Saturday, December 4, 2010

Never thought in all my years (which to be honest, isn't THAT many) that I would be here. That I would be this. That I would be so.... undefined? I'm pretty sure I know who I am. I know where my soul is drawn and where it's not. I don't have any inclination of who I am or who I am supposed to be without relfecting.


How am I reflected back by the ones I love and choose to surround myself with? I have no one left to reflect to. I am OK not having a mirror; it makes me feel that much less visible. And I long to be ABSOLUTELY INvisible. I long to plod along, do my part, avoid direct interaction, make people happy with unexpected anonymous little what-nots. I like to make jokes and think that they're funny. I like to be a sounding board for others. I like others to know that I will LISTEN to their words, and HEAR what they are saying. I need not plan my next wise words in response. No response is necessary when one is truly listening.

And I will never let anyone else in.

Im far more this:
'Little Miss you'll go far,
Little Miss hide your scars,
Little Miss who you are is so much more than you like to talk about...'

When my path tells me I have the potential for this:
"Some wish to live within the sound of a chapel bell; I wish to run a rescue mission within a yard of hell." - CT Studd

Monday, November 8, 2010

the art of dying gracefully

I am dying to be heard. I cannot get the words out.
I am dying to be understood. I cannot get the right words out.
I am dying to be validated. I cannot get the right words out to express this need.
I am dying to be completely loved without breaking these walls down.

Without letting you in.
Without letting you know me.
Without giving you the right words which would help me be heard.

And understood.

And validated.

And loved.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

the cycle

Whose idea was it anyhow, to create antidepressants? I love them and I hate them. They are genius and satan all in one. I believe without a shadow of a doubt that I could not have trudged through the last years had it been not for these divine, numbing, non-inebriating pills. I positively hate the negative connotation though. I submit and absolutely feel like a hypocrite as I take them. Trying my mighty best to live the good life, keep my chin up. I WANT to be able to feel happy. When I don't take them all I feel is sad. Not melancholy, no. Defeated. All for naught. Abandoned. So I suppose I settle for numb, lose my pride, but keep my life. ''

Who is my conscience reporting to? Why is it so distracted by what I perceive others to feel and do? I take the meds so I stay alive. Seems pretty important. I also go to 'therapy' because then when others ask me if I am, I can say yes. Don't get a thing out of it, other than getting creepers off my back when I tell them I'm seeing someone for all this shit. Why is my conscience not loyal to me? I beg your pardon, you little fucker; you belong to me.

That's about as far as I get, and then I question, second guess, and doubt, and return to exactly where I started. Damn it.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

From every wound there is a scar.
And every scar tells a story.
A story that says
I survived.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Wash me away

If I die young bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when stands under my colors
Life ain't always what you think it ought to be
Ain't even great, but she buries her baby
The sharp knife of a short life
I've had just enough time
I'll be wearing white when I come into your kingdom
I'm as green as the ring on my little cold finger

I've never know the loving of a man
But if sure felt nice when he was holding my hand
There's a boy in town says he'll love me forever
Who would have thought forever would be severed by the sharp knife of a short life
So put on your best boys and I'll wear my pearls
What I never did is done
A penny for my thought, no I'll sell them for a dollar
Their worth so much more after I'm a goner

And maybe then you'll hear the words I've been singing
Funny when you're dead how people start listening
The ballad of a dove
Go with peace and love
Gather up your tears, keep them in your pocket
Save them for a time when you're really gonna need them
If I die young bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn

Send me away with the words of a love song
Put on your best boys and I'll wear my pearls

Friday, May 21, 2010

Last Night

One year ago I could tell that something was wrong, but I couldn't put words to it. I could feel it but I couldn't see it. I could hear it when I closed my eyes, but it'd be gone by the time I'd reopened them. I couldn't read it in the words, I could only hear them speak to me once I fell asleep. Lurking. Proposing. Imposing. Tempting. Twisting. Taking and taking and taking. Draining.

As time went by, it became harder to pretend that all was OK. It wasn't. It never had been. And never would be. The shift began and I could no longer discern if things were really starting to fall apart, or now I had to admit that they had been all along. My thick skin could no longer protect me. It was now just as much a part of the problem.

I kissed him in the rain that night. Just like it was old times. I should have known RIGHT THEN that this was it.

I saw him again last night after so many sleepless nights that I've lost count. I saw him. And I haven't seen his face so close to mine in so long. And there he was. I'm hoping it was the first of many. Contrast that with today and where I really was and where he really was and the feeling just wasn't the same. My standing, looking down at his grave is not supposed to be how this ended. Love is supposed to transcend. It's supposed to be hard and worth fighting for and then be able to enjoy it. Not lose it.

Live or die
Hero or coward
Fight or give in?

Sunday, April 25, 2010

In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing- Robert Ingersoll

Love is uncontrollable. It is tempting and seductive. It is rich and bleeding. It is outwardly strong, and inwardly fragile. It rises up to meet you and retreats just as quickly. It challenges the known and tempts the unknown. It is everything and it is nothing. For when it is gone it's like it had never even been there.

You have a world which you have built and now there is no world at all. You've had a conviction and in turn come to find it was empty. More than the pieces are lost. The whole never even was.

Is there really healing in pain? Or is it something we just tell ourselves to help move us on? Does it really move us forward? Do spinning wheels count as moving? Does pain propose treatment in another way? Does it ever get easier? Does it dissipate or does it just get different?

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Much Ado:

I put on the make up to make myself feel better. It (hopefully?) gives the illusion that everything is fine. I've got everything under control. It does nothing more that just cover me, which is exactly what I don't want anyone to see.

I love life in a very abstract, spiritual, poetic sort of manner that likes to give hope, hint at salvation, and tropical breezes. Truthfully my life is nothing like this. My life appears to have been formed by two poles that largely disagree. The vortex that quakes in its midst is me, trying to remember how to breathe. It's me trying to decide what matters and what doesn't. It's me hoping for chaos, because really, that's the only way I know how to survive.

As life is sloughing off left and right, I like to think my choices matter. (They really don't; I've come to find.) It's here that there is so much pressure, that I don't have the time to second guess my judgements, and so proceed with the trek. (But here's the little secret that I've been hiding in my back pocket..... no matter WHAT decisions I make.... life WILL go on. A bad choice does not equal and change in the rotation.) This realization appears to indicate that I would much prefer to just blaze through life and NOT stop to think.

I would like to give the illusion that I care. Most of the time I don't. Most of the time I'm overbooked and under appreciated which clearly is where I am used to being, but know this is not my best use. When I slow it down and begin to take inventory, then there are just time and me and second guesses, and not only are we not three kings, we are not friends either.

But something saved me. A hand of God reached out one night and saved me. It saved my soul and my physical life in a matter of seconds. As I travelled over the edge (literally) I knew that THIS MUST BE IT. There was NO WAY I was going to make it out of this alive. Whereas I had believed that I could gauge my loved ones, their actions, and my surroundings...In a flash I had learned that it wasn't that my gauges were wrong necessarily, they weren't even in the right ball park. This was un-gauge-able. I put my trust of life in another human being who I adored to the CORE, and yet I am still not safe. When I prayed that I needed a change, a sign, something, anything... I DID NOT think that it would be a matter of life or death. I should have died that night, on the way to the bottom of that ravine, or at least on impact at the bottom.

I'm fearfully sure that this is where I submit the tag line (to myself): I am not the circus for you to star in.