Venting Rage for Charity

I spent four hours working in a warehouse moving boxes for charity yesterday.  So I guess I found that healthy release for the rage.  I was exhausted but I couldn’t sleep.  And I couldn’t focus on anything so I didn’t write.  It was the medication, but I did finally sleep when that wore off.

I figured I’d regret my choice this morning, but I feel as normal as normal feels for me today.  I took some anti inflammatory medicine when I got home and basically collapsed on the couch and vegged out to Netflix- Criminal Minds- and drank a ton of water.

I feel a lot less angry today.  It’s a good thing; I don’t think I could have done another day of that. Instead I just feel the new normal side effects of the meds for mood and ADD.  Yay?  Just the skin-buzz, a mild nausea and indigestion, as if I had anything to eat yet today.

I still have to call the doctor back to set up a follow up, but if this is the new normal, I can live with it I guess.  I wish I could say the meds were definitely working, but I can’t.  I’m still too easily distracted, I’m still pretty depressed, and as far as I can tell, I just added med side effects to what I already live with.

At least I know what to do for rage when I’m not exhausted.  I think when I’m exhausted and raging, the treatment may be a good drink or two.

I thought I knew what to do for depression, but Mrs. M. has not been cooperating with my treatment plan, so while I think it would work, this alternate therapy isn’t being applied frequently enough to monitor its’ effectiveness with any kind of accuracy or predictive value..

(“wink wink, nudge nudge, know what I mean?”)

So saying all that is saying maybe I am on the upside of the wave.  But I’m not holding my breath.  I’m glad I’m busy today or I might be able to focus on my feelings more and we don’t want that.  Or, I don’t want that.  Not today.  Maybe on the top side of this wave, but not now.

My dear Mum.  She called because I described the side effects and she wanted to make sure I wasn’t having suicidal thoughts or inclinations, after she talked with some people she knows who are in the nursing field.  I respect that.  Some nurses know more than doctors about symptoms and side effects and medications.  I reassured her, and I’ll reassure you, that one loss is one too many, and I’ll keep fighting it out.  I hope you all will do the same.  I confided in my mum that I actually decided during my first severe depressive episode, at age 14, that she was never really aware of, that I wouldn’t take that way out.  At that time I even wrote the requisite note telling everyone my whys and goodbyes and knew how to do it.  Back then it was bullies and my abnormalities and my wimpy hurt feelings and my lack of hope for the future.  I’ve still thought about it, sometimes, but always decided, at least for the 37 years following the first major episode, to stay here.

My plan is to live long enough to be a raging old fart, to live long enough to get revenge on the kids for the things they do or don’t do that piss me off, to say what’s on my mind at that season in life when you can get away with it and no one can say anything about it, and to clean my house and fix the shit on the to-do list.  And to piss everyone off because I just don’t give a shit any more.  The rage should help my productivity.

From now until then, I’ll just sincerely apologize to any readers who keep on reading my blog, because it’s probably just going to be the same shit, twisted and recycled.  If I get something new, you’ll be seeing that too, but until then, bless your hearts.  Sorry.  You’re stuck with me.



All I had today was fear of being forced to face my inevitable failure and a furious frustration with all things, when what I really wanted to feel was success and satisfaction. Today went OK but all I had to offer were anger beyond anger and profanity I wanted to direct at the profane, that is, if only I knew how to direct it. It had to come out but I had no deserving candidates for the diatribe I wanted to unleash, so it festered in my soul and fed my indigestion of the food I could barely stomach. I completed the requirements of the day and feel no joy from it. There is no real pleasure in the music rattling happily in the background. I started to write and must have gotten out a thousand words about my dissatisfaction with all things, and I didn’t like it and it won’t be published. I haven’t written for three days. I feel depressed a little, but mostly, I’m feeling rage and nothingness. This internal infernal indigestion – fear, doubt, anger, inconsolable sadness, faltering weakness of conscience and confidence, bitterness, frustration and hopelessness has no where to go. These negatives fillet my faith to a fine fermière. And I faked the day fine. But my prayer passed pointlessly into an emptiness, unanswered except for the faint laughter

The Value of Our Lives

There are days when I am powerless, hopeless, worthless,
If I had a dream it would be found drowning in an abscess,
Stuck in the mud like a shoe that’s untied
A treasure that’s lost like every tear I’ve ever cried,

And then there are the times when I know I can win, when
I re-dream my daydreams, and life seems calm like zen,
I feel orderly, time is mine to harness then
A bite at a time, slow, and I could eat an elephant,

The world spins in its’ sins, and I may wake up tomorrow
When lows come back again I know, I go, progress too slow
Powerlessness, my hopelessness and worthlessness haunting me
My courage held hostage to pain and anxiety,

But what makes me feel more important than progress
Is who I matter to.  If that’s you, then please say “yes!”
‘Cause I probably could do this with or without you,
But I’m less inspired every time I lose even one of you.

I count if you count me, see, because it’s just you and me,
I count you, count on you, because we’ve got history
Family, you and me have to see how much we matter
Look around, and see how losing one makes us so much sadder

And that’s why you and I aren’t worthless.  We’re priceless!
Don’t let go, though we know it’s hard through life’s crisis.
We feel powerless in this mess, too much stressing,
But we have each other to lift up with blessing,

Without you I’m worthless, I lose what the point is,
No one to value me, your heart’s where my treasure is
Without me you could be just fine, sure, possibly,
But if we’re together, think of the possibilities.

You may think you’re worthless, and useless, and stupid,
And then want to end it like nothing mattered, but you did.
The real treasures I’ve lost caused almost every tear I’ve ever cried,
And be sure I think you’re a treasure I hold with pride.

Confession Denial

Confession Denial, 09/08/2016, Deon Mumple

I tell the world that I’m all right, and everything is fine,
If they really knew me they’d understand and they’d notice the signs,
My bloodshot eyes go unexplained as if they cared to ask,
My stomach aches and I’m not eating, hide behind the mask,

How are you doing?  Everything is fine, because it has to be
It has to be that way, because no one has time to really see
We all have complicated lives.  Who has room to breathe?
Don’t look at me.  I’m fine, just please don’t look at me.

I try to breathe and look as normal as I can, to get away
From all the questions there’s no answer to, but I know I just may
Have to watch as life’s seams pop stitches that I’m helpless to mend
And life feels like a hurricane, I’m already half bent.

Don’t look at me.  I’m fine, just please don’t look.

I’m fine.

I’m aware of the air on my skin, well aware you’re not aware,
Anxious for nothing, hair stands on end as if I were scared.
Everything is fine because it has to be, except it’s not.
Not hungry and starving, and cold in a room where it’s hot.

I feel your eyes staring at me but I know you can’t see,
You look at me, then look away, fire guns at your own enemy,
But they don’t die and mine don’t either, they’ll be back again
Tomorrow to torment us so we all can feel the helplessness then.

The air around me concedes my presence, moving to allow
My passage through the troubled times, tomorrow waits, for now
Cemented molecules creak, begrudgingly swirling around me.
Others feel no such struggles, but it’s hard to move or breathe.

Don’t look at me…

The air feels like needles smashing into my skin,
And somehow it feels heavy, like an extra thing to carry
While I try to act like everything is normal as can be
And nobody will notice me if I pretend to win.

Don’t look at me, I’m fine, just please don’t look!

I’m fine.


Father-Song, 9/7/2016, Deon Mumple

I want to gather you all safely hugged under my wings,
And sing a comforting song like a good father should sing
Something soft and quiet, full of love, encouraging.

I’m there with you when your heart is broken,
It’s bound to happen to us every now and then
We fall, it hurts, we have to dust off and try again.

When you’re scared, I’ll pick you up and hold on tight,
When it’s dark and you’re lonely in the middle of the night,
And let you wake up the next day, knowing you’re all right.

When you’re in trouble I want to run to your rescue,
In your mirror, remind you you’re beautiful, it’s true
And a million times a million million times, tell you I love you

Thop Then Thursday?

About Those Helpful Self-Help Lists, 09/07/2016, Deon Mumple

At the risk of the ridiculous,
I was going to write a ridiculous list of lists,
The kinds of things given to us by would-be helpful bloggers and writers.
They have good hearts, I have to trust,
Really wanting to help us,
But what works for them doesn’t always excite us.
My heart’s already weighted by
A life of bitter hardship, try
As I might I can’t always lift the burden
Enough to find my own success.
“Do what you like” doesn’t impress
Me when the bills aren’t paid and I am hurting.
The one thing that I’d really like
Is to encourage others to keep up the fight
And for others to encourage me through my own storm
My prayers don’t stop the flooding in a leaky boat
God may be close but He sure feels remote
“At least you have a boat,” doesn’t feel like a caring retort.
Sometimes instead of writing lists to try,
That accuse us, blaming us for why
We’ve caused our own problems, without any proof
With superior airs, you’re better than us,
Blind to your hypocrisy, even citing Jesus,
Looking down your noses, standing far off, aloof.
You can be the one who walks on by
Drop your list, not really caring about a desperate cry.
Or why not do something practical, creating the change?
You’ve heard the issues, you understand,
We’ve already lost, played out our hand,
Or is a list of one thing too simple or strange?

Did I Say What Needed to be Said?

If you read my blog you know I just lost someone I dearly love.  If you read my blog you probably read hers, and I can’t say anything worthwhile to you so I’m sorry.  I’m processing all the everything, and I don’t have a fucking positive spin for any of you fucking optimists.  Don’t tell me anything about time healing or getting over or moving on or whatever fucking cliche pops in your head.  I haven’t even got a good Bible verse.  Maybe you have one that’s not cliche.  If you do, go ahead and comment.  But if you’ve heard it before, I have a hundred thousand times and I don’t want to hear it.  Pick something new.  Go search for it, and stay away until you find something I haven’t heard.

How do I keep it together in front of people who don’t have a clue why I’ve been “triggered into depression?” (fucking clinician-speak!)  I can see it before I even start.  Tell them the whole thing and they’re bored before I start… “hmmm, OK so you never met this person but you met online…, (eye roll).”  Fuck you.  She was more real, more a friend, than some people I see face to face.  People I know face to face don’t understand me at all because I don’t let them in.  Not even Mrs. M., although I did tell her why I am sad.

I don’t approach grief “normally.”  Yeah, not that you’d want to do it but I actually had a college class called “the Psychology of Death and Dying.”

So, it’s a great fucking day, isn’t it everyone?  Let’s get started.

In the class the professor offered us the now-classic Kübler-Ross 5 stages of grief:  denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

I didn’t go into denial.  I’m a realist.  I never started thinking any “I can’t believe it” shit. “Yay, progress before we even start! Good job, Deon.”  Fuck you.  Oh which brings me to the next stage, which is where I start as a baseline.  My friends death just pushed the anger amp to 12, where it’s normally preset at 8-ish.”

I didn’t even experience it as “stages.”  I guess if it did, I might be “normal.”  Instead, all the shit hits the fan at once.  Except denial.  And bargaining.  There’s no asking for more time, no way to prevent any of my other good friends from following her.  I may be trying to strike a bargain here, but I don’t really think so.  You medical and counseling professionals can decide, but to me, suicide is first, deeply personal.  If you choose it, it’s your choice, and no one can do shit about it.  But secondly, suicide is NOT deeply personal.  It ripples out and hurts everyone around you.  We wish we could help, we wish we could fight it for you but we can’t.  We want to say things and do things that will encourage.  People who pray, really do pray.  And beyond that, although we wish it were different, your experience is yours and we can’t do more to fix it.  So I just ask:  Please don’t choose that.  Please stay and fight.  For my own selfish reasons:  you encourage me every day you’re able to wake up and walk with me.  Or hide in your fort blankie while I wish I could.  So here I am, in anger, depression and acceptance.  And in hope for you and me, because although it might currently be shredded tatters, hope is all I have.

As far as I know, so far, I haven’t indulged in any self-destructive behaviours.  Except I cancelled a follow-up doctor’s appointment she set up to discuss the medi-go-round she put me on to see if it helps with my depression.  Fuck, my friend’s suicide really fucked up any positive impact the meds might have been having.  Irrationally, I want to feel something other than numb and crushed and hurt on the inside.  Rationally, I know that hurting myself or destroying my things isn’t going to do any good.  It’s just adding “a whisper on a scream” as the song lyrics go.  Add shit to shit and all you get is a bigger pile of shit.  But what the hell, throw on another shovel, because once you’re buried, one more can’t hurt much.

I feel nauseous.  I haven’t puked yet, but it’s possible.

I went to work today.  Not that I’m getting shit done.  I haven’t told the boss.  She might be sympathetic.  My old boss was just the last part of that word.  The new boss is better.

I was really afraid, with all the rage, to even start writing.  I don’t have a structured writing plan, I just write whatever pops into my little nutter of a brain, and I let it fly and let the readers decide if it’s shit or not.  I usually try to be funny.  I make a conscious effort at it.  There isn’t anything funny today.  Today sucks.  Yesterday sucked.  And the day before that sucked.

I can’t express the rage well.  There isn’t a vent big enough.  There aren’t words strong enough or loud enough.  So while the world spins around and everyone ignores me because of my mask, I’m screaming and crying on the inside.  Which doesn’t feel effective at all.  It doesn’t feel like anything at all.  I wait for the moments when I’m alone, which isn’t nearly frequent enough, and quietly mourn.  I like music so I listen to music when I can, but all weekend, even my surfing didn’t get me anything but sad songs.  I got an email from a friend with a link, and that was a sad song too.  I don’t know if it helped or hurt more, listening to music.  I went from classic rock to classical to modern rock to blues to whatever, and they all sounded sad.  I went to church and felt like a zombie.  Someone whack me, please.  I have no idea what the pastor or adult Bible teacher said.  Then I drove home alone and my family went their ways and did their normal things.

I hurt.

And then I backtrack to process our relationship.  Did I do everything I could have done?  Well, she was in South Africa and I’m stuck here in my bunker with no travel budget, so geographically I’m useless.  I couldn’t have physically been there to help. I did pray sometimes, but maybe not enough. I prayed like I always pray for all my friends in this community – for us to get through the depression seasons, for us to not be self-destructive, for our words to be nurturing enough and soft enough and strong enough and gentle enough and loving enough.  For her, it wasn’t enough.  I prayed for her to be healed, through the drugs, through the other treatments, or by miraculous means outside of treatment, just like I pray for my other friends here.  And for her, I got an answer, not the answer I wanted- not in this life, Deon.  Maybe in the next one.  I’m not bitter.  God chose not to answer my prayer the way I wanted it answered, for reasons I do not understand and may never understand.  And she chose to try to make her own pathway to free herself from her suffering, and I hope she’s truly free.

I’m not angry or bitter with her either.  Her circumstances were unbearable, she was strong but how much suffering should one person have to endure?

Did I say what needed to be said?  Who knows?  Would you believe, we joked and even teased and flirted a little with each other, even though I’m a married guy and she was a woman’s woman?  I told her she was beautiful, and I meant it, and I never actually got to see her face.  I just knew it was true.  And somewhere in there, I did tell her that I love her.  And I mean that, too.  I’m sure I even told her that God loves her.

(I guess it’s hard for God to express his love through our broken nature, so He sent me to her to say it.  And to the rest of my readers: we’re broken people in a broken world muddling through with each other’s help.  God uses willing people to send His message of hope and love.  Some people don’t know that when we’re motivated to help someone whether that’s God using us to show His love, but I believe it’s true. I’m willing, and He loves us even though we have to muck through all the shit.)

So yes.   I said what needed to be said.  I just wish the answer to my prayers for her was a different one, but it’s God, Who has His own plan, whatever that is, not a cosmic vending machine.  I can’t just pick item E12 like a bag of chips or a candy bar.  Wouldn’t that be nice?  I’m angry at God but I can’t just ask for what I want and always get it.  If we could, wouldn’t we all pick the things that make it easier instead of going through and enduring the scars?  I can’t even pick understanding, or not hurting, or how to heal the next person before they leave me behind.  Or how to be healed myself.  I just have to accept whatever reality is, not filter any meaning from it.

Acceptance is supposedly the last stage in the grieving process.  But acceptance isn’t the death of grief.  It just means you cry and hold on to what you have left.

I don’t have any good answers.  I don’t have any good words to say, so if you stopped reading mid-stream, I understand.  But if you made it through, please understand that in my alleged acceptance, I’m holding on to you.  I wish I could hold on tighter.


PS.  If you have that text that I haven’t heard before in this kind of situation, do pass it to me.

Goodbye, Dear (tw)

God, I hate this.  Seriously, fuck bipolar, fuck depression, fuck suicide, fuck death, fuck everything that hurts my friends.  I originally posted this here.  Readers, writers, please stay with me.  I need you more than you understand.  You are SO important, you are SO significant, I love your words and more importantly as much as I hate the world and everything that sucks about it, I love you all more than I will ever say.  I have to hate everyone to maintain my mask, but the truth is, I only hate the people who hurt me and my friends without any reasons except the selfishness it takes to hurt someone and the glee of the hellish power rush it seems to give the ass holes who mistreat other people.  So if you’re one of those, or if you have one of those spirits, fuck you and that spirit too.

This is my tribute to a fallen warrior princess. She captured my heart with her spirit, with her words.  I love her.  I wish I could have said this in a better way.  But it’s hard to write when I’m sobbing.  Fuck, here I go again.  Fuck!  I wish so much that we weren’t broken.


Goodbye, Dear

Having never met, still I love her soul,
My suffering took a lesser toll,
Now grief forces me to walk alone
Gripping my hand, it won’t let go

I wish I could have made her laugh
One more time, lighting her darkened path
Laughing, with that beautiful tone
Then turning, and,

Deciding to stay one more day
There really is nothing more to say
Like all friendships I think my own
Fleeting as sand,

And yet somehow, it’s forever
There were no magic words for her
To make her well, no prayer to pray
Sun sets, ending another day

Now grief leaves me to cry alone
Gripping my heart, it won’t let go.

~Deon Mumple

Balanced Reading Habits

I think I have pretty balanced reading habits, diverse interests, and a mostly open mind with a childlike fascination with everything life has to offer.  That may be a bold claim but I think I can defend it pretty well. I can hear you now:  So, Deon, how do you know the blogs you follow are a good mix?

“Welcome to the jungle we’ve got fun and games
We got everything you want honey, we know the names
We are the people that can find whatever you may need
If you got the money honey we got your disease.”

(thanks, MetroLyrics)

Here are my top 10 diseases. I mean reasons why I think my blog reading is fairly balanced.  (If you hate the musical choices of the day, no one says you have to click them to listen to them, but I enjoyed them all and I’m not apologizing.  And whatever your opinion of the band and their relationship dynamics, I’m not writing about that shit.  If you want to cover that, go for it.)  Without further adieu, here are my

Top 10 Reasons I Believe My Reading Selections are Balanced

10-a balanced diet blog is juxtaposed against a few foodie blogs and they’re not afraid to grab the butter and sugar and bacon.  All food is beautiful to me.  Keep those coming. I also follow at least one alcohol blog, maybe I need one on sobriety…(see #2?)  Food and drink may be the closest thing I know next to paradise.  Mix in a little music and you’ve got the perfect storm.

9- an exercise and health food blog is right next to a blog extolling the virtues of laziness and junk food. You may hate junk food and laziness like some people hate banjos, accordians and bagpipes, but I like all of these things,

and this is MY blog, so if you’re reading it, a) it’s not all like this and b) you’re reading it and c) maybe you can read to the end of this list because trust me: after I’ve played bluegrass and bagpipes, especially if you hate those, how bad can it get?
8-I can read from Republicans about how bad Democrats are and then vice versa, and then about the other parties.  Or, I can swipe past those.  Because sometimes it’s more balanced to just ignore those.

7-men’s issues and then women’s issues and then relationship  and issues
6-and then about a varied and diverse set of perspectives on love

5.5-family life, single life, divorced life, married life, stuff about raising kids and why people shouldn’t tell other people how they ought to live their lives or raise their kids (to “Be a Pepper”: I’m an asshole, he’s just stupid, she’s an idjet, we’re all clueless, shouldn’t you all just shut your fucking holes?) Oh. I mean, um, …this:

5-poetry blogs!  They stand alone; I just like them
4.5-blogs with pictures of animals including pets. I like your cats and pythons and guinea pigs and llamas and dogs. Honestly, I’d be jealous if I didn’t have allergies.
4-science and technology blogs, they’re just cool
3-original sci-fi and fantasy (running out of numbers for my list of only 10), and even a blog about books the writer enjoyed reading (or hated) and why they were good (or awful).

2.5-well-researched blogs by medical professionals and others by those who live under their influence, or the influence of what the medical professionals say to take two of and [don’t] call me in the morning.”

2-Religious perspectives, including Christian ones even.  Just know that my perspective is as valid as the next person.  I reserve the right (or left, perhaps) to skip those too.  Also be aware that if I don’t skip it and you’re pushing a “biblical” perspective, I reserve the right to present an alternate “biblical” perspective.  Some of these are insightful and interesting, but I’ll leave that to the readers’ judgement. I think we all think we’re knocking on heaven’s door, I just think many of us are at the wrong address and don’t realize it.

1-People who think they’re mentally healthy tell me why and how I should “just” be mentally healthy and happy, and people who think they’re crazy, or who have people in their lives who tell them they’re crazy, remind me that I’m sane, and I think they’re more normal and sane than “normal” and “sane” people are. If I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t have anything.

All of the blogs I read may influence my future writing, so just be careful out there.  You may be putting bullets into my head’s cannon, roses in my guns, or guns in my roses.  Whatever it is, it may come back toward you, or someone you know.

I’m grateful for all of you because most of the time I run out of time before I can get to reading any “news.” Thank you all so much for that.

OH. I also like music, and music blogs, not that you’d ever notice that.  Also, I said I wouldn’t apologize, and if you don’t like it, I’m sorry.

I’m done writing my list. But Don’t cry!  Remember, Nothing lasts forever.