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28 years to kill narcissism

0 comments By jared.folkins Filed in Uncategorized Tagged with , , , , , December 3rd, 2009 @

For all these years I have pursued myself. This is something that I think most people don’t even realize they are doing. And I have had a lot of extra time to think lately, as I hold and rock my daughter at night. So I boiled life’s choices down to the following list.

    • Serve yourself
    • Serve yourself while purposely serving another
    • Serve yourself and coincidentally serve another
    • Serve another

      I never realized, how much I thought I was giving to others, when in actuality the decision was still rooted (foundationally) in me. My desires aligned with theirs, and so I could get what I want as well as help another.

      That is until Gracie got here. She is what the word sacrifice was built on. Along with love, joy, exhaustion, worry, peace, fear, and happiness. I had twenty-eight years to get into myself, but it only took one minute for my daughter to unwind it all. She will not only have the best and worst of me. She will get all of me. The good and the bad, the smiles and the warts, and though its a wee bit scary, I am ok with that.

      I love you Gracie.

      -daddy

      gracie

      (Story) Undead because you ask me

      1 comment By jared.folkins Filed in Life, story, writing Tagged with , , , , , , , , August 31st, 2009 @

      “I have thought this for some time now. And I am confident that you will not be able to enable the heart in my chest. You will not sway me. Even should you reach out your skin-less hand and manually pump its beat, it will not last. For too much time has passed.” Her words fell on seemingly deaf ears, or rather, non-existent ones. For the flesh had long ago decayed from where they once had existed. Bones that were so pitted as to hold the color of dulled mercury.  And the undead being stared at the girl, hollow skulled, sockets unblinking.

      A flickering lone light, with a frayed string for a switch, illuminated the small room as it hung fastened to the ceiling. Worn shoes littered the floor. Clothing draped upon old metal hangers coated in dust and rot. Garments that held nothing of value for their former wearers, yet still acted as food for the moths. There were boxes stacked about whose contents held things of the past. Years were written along the sides, ordaining them with swift black sharpie. The undead thing reached down and pulled the top from one of the boxes; revealing a small black tablet inside; the kind that school children used in combination with chalk.

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      From it’s vantage, Anxiety attacks!

      1 comment By jared.folkins Filed in Life, writing Tagged with , , , , , , , August 26th, 2009 @

      Lately I have been writing short stories and posting them online.

      Why?

      My family has always liked my stories. And I grew up in a no bull-shitin’ family. If it was good, it was good. And if it was bad, well it was bad. Plus, I have a hard time connecting with my Mom. I think we are just too alike. So because I enjoy writing and feel that I have a knack for it, I have taken to putting thoughts on digital paper again. To say “I love you” to those I have a hard time saying it to. And as a simple, yet effective therapy.

      Really? Therapy?

      Well, yeah. Writing is therapy for my mind as it is caught in Anxiety’s web. And the more thrashing my mind does, the more it becomes entangled.  Anxiety that is based on wanting to control and keep safe. An impossible goal. Which is something that I have always struggled with. The wanting to hold on, the desire to keep and protect. But after death entered my world, my mind was left split. It still wanted to love and shelter those around it, but it now knew that it never could. That life would do what life wills.

      And here enters the anxiety attacks. And please understand something, I am an insanely logical person. I analyze data and build structures for a living. So if you were to ask my opinion on anxiety attacks pre cataclysm, I would have arrogantly said.

      “People need to get their shit together” and would have believed it too.

      Where I find myself now, is in a pretty humbled place. I understand with authority that the mind is insanely powerful. That it is beyond our comprehension and may always be. That grief and fear can turn physical, and some of us now must work hard to not allow it to do so.

      Sounds insane? Yeah maybe, but it is real. No doubt it is as real as anything in this world.

      To reference what I wrote above, writing takes my mind off the web of control. It stops the fear with the understanding of the following.

      -No matter how much I want to keep my loved ones safe, I can only do so much
      -The web can’t hold me if it is not recognized
      -I have to do what everyone else does, and let it go

      Writing helps me let go.

      (Story) Their Damn Mess : Part II of II

      0 comments By jared.folkins Filed in Life, story, writing Tagged with , , , , , , , August 19th, 2009 @

      Squinting in the sun, still eyeing where the Alpha had fallen, Gerty was thankful for nature. Like some pathetic cop-out, she hoped it’s help would alleviate her conscience a bit. All she had to do was kill the healthiest, the most powerful in the packs. And the other predators in the area would rapidly capitalize on these actions and complete her job.

      Finished with her canteen and handkerchief, Gerty places them inside her pack. Zipping the pocket closed. She wraps her arms through the straps and stands in one fluid motion. Setting her cap on her head, she then bends over and picks up her rifle from where it was resting on the ground. Carrying it against her shoulder, her dry, chalky hike down the butte begins.

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