32B's Blog

…where I write my words


Memories.  A record of each encounter, moment, and interaction lived for better or for worse often replaying themselves at the most inopportune times holding the poor soul hostage against their will while they relive and remember what they would rather not but it’s uncontrollable and unavoidable so what escape is there other than death or the sweet blessing of Alzheimer’s which is the only match for this impromptu showcase of a life lived, people met, words said, and actions executed but oh what one would give to exercise some control over this database of endless at times joyful while often hurtful pictorials of moments but this is the sentence we currently endure.  If I could I would delete, purge, eliminate, erase, expunge, and any other synonymous action to rid myself of the mental hell the mind subjects persons to long after these moments have physically gone because, as always holds true, the bad shadows the good leaving you regretting having lived life only to be reminded of it for the rest of your life so what good can possibly come when the odds are that life will produce more hurt than harmony and more grief than good so, if ever asked which I pray I am, I’d choose to gamble the good away fearful that the bad might leave me with a bullet through my head from my own hands in a sad and shameful attempt to stop the recapping of times I barely survived in the flesh much less hope to bear in the mind.  Memories. 

**Frustration at its worst by_Yazzmin (photo)


January 15, 2011 Posted by | Life | | Leave a comment

Menacing Memory

gunI don’t feel like bloggin but I don’t feel like sitting here thinking which I know will lead to hours of not sleeping so bare with me for a second.  My period started this weekend and I love to blame my emotional state on that so let’s just say I am up right now crying because Aunt Flow is in town….whether it’s true or not.  Sometimes I wish I could trade places with some people….have their gifts…switch for what seems like the lesser of two evils.  I’d surely prefer the gift of song than the gift I have.  I’d prefer to preach.  To teach.  To do anything but what it seems I do all too well.  My mind….my brain….my memory.  We all go through trials in life but imagine how much it hurts to go through something and know with certainty that as time goes on your memory will remain right at that moment as if only your body has left.  I remember things I pray I could forget.  I remember in ridiculous detail and I want to forget.  Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can see something written on a piece of paper from the past and repeat it as if I just saw it five minutes ago. 

My past never leaves me as much as I want it to.  Some people praise me for my memory calling it a gift but I don’t see it.  I don’t exercise it for good anymore (remembering scriptures, cramming for an exam, etc) because part of me thinks that if I don’t I will lose my gift along with some memories I can do without.  When I really need to recall something I focus really hard, close my eyes to bring that image back to help me, and my head begins to hurt as if I an conjuring up some time warp.  I have yet to figure out what purpose this serves others because, to me, it hurts.  I remember events.  I remember things people have said, what they wore a certain day, how their hair was styled, the scent at that time when something happened and how the weather was as well.  If I could control my mind this might not be an issue but some memories surface that I’d rather leave buried.  My mind seems to taunt me.  Then I shake my head and try to think about something else and it doesn’t help.

I don’t care to say what has me crying but I know I shouldn’t remember details from about 15 years ago as if they just happened 15 minutes ago.  Great!  People smile at me.  Pat me on the back.  This is during happy times when I am appreciative of my gift.  But, when tragedy strikes, for a second I look up at God and plead to remove me from it so I don’t know because if I don’t know then I can’t see it, and if I don’t see it then I don’t remember it, and if I can’t remember I won’t relive it all over again as long as I live.  I remember watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy where this lady has suffered short term memory loss so, when the staff told her her husband had died, about 10 minutes later she’d forget and ask them again.  Imagine having to witness someone grieve over and over again and there is nothing you can do about it.  Imagine being that woman knowingly grieving over and over again and there is nothing you can do about it.  The picture in this blog is just my way of showing how I feel sometimes.  The good times are wonderful to remember but the bad times are like acid in my eyes.

You stand there sometimes hitting yourself upside your own head telling it to stop….to shut down…to quit torturing you but it never does.  You cry yourself to sleep at night as the only way to get it to shut off to start a new day fresh but with swollen eyes.  Life is not meant to be easy….I know that.  Everything will not be golden….trust me I know.  Picking and choosing which strong qualities I have is not in my control….I know.  My body has gone forward with time but, every now and then, my mind reminds me of what happened.  Brings back the pain. Results in fresh tears.  I don’t do funerals anymore because I will see that face in the coffin for the next fifty years….I’d rather not.  I try to stay away from pain because, whether the person who hurt me goes on with their life, my mind brings it back up like it’s still fresh.  A scent takes me back.  A sound takes me back.  A word, song, or phrase takes me back.  My mind archives things but, at the same time, I pray I avoid Alzheimer’s.  I only wish to rid myself of the bad and leave the good but, like life itself, you don’t get to choose anything that happens to you.  I wonder…how can I ever get over things when I keep reliving them?

May 26, 2009 Posted by | Me, Spiritual | , , , | Leave a comment




That is the word I use to describe it


Have you ever seen something so beautiful it made you cry

Since beauty is subjective rendering it impossible to gain a conclusive opinion on this may not be a fair question

But I saw beauty once and it still makes me cry

I placed it in an antique frame and hung it on the walls of my gallery

Why are people so willing to give a large percentage of their income to have a piece of someone else to grace the walls of their home

They did not create it

Did not inspire it

Did not know the artist personally

But, nevertheless, they deem this art pricelessly beautiful that they must have it

So they rush it home, delicately hang it up and step back to look at it in awe

Some are speechless

Some are overjoyed

Some cry



That is the word they utter whether to themselves or aloud


So much so that they cry


Have you ever done that before

Cried at the sight of beauty

I have

And I captured it in a frame and hung it in my gallery

Now I stand back and look at it in awe

I can look at it whenever I choose

I look at the face or faces

And I look at the scenery

I look at the bird sitting in that tree

The wind blowing by

The sun overhead

The car driving by

The people walking along

The grass swaying nearby

I see it as I stand in awe

I hear the voice

I hear the laughter

I hear the whispers

As if the frame is equipped with audio I hear them still

It makes me cry

How did I do it

Do what I thought I could not

I did not create it

I did not engineer it

I did not invent it

Yet I have gained control over a portion of it


I have learned to capture it

That which I did not create I have the power to steal

To have and to hold

However minute


I may not see that bird again

May not see that breeze of wind

May not see the sun so bright

May not see that car whiz by

May not see those people strolling

May not see this spade of grass


May not hear the laughter

Or the voice

Or the whispers


But here in my gallery I can

Right there is the bird still

And the car

And the wind

And the people

And the grass

And the sun shining too

And it is all beautiful that I stand here and cry

Why do I cry

When it is all here

Why do I cry

When it has never left me

Why do I cry

When I have deceived time

It is so beautiful that I cannot help but cry

Time took you all from me

But I kept you all with me

In my gallery framed in antiquity

Adorning the walls of my memory


January 28, 2009 Posted by | My Writings | , , , , , , | Leave a comment