How many tears does it take to fill a broken heart?

How many tears does it take to fill a broken heart?

Tears are the measurement of emotional pain.

Love teaches various hurts via the trials and tribulations of a new and advancing relationship

Deeply, madly and truly.

I have been alive 61 years, 6 months and 12 days. I have had my heart demolished and my soul spilt into the gutter more times than any person could withstand.

One of the top priorities in my daily prayer sessions is my six plus decades of begging the Creator for a day, one meager 24 hour time slot, where I do not hurt or cause hurt to someone else.

The two cancer diagnosis,

the stroke,

the abscess from Hell,

the following septicemia battle.

Top that off with an exploded spleen and by the Lords of Donegul I swear you will have a uniquely, traumatic story to tell.

By estimate I can safely say I have cried an Imperial gallon of heartbroken tears in the past 5 months. Or so it seems. Either way it’s suffice to say I cried an enormous quantity of tears.

Of which, ninety-nine percent I have no knowledge why they come.

This causes me to lose a little more of my already drained genetic interpretation of manhood.

I am trapped in the gray brink of Darkness. As I try to get into the Beacon of Light I slide increasingly deeper into the Dark.

I am afraid of THAT darkness. Nothing good can come from within it’s demonic fog.

Definitely not the tears. They are tears of a 61 year old man. One who lived a tragic but full life.

My being raised in the latter 50’s and 60’s gifted me with a learned, but unwanted red neck rampage attitude towards a relationship.

Sprinkle that with the chauvinistic and bigoted attitudes of that era and you will see how it did my young pubescent self no good.

I left my father’s home at the age of 12. I have never slept in my Father’s, nor my Mother’s, home since. This alone should show testimony as to the dancing pool of hormones and rebellions in my mind.

I didn’t cry then.

I never cried.


Not through the beatings.

The tortures.

Nor the loveless foster homes.

I definitely was that boy. The one who WON’T cry.

I am crying now, though. I do not know why.

I am just crying (again).

I was lonely most of my life. The “Stranger in a Strange Land“. The boy who refused to cry. No matter what was hurting him.

To put it in layman’s lingo:

“I have been lonely since October 5th, 1957. I will be even more lonely come October 5th, this year.”

I have been battling personal demons all my live long days. I have never shed as many tears in a few week period as I have shed these past five weeks.

This causes me grief. Greatly.

I developed insomnia – seems to have patterned itself into four days of being wide awake and one day of rest. Leaving my mind to ask,

How many tears does it take to fill a broken heart?”

I am a starving author – (literally)

That calls for a weakened physical state and a mind full of swirling emotions. All of which give the Dark entranceway to the control room of my LightHouse. The demon tries his best to win, but each prayer are bullets of Light.

Especially since I have had to fight the Demon of Suicide 24 hours each day since my beloved spleen exploded and left me crying in the rain.

My last few posts show how I have crawled backwards.

I am trying to bounce back. It’s hard. I am not sure I want to be here.

I fear not Death. Not in the least.

Sad to actually say that.

I would not try suicide. Since my brother committing such I was quickly schooled on being a survivor.

Also, August 22, 2002 I succeeded in killing myself. After a four hour battle in my basement to revive and to stabilize my body, I now sit here before you.

Poring out my inner thoughts and my broken moments. My soul with all it’s hidden secrets would lay before you.

A guess would be that one who cries this many tears is depressed beyond depression. Sad beyond sadness.

Yet, it’s a truth.

I cry still.

I wish I knew the real reason.

I am tired. So very tired.



Emotionally I am the sinking of the Bismark.

I am done venting on you.

I am too old to be crying.

Yet …….. I am crying once again and even still shall I cry forever more.

My only regret is I know not THE REAL REASON I have this half full bucket of silent tears.

Perhaps the 2 stage 4 cancers?

Maybe because I am single.

Or maybe my loneliness.

Or because I am realizing that I am not considered as Maria’s “man“. That we aren’t on any channel.

To be officially known as her “man” would be an honor. I would be the happiest man ever.

But, the Darkness has prevented that.

It may very well be that I am dying.

Any how …

I am crying real tears.

Perhaps even the tears of a clown.

Does ‘Insanity’ Exist?

Like the title asks, “Does insanity exist?”

What the mainstream ‘normal’ consider ‘sane‘ is only a word used to label their perception of the norm.

Who defines the norm?

The normal define the abnormal. Yet, if you were to ask the abnormal if they believe the normal is a set standard of mental measure I am positive they would have a far different outlook.

I consider myself insane by the learned standard we are taught.

I have been told all my sixty plus years I am crazy.

I spent my childhood talking to professionals to no avail. I tried but I could not help them.

almonds batch brown calories

Photo by Pixabay on

Everyone is schizophrenic.

We all have multiple personalities.

When we are alone with our thoughts we are ‘normal’.

If someone intrudes upon our alone time we automatically switch to a different person.

Becoming the person we were taught we were expected to be.

Hi, how are you? Would you like a cup of tea?”

A subconscious learned reaction to societal rules. Like the sheep in a pasture following the path of the leading elder.

Yet, we all consider ourselves to be a singular entity – an ‘individual‘.

When we step outside the comfort of our lairs we switch yet again to another personality.

When shopping we become the smiling faced ‘neighbor’.

How are you today Miss Cashier? I’m buying underwear to start my week off fresh and clean.”

At work we become a true sheep. All arriving in our costumes, all lunching at the same time. Going to and fro in our underground cattle trains.

“Yes Sir, no Mam. I shall do that right away Boss.”

Even with our closest friends, our confidants, we reveal yet another of our many persona’s.

And the person we become when being intimate with a lover is one that only they will ever know.

So, this leads us to ask,

“Who, what and how determines insanity?”

Yes, I readily admit I am insane by the standards age-old society describes. So are you. We all are insane. Look around.

But, we are only insane to those who are judging our minds by a set scale of ancient taught philosophies. The majority of the population judges. They do so because from the age of being a toddler till the day the pass away they are taught that there is a “NORMAL” and an “ABNORMAL”.

There is no such distinction of a human’s personality. We are all singular entities in a clan of some sort.

We have been programmed to judge subconsciously and consciously.

“Judge not, least be judged”

As a race in general we are not as advanced as we would like to believe. Our own manufactured technology is already beyond our actual ability to really understand. To the average person they only know that it works.

Societal living is just as primitive as it always has been. We are barely out of caveman days.

I do not see insanity. I do not see abnormal.

I see “individuals”.

I shall remain ‘Dann’ – just as I am.