here, in full regret.  Trying to change these thoughts, but at the same time knowing it would be easier, and maybe better if I did what they are telling me . . . I fight it.  I try to anyway.  Feelings of being a disappointment.  I stay awake planning my own demise.  I plan to be free someday.  But that someday lurks in the back of my mind.  Each day I feel this way, and walk out like I'm fine . . . I'm not fine.  And when I return I know I want to to be.  Closeness, which some people long for, I dread.  Because just the thought of a nearing touch shocks me to the core.  Like a debilitating punch to the heart.   I hide it very well.  Some people don't bring that out of me.  But it's all too often I sit in the dark, wanting nothing.  Nothing but for the darkness to continue.  Until my senses break down, and I am emotionless.

Going from happy to sad in such a short span, and not wanting to stay in the happy -- I'm over it.  I've come to the point where I feel I made enough of an impact to now be free.  And I want to really want that.  Yet I feel torn with letting those I love down.  And then the vicious hatred of myself and the disappointment come back in.  I've failed to be free.  I've failed to live up to my expectations.  Not that life is too bad to continue, and I'm giving up.  But I've decided I don't want to continue wasting precious moments where other people can live, love and be happy, without thinking of me.  I know that sadness for some people arrive and disappear.  For me it lingers.  But for those who can turn that switch off, my leaving won't destroy them as much as staying (for me) would.

These thoughts border between action and nothing.  So I continue contemplating until a decision is made.  Until then, I leave myself with these words from Secondhand Serenade:

"So please let me be free from you.  Please let me be free.  I can face the truth . . . "

Much Love,

~Kyra C.

How far (Holding on to something that isn't there)

Questions seem to be what continue running through your head whenever you're trying to escape.  Escape the fact you have NO answers to them.

Why is it that when you close your eyes, in attempt to concentrate on change, nothing does?  And when you open those same eyes, everything is passing?  Except your own thoughts.

****************************                                  ****************************

How far would you dare to go
Before you realized you could not swim?

How fast would you tread
Knowing the waves would not stop pushing?

Would that even matter?
If the place you wanted to go was below?

Underneath the surface of your own
Being?  Trapped, screaming with inflamed lungs

Witnessing no panic
But glimmering eyes of passed sadness

Could you take in every bit of your hoped for life?
 As you sensed the frigid shock of water crashing?

Stop in mid shiver to wonder about the deep?
Forget ALL and greet the unknown?

How far would you dare to go
Before you realized you never needed to swim?

Just fall and let go
Of everything that weighed you down, above

Open your eyes, heart and lungs to
A world with NO plagued memories

Just a clean path
Far beneath the surface

Self Faith (short story)

Sitting here with a belt around my neck . . . Not figuratively.  But literally.  Listening to songs that put me in a mood that should not cause pain.  But forge thoughts of them.
**************************************
She sat there, with her belt tightly gripping her throat.  Waiting:  for the impact of its snap; or the squeeze of her shaking hand.  She needed to feel something, so she tested her strength, tugging to one side the leather belt loop.  She fastened the buckle and sat back.  Pacing her breaths.  Looking at the door hook, and concentrating.  "There were options . . . " she wondered.  But even she couldn't believe her own thoughts anymore.  It was better for all options to lead to one outcome:  peace.  Jumping from atop the highest point she could reach:  another choice.  There, she would float, gently above, as she waited to come back down.  Down to her new world.

Originality, where have you gone?

I've been away from "pop culture" for awhile now.  I do not own a television, and haven't for a few months.  I also do not listen to the radio, unless it's on when I'm out in public.  So, when logging onto my Facebook, it seems like being bombarded with images and posts of what the world has been up to, and I've blocked myself away from.  Not that it's a bad thing.  But in this day and age, not knowing what's going on, besides checking the news sites and newspaper is like taking yourself away from the real world.  Not originally my interpretation.  But I'm sure it's being said somewhere.

I log onto Facebook, and there's a song/video, which apparently has been number one on some list(s) for a few weeks or so.  Nothing new there . . . And I take a listen/watch the video just to see what the hype is.  It's found here, http://music-mix.ew.com/2013/11/20/christina-aguilera-great-big-world-say-something-video/

I think the song is okay.  However the visuals?  The scenes in the video just got me thinking.  Why is it that whenever there is a song that just so happens to have ballad-like chords, ie. a piano or guitar, there is either a sappy couple, a sad looking animal, a distraught child and/or an elderly couple -- likely married -- where one is on the brink of death?  I only ask this question, because in the day and age of millions of music videos that seemingly rip off each others concepts, there truly isn't a force of originality out there.

Again, not saying the song is bad.  Or that this doesn't work . . .  But let's take away Christina Aguilera's sauntering into the room, while a piano is played.  Let's also take away the piano playing male singer, and strictly focus on the story through images.  What is being told?  What is new, which we haven't already seen?  Is there a reason why duplicating said images in most videos is done ONLY to pressure a feeling that constantly happens when people are pushed towards emotional recall?  And if that's the case, why not just let the song speak for itself?  After all, interpretation is what ties each listener to a specific song or lyric.

I love music videos -- artistic ones, and even some which I've seen done numerous times.  But when are these templates at the point of overly used?  Can't we as artists, directors, writers (also artistically driven) think beyond that same template?  Don't we have the courage to think outside the proverbial box and make our own standard.

They say "imitation is the greatest form of flattery," but I would like to think creation, coinciding with originality is where the greatest form shall lie.  I've seen it done before.  Just lately not as much.

Or maybe I should dive back into the world of social media . . . find another video, and cry along with its imagery.  Besides, that is what the director intended.  Right?
---------------------------------------------                                ----------------------------------------------
**Yes, I do understand we've all duplicated something once.  And that there are templates for a reason.  And yes, I also understand their need and also ours when creating for the masses.  Alas, I too, have fell victim of those same practices before (in other material).  But I know when NOT to use them.  Or do I?**

Confused Much?

Sometimes we are at the top of our game -- riding these amazing adventures, and not looking down.  Other times, we are just trying to grab onto something.  Anything.  But we just can't.

It is as though we feel we aren't good enough.  Not worthy enough to make ourselves happy.  Or possibly not good enough to take in that happiness.  I know many people who feel that way.  Heck, I do, on some occasions.  And many of my past posts have been an indication of that.

But still, we keep going.  Some of us.  We keep pressing on.  Because we don't REALLY want to give up.  To not reach our potential.  Yet, those moments when nothing seems feasible, we think we can't.  Can't make it.  Can't survive what we've just gone through, or constantly been enduring.

To those people:  (as "Hallmark" as it sounds) you have to keep going.  And I know this contradicts my own thoughts.  Especially when they continue to change.  One moment I'm happy.  Thrilled to be here.  Other times?  I feel as though EVERYTHING is coming down, crashing all around me.  I don't want to be a burden with my words.  This is MY blog, so, I just thought I'd describe myself.

It's confusing.  I know.  These moments confuse me too.  Just earlier, I was happy, smiling and thinking of the future.  And then . . . out of nowhere, something clicked.  Like an autopilot switch.  One that constantly is in between, but more so on the off position.

You become entranced in thoughts.  But those thoughts are blank.  Weird, eh?  Blank thoughts, which then turn into memories.  Ones that are in fact actually you -- in that moment -- in that space -- as though time were standing still, and you were just observing.  But it's not an observation.  It's you.  It's me.

We are the same.  We are what forces one another to not give in to our forced wants.  Because quick fixes are indeed not the solution.  We are the same.  Pushing one to fight until we cannot stand to go any further.

And then -- click.  We're back in the same situation.

Glue

It's another Friday, and I'm sitting inside my room.  Nice weather.  It's mid afternoon.  And the blinds remain closed.  I want to travel outside, and feel the air.  But instead, I sit here, beside my three fans.  And let the modified breeze take over.  I don't think of things to do -- fun, exciting, young adult, or 20 something things to do -- because that's just not who I am.  Although, I could be wrong.  I could be that person, wanting to dance the night away.  Going for a drink in a sports bar, while cheering on my favorite team.  I don't know . . . I never really knew, because I let myself stay in too much.  I've become accustomed to taking chances, professionally, and educationally -- more so than personally.  Not that I think of myself as afraid to try.  Just afraid of failure.  And what's to be afraid of, anyway?  

Each day continues to play out the same way.  And I'm drained each morning, thinking of the never changing cycle.  At times though, my focus changes, but not on the positive.  Not on going out and trying something new.  No, instead, my focus switches to daydreaming about a new life.  A new journey.  One that's not on this earth.  You see, I can force myself to think ahead -- way  ahead -- as if nothing matters.  But that's only when EVERYTHING matters.  And when everything is drowning me.  

I'm stuck.  I'm at the point in my life where either I should be out exploring (especially in the city I live in), and having fun.  But I can't.  I don't know why.  I don't understand how I can feel the need for a change, but just can't do it.  

I work hard.  I stay focused.  Big deal -- most people do.  And I put extreme amounts of perfectionist pressure on myself.  Big deal -- again, most people do.  I've had the same mentality of never feeling good enough, ever since I was young.  That, I know, will never go away.  So, I push it aside, not thinking about it, and stay focused.  I continue working hard, never letting myself think of what I could be doing.

And then I take a break -- because someone says, "relax, you've been working too hard.  You need sleep, or to just get away from what you're doing for a little while.  Then go back to it."  So I take their advice, and breathe.  But that's when I feel my throat closing.  When I feel I'm losing control.  Each time I take a break, I'm never really relaxed.  I remain focused on what still hasn't been done.  What needs to be accomplished.  What I haven't gotten right.  And what I know I messed up on.  I can't take the break.

The only break, which comes from me, hyperventilating, is what sends me to cringe.  I break.  This isn't something new.  Or fascinating.  Most people reach their boiling point.  And I do the same.  I control it, to the point nobody knows.  So that I can't make them worry.  You see, I worry about other people reacting to what I'm doing.  

Perfectionist.  That's me.  Always wanting the best -- especially for others.  And when I feel pressure piling up, I hide it.  "No worries," I tell people, who ask how I'm doing.  "Everything's great," I push out of my typing, to those who send me a message to check in.  I don't like speaking on what I'm going through.  Unless it's positive.  Not that I don't think people would want to know, and help.  But, I've always found it difficult to ask for that.  To proclaim I cannot do something.  That I'm not adequate enough.  Even when I do think that, most times -- I can't say it to someone else.  

And as the time continues to change, I continue to sit.  In the same spot I was when I woke up.  I'm taking a break.  A mental break.  And one I'm too familiar with, which breaks me even more.  

It's not every day.  But most days, when I feel drained.  Yet I keep going.  But in the back of my mind, I know I want to stop.  Stop it all.  So, I pretend (to myself) I'm alright.  My self knows better, but it goes with it, anyhow.  On those days, when all I can see is taking another route -- a one way journey, I force myself to continue.  

I don't know how long I'll be able to keep it up.  But for now, I'm still trying.  And although my mind drifts back and forth, between being up and down, I remain upbeat for those I love.  Even when at times, I can't feel the same towards myself.  I'm stuck.  Wanting to get away from it all, on most days.  And feeling nothing, on others.  

I'll take this break, and then I'll get back to being focused.  I need this break, and yet when I'm on it, I'm not really.  But, I'll try and keep going.  I'll try, because I know I'm working towards something I want.  And the perfectionist side of me, won't stop until I make it.  So, I have to make it.  I have to force myself to NOT break.  

Because if I do, I'll never get to feel the real breeze.   

Nathan Bransford, Author: How to Know You're a Writer (In GIF Form)

Nathan Bransford, Author: How to Know You're a Writer (In GIF Form): Any time you're not writing your novel you're still thinking about your novel: When people ask you for your thoughts on their...

Just Do It . . .

You can sit inside a coffee shop -- where you're going to begin to reek of coffee beans.  You can constantly make lists -- which slowly get checked off.  Or, you can just get back to work.  Now, I'm not totally speaking of procrastination.  I'm talking about that little urge one gets when they're half focused and half perturbed at not being completely there.  I'm talking about the minute when you're working on something and then you lose your work, before hitting SAVE.  I'm discussing the moment when your deadline hits and it's already the next day.  Nike has a motto for continuance.  Right?  Well, that crap doesn't always work.  "Just do it . . ."  That only works when complete concentration is there.  It only works when you want it badly.

Getting work done, means putting in the work.  It means sucking it up, and just doing it.  When your recording a song, it means -- take after take, keep going until it's where it needs to be.  If you're working on a blog post (hey there), it means to continue writing until you hit, "publish," and you're fine with the outcome.  Although for some of us writers, you're never really all that happy with the outcome -- not entirely.  And lastly, for those of us that write larger pieces -- it's about starting, no matter how early or late, and continuing until you feel that click inside -- that part that says, YOU'VE GOT IT . . . KEEP GOING.  When you make it to that moment, that's when no time frame, no smell of coffee beans, and no abundantly insane lists make you cringe.  That's when you know you can do it.  That's when Nike makes a valid point.  That's the moment in where you can't think of anything else, but to keep writing.  And you do.  You Just Do It.

This . . . this is why I LOVE Mariska!

Watch the video below, and you'll see yet another reason why I LOVE Mariska Hargitay!

Stopping to save lives?

So, what happened to me today? 

I guess there is a reason behind being in the right place at the right time.  Less than one hour ago (around 6:45pm or 7:00pm), while biking back -- taking my normal route -- I spotted something strange happening.  No, the immovable traffic was not that . . .  Well, not entirely.  No, I witnessed stopped traffic, because there was a guy behind the wheel of a KIA, trying to go onto the freeway, from the exit ramp.  Yes, bizarre, I know.  But that wasn't the weirdest part.  The most surreal part was, get this, no one wanted to help.  Instead, everyone's first reaction was to just blow their horns and proceed to scream at the unaware, elderly gentleman.

Not me, however -- I didn't know it before my bike trip, but I guess I was ready for anything.  I jumped off my bike, once I crossed the intersection -- and walked up to the mans car.  Fortunately his passenger window was slightly down, so I could get my words to him.  I stayed with him, trying to calm him down.  He didn't have to show it, but I knew he had to be terrified:  everyone staring at him, mostly because he was going onto ongoing exit ramp freeway traffic, but also because this was out of the norm.  I spoke ever so gently, trying to ease his mind.  While also keeping an eye on the cars that were unsure what was going on.  I asked questions, just as if my American Red Cross training kicked in -- just in time.  Yes, I knew how to check if someone was incoherent, and no, just because he was trying to enter an exit ramp, did not justify my assessment.  I continued to ask him question after question.  I made sure to assure the other drivers that I was doing something to hopefully prevent him from crashing into ANYONE. 

Well, lets just say the questions were answered in a round-about way, where everything was done with a "yes," and head nod.  Obviously he wasn't okay.  And neither was the situation.  Even some of the stopped traffic goers -- the non douchebag ones (who yelled at the guy, and myself) offered and did call the Police.  I called too.  Hey, the more officers, the better.  Because I had been there for such a long time, I guess people began to think I was part of the situation.  And partially that was correct.  I was trying to prevent any harmful ordeal. 

After about 10 minutes of getting the elderly gentleman to look at me, and stop his car -- leading into him putting his car back in drive and inching up ever so frighteningly, I had had enough of my own bartering.  I had to make a defensive choice.  And this was completely imposing to him -- but I had to enter his vehicle (good thing it was unlocked) without his permission.  I had asked him to either put his car in Reverse, or Park -- but with his mental state, he'd just go back into Drive every few moments.

So, I asked one more time, and then I just went in.  I opened his door, realized his car was an Automatic -- I quickly put his car in Park and took his keys out of the ignition.  After that, I knew it would be okay -- for the other cars.  But for him, I was still unsure.  Officer Baldwin of the FHPD arrived on the scene in a good amount of time, and that's when I could release my first breath of fresh air.  A trained person had shown up.  Officer Baldwin came over, and I told him what happened (what I just told you guys), and then I gave him the keys.  He told me what I wasn't even thinking at that moment:  that I might have saved someones life.  Especially since it looked as if nobody else wanted to step up and do the right thing.  That by comforting the elderly man, and quickly taking action, I made sure no damage occurred. 

I didn't leave once the officer arrived.  I made sure to stay with the gentleman until the combined Fire Rescue and Ambulance showed up.  And even after that, I waited with him, right up until they loaded him onto a stretcher and into the EMS.  If he didn't think he had anyone, he had me. 

Gawkers . . . It amazes me how many times we see gawkers and get mad that they're holding up the flow of traffic, yet we never think about why it's happening.  Or whether the people halting the traffic are trying to make a difference . . . It's just fascinating.  Don't you think? 

On the way back from biking another 12 miles . . . I was just in the right place at the right time. 

I guess that's the good thing about taking a bike, instead of a car . . .

Layered

 

This is what most people think of, when they think of children:  an open space; a jungle gym; a peaceful day.  And yet it's empty.  There are no inhabitants.  Nothing but wildlife to run a muck   The way that it was originally intended to be.  A preserve for those who were here prior to the construction of pieced land.  Animals sneaking their way into the grass, flying so low, so that they can have what humans have made theirs.  Almost as if that small patch is their journey home.  Like Dorothy, just hoping to find their way back.  Back into their reality:  nature.  Untouched by human hand or machine.  Preserved, and still reserved for their rights.  To roam, jump, fly, or climb, just like any other human (minus the flying -- unless on a swing  :-p).

Fighting To Die (an original song)

**Disclaimer:  This is just a song!  The lyrics are meaningful, but in this time period, it's just a song.**

Fighting to Die (5:02)

Written by Kyra "Kacee/Klayster" Clay

(Guitar and Vocals-Kyra)

I can't take it anymore

Tried to break it down to it's core

Living proof, death still lives

Fighting down inside, fighting down inside

Fighting down inside

So, kill me quick

Make it sick

Fill your regret with remorse

Let me quit the fight, I'm ready to die

I wanted reality

But people played with me

I wanted a way from you

You kept showing up

Little by little

My breath slipped away, from you

So kill me quick

Make it sick

Fill your regret with remorse

Let me quit the fight, I'm ready to die

Ready, ready to die

Ready, ready to

Ready, ready, ready to die

Ready to die

I'm ready, ready ready

I wanted freedom, in my religion

By the time it happened, I was gone

I wanted my life, you weren't inside

By the time you showed up, it was at my gravestone

So grab me

Shake me

Still can't wake me up

I've fallen into  the other side

It was quick

I felt sick

No regret or remorse

Quit the fight

I was ready to die

To die, die, die

To die, to die, to die

I was ready, I was ready

To die, to die, to die

I was ready to die

I was ready to die

I was ready to die

I was ready...to..die