When he drinks

I hate it when he drinks
I can always tell:
The shuffle swayed
The voice slurs
The nonsensical words

When he drinks
Something deep inside erupts:
Rage
Anger
Bitterness
Cold
FEAR

He reminds me of her:
Her vanity controlling her
Her disregard for everything
Her walking into walls

It's like she never really died
She lives here all around me
I can never be free of her.

Again, I have to fend for myself
Again, enormous burdens await me
Again, I need to make excuses
Again, I need to do battle, myself.

Face untold enemies
Exhibit strength I do not have
Grow up too quickly

I never thought I'd be here again.
I never thought I'd feel so alone.

It’s coming for me

It’s coming for me.

I can feel it. The anxiety is kicking in. There’s a disturbance out in the seas of my stomach. It’s ready to wage war on my heart, my body, and it wants to take my mind captive. This is the time of year I can’t escape the grips of the black hole. Numbness takes over. Apathy is a constant. Time ceases to exist. My eyes cannot capture light. Welcome to my hell.

The only thing to do is to weather this storm and try and hold on for dear life. I try to remember: this does end.

My childhood home was a built on a pile of ashes. The spirit of anger, bitterness, and rage rose up to destroy everything. My mother hated me for being born. She must have had other dreams for her life. She detested that I bared the image of my father. She couldn’t stand his affection for me. She lived in the midst of jealousy and rejection. I was never accepted. I never could belong… anywhere. I didn’t know how. I was easy prey to anyone in the world. Anyone who showed me affection became my obsession. Any substance that made me feel good became a way of life.

I found life in these words I write. I found meaning in literature. I saw stars align in physics class. I had a gift no one else did. I could put things together, solve difficult problems, make equations balance.

I found my way out, the path I could carve myself with my hands and feet.

But she wouldn’t let me go. Oh no. Her words seared and branded my soul:

“You’re ugly.”

“I hate you.”

“I wish you were never born!”

In an effort to end it all, I tried to take my life at 17. Thanks to my father, I was unsuccessful. He finally showed up. He finally let me know that I mattered. He finally protected me from her mental illness.

It was much too late. The damage was irreparable.

The minute I left my house, I searched this earth looking for a home, a place of refuge, somewhere to belong. I still wander in this black hole seeking forms of light as these walls close in on me.

Awakening

Ahh.. breath. breathing. heart quickening.

Taking some time to refresh, browse, letting my soul fill. 

Here are the things taking up space in my brain:

"Fire Meet Gasoline" from the album 1000 FORMS OF FEAR by Sia, directed by Francesco Carrozzini

This video came up on my one of the websites I peruse daily: Nowness. I get my daily fill of art, music, film, dance, and some eclectic pieces I wouldn't have been exposed to otherwise.   

This video is.. all kinds of interesting.  Fire seems to be the theme weaving through my days.

Listening to Fifty Shades of Grey movie soundtrack. 

LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!
Nope, haven't seen the movie yet. I'm waiting till all three come out and then... THEN!

Favorite songs:

I Put A Spell on You, Annie Lennox. 
Ms. Lennox -  still got it! WOW!

Easy fun song to dance to... sway, and daydream.



I'm On Fire, AWOLNATION
Now, I love... LOVE me some Bruce Springsteen, and no one else can execute this song quite like him.

That is all.




Witchcraft, Frank Sinatra
This just makes me smile... for no apparent reason. It always has.


And.. I owe all this awakening to PIYO!

Into week 1 of 8 and loving it!

Today is a rest day and I feel GREAT! Clothes are fitting better, All of a sudden, I'm loving my pictures and feeling more comfortable in my skin. Easily finding my rhythm again and movement is becoming something I crave.

I feel so awesome; all it took was making some time for exercise, committing to it,  and getting some glorious, amazing sleep from diffusing lavender oil at night.

Oh I love my oils. Thieves is my crack, Panaway is my cocaine. Lavender... lavender is water. I can't be without it.

... to be continued ...

I became my dad yesterday

I became my dad yesterday.
I'm riddled with guilt and insufferable sadness
The abused became the abuser.
I didn't lash out with voilence or anything

I gave the look. I said the words
The violent devastating words that hurt more than the worst beating.

I made my son feel small and dejected.
He didn't meet my expectations.
I was ashamed... my stupid arrogance got the better of me.
My puffed up pride.

I thought I had transcended from this place.
I saw the moment of who he would be, who he could be, the lights, the glamour, the stories to write, the awards to win.

But he couldn't take the step, he didn't want to.
I couldn't force him.

And I was so disappointed.
I should have behaved differently.
I should have been better

I could have. But I walked away, washed my hands.
All these years of running and fighting to not be this.. this rotten bad seed.

Here I am standing in the same place.
Today is new, and I start over and realize how much further I have to go.

That I never took the step.
I didn't want to.

EIGHT

Could it really have been eight years ago? EIGHT?

Eight years ago, we got the devastating call. The one that made me howl out to the heavens.

Tears that just stream and won’t stop.

The news that made my heart stop, air is sucked out of the room by an unknown force.

Some way, somehow… the world kept turning as I decided to stay still.

Some way, somehow… the minutes became years and I laughed again.
My mourning was turned into joy.

 Joy unspeakable.

Breath came back to me.

Heart beats another melody.

Life came back.

Forgiveness bestowed.

Healing ensues.

Stories weave.

We step forward, sometimes we step back or turn. Sometimes we are still… and remember.

THEM

It's the morning dash. Trying to get myself and everything ready. 
Breakfast has been served, lunches made, bags by the door and now my hair has air dried and I'm ready to put my makeup on. 

I look in the mirror, grab my eye pencil and there they are again. 

THEM. 

The voices. 

The condemnation. 
The shame. 
They chatter amongst themselves and to me. 
Do their best to rip me to shreds and tear me down till there's nothing left. 

I used to think I was free. I struggle every day with these voices from the past. 
I breathe, put lipstick on, put a smile on and walk away. 

Tomorrow morning... they'll be there again.

On Divorce

I am a child of divorce, an innocent bystander at the age of eleven, a casualty of war.

 

There's no real way to describe the terror and destruction left behind:

The pain,

the guilt,

the anger...

remains long after they have left this world.

 

I heard a sermon that helped me see outside of myself, outside of my pain and gain a perspective on the other side: my mother's side of this whole thing.

 

I never gave her much credit while she was living. I never valued her then... or now. 

She was a victim of a mental illness. Although she couldn't help the way she behaved, it still hurt and paralyzed me.

 

I respond in mean and hurtful ways to those that love me because of the years of abuse I endured. It's clear now to me that I fear acceptance, love and family. Somewhere in this brain I am afraid this will all come crashing down and explode; leaving me again amongst the ruins. I walk around with reptilian skin... anyone who touches me will be poisoned with my venom.

 

I never thought of her and her pain of rejection when my dad wanted a divorce. Even when they got back together a couple years later, she was still haunted... I can see how it killed her inside. She was dead long before she passed away years ago.

 

I have trouble honoring her in a meaningful way... then again she's another poor soul, a victim, another casualty of war.

 

Someday, I will let it all go and shed this skin.

 

 

 

 

Address

The spirit of death resides in my home.

The minute I leave, I’m at peace.

Limit: the point of existence when my body, mind and soul have reached maximum capacity

Hell: I’m quite sure it’s right here

One day..

One day..
One day I'll wake up and make breakfast and it'll be a peaceful, beautiful escape.
Classical music playing in the background. I'll be overlooking my English garden
I'll read my books of poetry by the moonlight
I'll finally smile.

Today, there's whining toddlers whose sticky hands drive me to run away in the middle of the night
Today, there's a man I call who is not there. He disappears to feed his addictions lamenting on how unfair this world is to him.
I read the school newsletter and try to find something with the letter B.
It takes every bit of my brain


One day my home will be immaculate, pristine, beautiful.
One day I can wake up and have the TV all to myself.
I can work out, dance, laugh, and read ALONE in my living room.

Today, the carpets are nasty with stains that only boys can make
Today, I live in a clutter of matchbox cars, legos and half eaten pop tarts.
Today the TV is monopolized by football of Disney movies for 16 hours.
Today I just can never be alone

One day, there won't be the pitter patter of little feet
The dog will be somber and stay in the sun all day
One day all this will be quiet.
The dishwasher won't run every day
This man will bring me toast and tea and we'll sit on the swing
In front of the house and watch life go by

One day we will miss all these days in the trenches
One day we'll wish we enjoyed these moments
We'll tell the young parents, "it goes by fast.."
They'll roll their eyes like we did.

One day we'll wish for these days again.

Aging

Aging

Those days when your metabolism says, "No, I will not perform like I did when you were in your 20s."

When the buldge just won't go away

Unless you completely stop eating

Some days, the thought is not that appalling.

 

 

Another day, another gray hair

Thank goodness for a $7.00 bottle of hair color.

With undisclosed chemicals I'd rather not know about.

 

 

Sunday morning routine:

Try to find something that doesn't make me look frumpy

Cry

Repeat

 

 

When marriage changes dramatically

from rainbows and sunshine

to roommates occupying space

each of us wondering how we got here

 

 

When you realize, happiness and comfort

Are not the goals

 

 

The depressing moment

When you realize

The work involved

In serving

Others

 

 

Sure, it's noble.

Yes, it's right

The rewards are far off and worth it

I know, I know.

 

 

Evolving into another being

Painful to say the least

Necessary

but heartbreaking

To leave her behind.

 

 

 

Work

It's been crazy here.
Stress makes my hair fall out by the handfuls
The words send chills down my spine: restructuring, reorganizing, rebranding.
Work. Corporate America.
The things I thought would make me happy and a success have disappointed... again.

I thought I was valued, important.
What I do... doesn't matter

I am a dispensable asset.
People who I thought were my friends, were enemies all along
I was just being used.

Didn't think I'd be here again.
Didn't think I would have given a part of my heart to this job.
But I did.

Now I'm hurt and pained at their betrayal.

"Don't take it personal," they say, but I do. It IS personal.

It DOES matter.

Once again, I question my goals, my career, and realize this isn't where I want to be. This isn't what I want to do.

There are new opportunities on the horizon.
There are probably things out there that will make me so much happier, more fulfilled.

Here in the trenches, it's hard to see the light.

brain dump 1

This is a space I've reserved to dump all the things taking up space in my brain and lay them at the feet of this world.
In the end, I hope this practice releases me from all its entanglements and suffocation.

Void and loss

It's here.. right here in this chest, in my full belly, in my thunder thighs.

SHE.

Guilt sets in, then anger, then disappointment... then depression

SHE.WAS.THE.WORST.

You know who. I dare not say it.out.loud.

Dead all these years and she's still here haunting my very soul

pity when they die, they still don't leave.

They infiltrate dreams, decisions, words said in haste.

Oh how I wish she'd just die.

Oh what freedom it would give to me.

Alas, freedom isn't free.. isn't that the saying?
It requires bloodshed, sacrifice and more bloodshed.

Samson and Delilah by Peter Paul Rubens

HE.

doesn't see me.

All this time I tried not to admit it.

Lots of words said

Stunning silence of the words most longed for

Shared room and bed

Empty void of disappointment.

Day after day.

Forged tenderness
Shove myself in a place he doesn't seem to want

Too much talk,

No actions.

He doesn't want me.

Penthouse suite,
Beauty surrounding,
Sea beside us

But no cohesion.
Just excuses and resentment.
Resentment turned to bitterness
Bitterness into acceptance

And waiting.. just waiting.
For the silent Adam to become a man.

In the dark.

6 years ago..

I saw some bikes online in an ad for Target. Then I remembered:

The apartment on the 3rd floor. I was about  12 or 13 maybe. My dad bought me a bike. She couldn’t stand that I was given a gift for my birthday. If it wasn’t about her… well... it's nothing... she’s just hateful like that.

Her house was too clean. She couldn’t have a dirty nasty bike in there. She left it on the porch, unsecured. Of course it gets stolen. Of course she doesn’t care.

It was 6 years ago we laid her in her final resting place. I just thought I was free.. oh no. Every once in awhile these memories flood from a vile place. The angry self takes over; I become the person I hate the most. Squash it down once again before the real monster in me reveals herself.

Until next year without a thought, or a word, it tries to take me again.

 

Rattle this cage

There are moments when I’m dying to write.

But I know the piece I produce will hurt.

So I internalize, deal with my sad, repressed state.

Every so often I just want to throw things.

Rattle this cage.

Howl.

Roar.

Growl.



William John Huggins
A Lion



Unfortunately, I emit in other ways.

In rolling my eyes,

In offhanded remarks

In my looks of contempt.

Disappointment written all over my face.



William John Huggins
A Tiger and a Serpent



In the end, I hurt them anyways.

The words were never said.

But my language is never clearer than when I’m trying so hard not to speak.

I’m still that little girl

I’m still that little girl

Last one to be picked up

Waiting…

Waiting…

Waiting…

Time moving at a cruel slow pace

Light turning into darkness

Another day of this.

Waiting on them

To come pick me up.

They forgot.

Something else was much more important.

I walk home

It’s cold.

Cheap shoes don’t do so well on ice

Any minute I’ll slam to the ground

Heart breaking into a million pieces

Disappointment turns to anger

Anger to resentment

Resentment to Hatred

And here I am

Forever trapped in this abyss of darkness

Forever lost

Still forgotten

Somewhere, something shifted

And this bitterness consumes everything good

Invisible

Why do my needs come last?

I get so frustrated meeting everyone else’s needs with nothing left for me. I feel like I don't matter. Invisible.

Depression.

Depression.
I suffer from it.
It's evil. It's a demon.
I wish I could be happy. I have EVERYTHING. I am living my wild fairy tale life.
 Yet.
 I sit here in the middle of the night feeling sad, lonely, disgusted with one stupid little thing that will eventually pass.
Depression is a selfish loathing. I get so wrapped up in all the things "I" want and need that I forget how truly lucky I am.