BurningPaperDreams

[burningpaperwerewolf]

Rillington Place

I’m watching a movie about a serial killer from the 40′s and 50′s. Reginald Christie. I can’t imagine what would possess a man to have urges to do the things this guy did. And to be so emotionless and calculated. He obviously struggled with anxiety, but that seemed to be the only emotion he conveyed other than anger. He used mental illness as well as other debilities to disguise his capabilities. He walked sort of bent over like he had a back problem, but this was just to make him seem harmless. This particular film didn’t show his necrophilia, but it was hinted at. Makes me wonder why ever decided that hanging as a death penalty was ever “cruel and unusual”? The mind is such a curious thing. Ironic how regardless of what evil acts follow, they all originate in the mind.

[burningpaperwerewolf]

I love documentaries and I don’t give a shit what you think about it

[burningpaperwerewolf]

Learning Silence

How can silence be a good thing? For one, I can’t shut up must of the time. I have a hard listening when I have something to respond with. I’m actually a good listener, I suppose. If I wasn’t, I don’t think I could be so empathetic towards so many people. Funny, I feel empathetic, but I’m known to be an asshole by so many of my friends. I’m learning this go-around that silence has so many advantages that I’ve never enjoyed. When you don’t play your cards, they remain your cards. No one else gets to see them, judge them, or decide if the game has been lost or won. Some might argue life’s not a game, but all the bits and pieces match perfectly. Depending on how you play a game, you may win or you may lose. And the decisions you make in life will lead to either a positive or negative outcome. Now, perspective is everything in determining how you feel about that, but still for the most part - it’s all just a game. I have to learn to shut up and let her have her voice; let her be heard. Usually she figures out how wrong she is without my pointing it out eventually anyways.

[burningpaperwerewolf]

Lord give me strength to endure people who are repeatedly telling me they can’t breathe with breath they’re breathing from their lungs through their vocal chords.

[burningpaperwerewolf]

Missing a child is like the worst depression. It’s not right. Even knowing quarantining is required it just hurts. It would be different if I had an ex-partner who valued my relationship with my child. Alas, I do not. Thus the attempted electronic communication is typically painful and depressing in and of itself. Today hurts and there’s nothing that I can do to stop it.

[burningpaperwerewolf]

Happy Fucking Valentines Day

So today I had to bury my dog. She wasn’t just my dog. In fact, she had lived most of her life as my mother’s dog. In a previous life I was married to a woman who wanted a larger dog really badly and thus she brought one home whom our tiny teacup model dog did not get along with. Thus the tiny teacup wen to live with Mom instead. I had remained close with this dog for no reason whatsoever other than she was a really sweet, good dog. This morning, Valentines Day morning, I get a text that she passed aware in her sleep. I immediately go to my Mother’s aid and lay the pup to rest in the backyard. I come home covered in dirt and tears to walk in the door to my wife upset because she was working on something and everyone crowding the space she needed to work on a specific task she was working on. I had fantasized on the way back as I cried over my lost friend and the very morbid task of burying her tiny frail body - of the comfort I might get from my partner. Instead, I’m met with irritation and anger. The rest of the day went to shit. Too much to type out even if I wanted to type it out. Just a long sequence of me trying to express how I was feeling and her more or less expressing how annoying it is for me to have emotions and feelings. Being bipolar type-2 thus far in my life means I speak only one language, and no one else speaks it. I can express myself all day long and have my wife speak back to me the exact opposite of what I meant mixed with derivatives of “not-even-fucking-close-to-what-I-was-saying”. Then the pain hits. I can’t get her to understand means she’ll never have compassion for what I’m going through meaning I’ll go through this and most everything else I ever have to go through alone, as long as I stay with her. Nothing like a little suicidal ideation to pass the time on Valentines Day. I have a journal that I write in, but sometimes I want to blog metaphorically and privately out to the public with the hopes that someone might read how I’m feeling and show a little compassion - since I don’t have a partner capable of doing that very simple task. If you think I’m being overly sensitive about something that’s “just a dog” I sincerely encourage you to go fuck yourself.