I keep this blog thing, where I can write anything I want. I try to share it with people to help them see the world through the eyes of one who is mentally ill. But I truthfully also write it to write, to stretch my writing muscles daily. I write for at least 4 hours a day. I submit now, something I never used to do. I write a lot of my bad experiences for my blog because they are not meant to be places like MySpace and facebook. I also toss in some of my poetry for myself. Everything on my blog is for me, but I do want people to see it because it has a dual purpose, to let it out, and to teach. Learn from the bad stuff, learn what it is to live inside the head of someone who does not know how to think positively, but is learning it as a new skill. My life is going to get worse before it gets better as my therapist and I discover all of my alters and get them working as a team. Right now they are not working as a team for me, they are all still in total survival mode. That is why they exist, so that I could survive the horrors of my life.
Have a sense of humor as you read my work, and also a sense of learning and of love. I am learning. I am growing. I am a process and a group. I am so much more that the sum total of the words you see here on the page. Read not only my poetry, but the essays that talk about learning about being DID. Read it all if you are going to read it.
The truth is this is a dark place mostly. I throw a few other poems in from time to time to lighten it up, but it is a dark place where I can put my thoughts and let them go to an extent. I still have to work through all of this in therapy. As I dig deeper into the alters and learn who they are, it will get darker. And then eventually the memory work begins and that will become very dark indeed. I have to do this thing to get well, or better. I have to do this thing so that I can become someone people want to be friends with. I have to do this thing so that it stops eating my insides and tearing apart my head. Since beginning a new medication, and starting this blog, my migraines have all but stopped. But I believe as I open doors in my head, long closed, the headaches and pain may come back. The anxiety will get worse before it gets better. I do little thing to try to overcome the crippling anxiety every day. I go out alone if need be. I go where I want, when I want. I spend long hours alone in LA waiting between individual therapy and group. I don’t know where I am, but sometimes I get in the car and I explore my surroundings. Other times I stay in the safety of a Starbucks and write.
My recent project is actually taking bits and pieces of poems started many years ago, and creating new ones from the old ideas. It is good therapy for me. I want people to see I am working on me and getting better. I want people to see how serious I am about growing from this place where I am just a survivor to being a thriver. This blog that some of you may see as totally negative is actually a very positive place of growth and learning. Read it again. See where I am going. It is a journey for me.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Pillity Pop
The Pillity Pop!
I've got lots of questions,
please don't tell me lies.
What happens inside me
when sanity dies?
Chemicals, Shmemicals,
how hard can it be,
Pillity, Poppity,
to find the right key?
What makes me so different?
Don't pretend its not so,
my pistons aren't firing
all in a row.
Chemicals, Shmemicals,
what kind of a mix,
Pillity, Poppity,
my brain it might fix?
How is it possible,
how can it be,
that taking a drug,
makes me more me?
Chemicals, Schmemicals
take this one to see,
Pillity, Poppity,
some semblance of me.
What can I tell you
I don't make the rules?
If this isn't real,
the doctors are fools.
Chemicals, Schmemicals,
I take a bite here,
Pillity, Poppity,
I'm shrinking, I fear.
Where did she come from,
my strange, evil twin?
Who opened the door
that let her walk in?
Chemicals, Schmemicals,
what else can I try,
Pillity, Poppity,
to make the twin die?
All of that doesn't matter,
what matters is this,
I act like I should,
if a dose I don't miss.
Chemicals, Schmemicals,
take them I must,
Pillity, Poppity,
or my sanity's dust.
2001
I've got lots of questions,
please don't tell me lies.
What happens inside me
when sanity dies?
Chemicals, Shmemicals,
how hard can it be,
Pillity, Poppity,
to find the right key?
What makes me so different?
Don't pretend its not so,
my pistons aren't firing
all in a row.
Chemicals, Shmemicals,
what kind of a mix,
Pillity, Poppity,
my brain it might fix?
How is it possible,
how can it be,
that taking a drug,
makes me more me?
Chemicals, Schmemicals
take this one to see,
Pillity, Poppity,
some semblance of me.
What can I tell you
I don't make the rules?
If this isn't real,
the doctors are fools.
Chemicals, Schmemicals,
I take a bite here,
Pillity, Poppity,
I'm shrinking, I fear.
Where did she come from,
my strange, evil twin?
Who opened the door
that let her walk in?
Chemicals, Schmemicals,
what else can I try,
Pillity, Poppity,
to make the twin die?
All of that doesn't matter,
what matters is this,
I act like I should,
if a dose I don't miss.
Chemicals, Schmemicals,
take them I must,
Pillity, Poppity,
or my sanity's dust.
2001
Dream date
Dream Date
Softness,
curves,
a woman.
I reach out,
she takes my hand.
We walk,
we love;
it’s slow,
it’s fast.
In these arms
I am home.
Softness,
curves,
a woman.
I reach out,
she takes my hand.
We walk,
we love;
it’s slow,
it’s fast.
In these arms
I am home.
Dinner
I look at you
and sense
a full meal:
appetizers,
meat and potatoes,
a small salad
on the side,
and dessert,
sweet, creamy delight.
A feast
lovingly prepared,
passionately eaten.
Sated,
I lick my fingers
and wonder,
where do I hide
the bones
when I am
through.
and sense
a full meal:
appetizers,
meat and potatoes,
a small salad
on the side,
and dessert,
sweet, creamy delight.
A feast
lovingly prepared,
passionately eaten.
Sated,
I lick my fingers
and wonder,
where do I hide
the bones
when I am
through.
to Debra on her 18th Birthday
You didn’t like me
I know
Although you never
Let it show
I loved you
From the start
You Took a
Piece of my heart
Now you are a woman
Fully grown
I can only hope
Love has always shown
Not your parent
Yet I feel I am
I’ll be here
If you get in a jam
I’ve done my best
To be a stone
You could lean on
When all alone
I wonder if
You’ll ever know
All of the love
I try to show
I hope and pray
Your dreams come true
On this your day
I love you.
I know
Although you never
Let it show
I loved you
From the start
You Took a
Piece of my heart
Now you are a woman
Fully grown
I can only hope
Love has always shown
Not your parent
Yet I feel I am
I’ll be here
If you get in a jam
I’ve done my best
To be a stone
You could lean on
When all alone
I wonder if
You’ll ever know
All of the love
I try to show
I hope and pray
Your dreams come true
On this your day
I love you.
Change Can Only Happen in Me
Yesterday is what it is
It cannot be changed
Change can only happen in me
How does yesterday affect
How does it change me?
These are the questions
I seek answers to daily
Yesterday is in my mind
Daily
Spinning every moment
Of now into something
It isn’t
And I don’t know how
To change that yet
Change can only happen in me
I look at the past
The hurts
The joys
What do I want to remember?
So much is missing
So many holes
Yesterday is what it is
The events don’t change
The good or the bad
But what do I want
To relive
The pain or the joy
Moments of joy
Out numbered by pain
But what joy they are
When held up to the pain
Without the pain
The joy can’t be measured
And still the pain is what I act on
Yesterday is what yesterday is
Change can only happen in me
Choosing the joy
Means letting go of the pain
What purpose does it serve?
To live in the pain?
Why do I hold on?
To let go is to risk
To risk is my fear
But without risk
I stand still as a post
Let go of yesterday’s hurts
Hold on to the joys
That is the mission
The journey
Am I up to the challenge?
Can I really let go
Take the risk?
Time will tell
Tomorrow will be yesterday
Soon enough
And then I will know
Did I make the choice?
To change my view
Or have I held on
Yesterday is what it is
Change can only happen in me
It cannot be changed
Change can only happen in me
How does yesterday affect
How does it change me?
These are the questions
I seek answers to daily
Yesterday is in my mind
Daily
Spinning every moment
Of now into something
It isn’t
And I don’t know how
To change that yet
Change can only happen in me
I look at the past
The hurts
The joys
What do I want to remember?
So much is missing
So many holes
Yesterday is what it is
The events don’t change
The good or the bad
But what do I want
To relive
The pain or the joy
Moments of joy
Out numbered by pain
But what joy they are
When held up to the pain
Without the pain
The joy can’t be measured
And still the pain is what I act on
Yesterday is what yesterday is
Change can only happen in me
Choosing the joy
Means letting go of the pain
What purpose does it serve?
To live in the pain?
Why do I hold on?
To let go is to risk
To risk is my fear
But without risk
I stand still as a post
Let go of yesterday’s hurts
Hold on to the joys
That is the mission
The journey
Am I up to the challenge?
Can I really let go
Take the risk?
Time will tell
Tomorrow will be yesterday
Soon enough
And then I will know
Did I make the choice?
To change my view
Or have I held on
Yesterday is what it is
Change can only happen in me
beautiful woman
Beautiful woman
Kissing me in the rain
Smelling of sweet cologne
Streaming memories
of one loved and gone
Smelling of work
Sweet human smell
Sexy
Kissing me
Me kissing her
Eyes light blue
With intelligence
and light from within
Smile that stirs my soul
Beautiful woman
So sexy
Soft
Sexual
Honest
Becoming
Friendly
How can it be
You don’t know
how beautiful you are
Kissing me in the rain
Smelling of sweet cologne
Streaming memories
of one loved and gone
Smelling of work
Sweet human smell
Sexy
Kissing me
Me kissing her
Eyes light blue
With intelligence
and light from within
Smile that stirs my soul
Beautiful woman
So sexy
Soft
Sexual
Honest
Becoming
Friendly
How can it be
You don’t know
how beautiful you are
Be Myself?
Be myself?
Be yourself they say.
Do they know who I am?
Do they know that for me I is plural?
Do they know what a fucked person We are?
Me a fascinating concept,
Who am I?
Am I the 4 year old,
The 8 year old,
The smart one,
The teen boy so laid back,
The angry one,
Maybe I’m the southern one,
Or the self assured one,
The quiet one,
The one who holds the math,
Or the stutterer,
Just who the hell am I?
Be myself, if only I knew who I,
Who We, are.
If I am myself, I am despised
If I am someone else,
I am a liar.
If I put on the happy face,
Make believe I’m like you,
Then I’m ok.
But guess what,
I am most definitely not OK!
Twisting in the wind,
Breaking boundaries,
Talking too much,
Talking over people,
Never knowing
Who I’ll be
One minute to the next.
I try to be present,
Be Maureen,
But the others want time
In the body too.
They want to be heard,
kind of like you.
Being myself gets me nowhere.
No one likes who I am.
They call me liar,
Faker,
Crier of wolf,
They don’t know,
They are not me,
They have not lived
The life we lived.
They didn’t need
Others just to survive.
They think they know
Me,
But deception comes easy
Over time and space.
We fill in gaps
With laughter
Or anxiety.
We create reality when reality escapes us.
It isn’t lies, just careful perception.
What’s going on?
Wait and see.
Then join in when I know it’s me
Being myself has lost me friends
It loses girlfriends for certain,
Because the me that is host
Has open wounds,
And reacts badly too often;
Hurts easily,
Is impatient,
Talks too much too loud,
Fears everything,
And just plain annoys folks!
If I let another take control
Sometimes they know
Sometimes they don’t
Many they have seen
Not knowing at all
The difference between
My alters and I
I cover it up
I like to perform,
So they think
I’m acting
They just can’t see
What is right in their face.
The people who live inside my head
Know how to pretend,
Know how to be me.
Be yourself they say,
Great idea,
If only I knew who that was!
3/20/2010
Be yourself they say.
Do they know who I am?
Do they know that for me I is plural?
Do they know what a fucked person We are?
Me a fascinating concept,
Who am I?
Am I the 4 year old,
The 8 year old,
The smart one,
The teen boy so laid back,
The angry one,
Maybe I’m the southern one,
Or the self assured one,
The quiet one,
The one who holds the math,
Or the stutterer,
Just who the hell am I?
Be myself, if only I knew who I,
Who We, are.
If I am myself, I am despised
If I am someone else,
I am a liar.
If I put on the happy face,
Make believe I’m like you,
Then I’m ok.
But guess what,
I am most definitely not OK!
Twisting in the wind,
Breaking boundaries,
Talking too much,
Talking over people,
Never knowing
Who I’ll be
One minute to the next.
I try to be present,
Be Maureen,
But the others want time
In the body too.
They want to be heard,
kind of like you.
Being myself gets me nowhere.
No one likes who I am.
They call me liar,
Faker,
Crier of wolf,
They don’t know,
They are not me,
They have not lived
The life we lived.
They didn’t need
Others just to survive.
They think they know
Me,
But deception comes easy
Over time and space.
We fill in gaps
With laughter
Or anxiety.
We create reality when reality escapes us.
It isn’t lies, just careful perception.
What’s going on?
Wait and see.
Then join in when I know it’s me
Being myself has lost me friends
It loses girlfriends for certain,
Because the me that is host
Has open wounds,
And reacts badly too often;
Hurts easily,
Is impatient,
Talks too much too loud,
Fears everything,
And just plain annoys folks!
If I let another take control
Sometimes they know
Sometimes they don’t
Many they have seen
Not knowing at all
The difference between
My alters and I
I cover it up
I like to perform,
So they think
I’m acting
They just can’t see
What is right in their face.
The people who live inside my head
Know how to pretend,
Know how to be me.
Be yourself they say,
Great idea,
If only I knew who that was!
3/20/2010
Sonnet of the Mentally Ill
You know what it's like to live in my head?
Connections aren't made like they are for you,
More often than not you wish you were dead.
It's hard keeping straight what's what and who's who.
Important things get lost in the jumble.
The pill drill can help, though not all the time,
Frustration at this can make you mumble,
But take them you must, or walls you will climb.
Some days it's hard not to sink through the floor,
With mangled thoughts and twisted perceptions,
I don't want to feel this way anymore.
Shrinks say they cure, what cunning deception.
Counseling may help, and the pills do to,
But all said and done, I'd rather be you!
Connections aren't made like they are for you,
More often than not you wish you were dead.
It's hard keeping straight what's what and who's who.
Important things get lost in the jumble.
The pill drill can help, though not all the time,
Frustration at this can make you mumble,
But take them you must, or walls you will climb.
Some days it's hard not to sink through the floor,
With mangled thoughts and twisted perceptions,
I don't want to feel this way anymore.
Shrinks say they cure, what cunning deception.
Counseling may help, and the pills do to,
But all said and done, I'd rather be you!
Friday, March 19, 2010
NEVER be yourself if you are fucked up!
It has been nearly 5 years since my brother, Buddy, decided it was time to end his life. He used a gun. He took pieces of me with him that I will never get back. He was my closest sibling emotionally, unless you count totally disliking someone an emotional connection, then the older brother is the closest.
I am not dealing well with the emotions that have come up for me around this particular anniversary. Buddy chose a life as a homeless person for many years for a number of reasons. He wanted experiences. He wanted to see the country. And I am sure he had many reasons he never shared with me. What I do know is he had a great time. He enjoyed himself. He wrote a lot, writing I hope my father will one day let me get a look at.
When he was younger, he and I shared story ideas back and forth in the mail. He would send me headlines or opening lines and I would write; I would send him opening lines, and he would write. We shared our poetry with each other. We shared our feelings about our dad. We both felt we were like him. We both felt a deep need for his attention.
Buddy was way more than my little brother, he was my friend. He inspired me, encouraged me, and accepted me. His love made me feel good and it made me feel connected to my family. Dad remarried and I have this whole other family I barely know. He helped me know them by telling me about them. He was a good brother and a good friend.
So why am I so angry with him? It isn’t just because he killed himself, although there is certainly anger over that. It isn’t that we weren’t in touch for months before he did it, although the anger about that is at me, not him. Perhaps I am mad at him for beating me to the punch. He always said it wasn’t a matter of if he killed himself, but when. I never thought he would do it before I did. I fight with those feelings every damn day of my life and have since I was a child. I first felt the need to die around the age of 6. I truly fight the feeling every day or every night. If at any time I have any emotional upset, the feelings get stronger, deeper, and harder to deal with.
Yesterday I got dumped. I am trying to find ways of dealing with the feelings that come with that. I want to die, flat out, no shit, no crying wolf. I just want to die because I know that I am never going to be well enough to be a partner to anyone. My therapist says I am wrong, but I am 49 and not getting younger. I met the person I always hoped to meet, and immediately drove her out of my life by being myself. Beware of people who tell you just to be yourself in any situation, if "yourself" is a severely damaged bag of goods. I should NEVER be myself outside of therapy because being me means being emotional, impatient, boundary crossing, and just plain annoyingly fucked up. The point of bringing up being dumped is that Buddy was pushed over the edge, and killed himself over finding out his boyfriend had been cheating on him. He died over a boy. He died of a broken heart and spirit. I am broken hearted and broken spirited. I want to die. I keep thinking that it is as easy to mourn two children on a given date as it is to mourn one. So his anniversary date is calling to me. It begs me to make it my own death day.
I am so twisted up inside. I just want to break everything breakable and trash everything else. I need to tear up all of my writing, give away all of my shit, drive somewhere in my car, and take enough pills to make saving me impossible. Part of me really wants to do it in my therapist’s neighborhood because it’s quiet there. But I can’t do that. I can’t do any of it because it is not yet my time to die. Dead inside already, my body seems to need to keep going. “You are free to create and honor any past you choose, to heal and transform your present.” Richard Bach. Nice idea, but how do I create a past that isn’t all broken and pieced together? How do I create a past without memory holes in it? I am basically always ready to run off and die over every negative emotion. I can’t see a way out. I cannot see my way to the other side. I need to find ways daily of remembering that I will hurt many others by my death. Well maybe not many others, but a few. I doubt there would be a crowd at my funeral. Maybe all of the people who don’t like me, way outnumbering those who do, could throw a party because I finally did it instead of talking about it.
I get accused of crying wolf about this whole dying thing. I guess that is because I talk about it. I talk about it to take the power out of it, but perhaps that escapes my friends. I know my friends are smart. I know they have offered me good advice at times, except that part about being myself, but they don’t seem to get that when I stop talking about it is the day I am going to do something about it.
If you are reading this, and you are tired of hearing me talk about my pain, my life, my desire to end it all, think on this for a moment, if I don’t talk about it, I am in way more danger of doing it. I’ve been good. I am not dragging my friends into my “drama” as they call it. I am not reaching out to anyone. I am writing. I write and write just to keep the thoughts from making me crazier. I know many of you don’t believe I am as sick as I am, but you are wrong. I am very disabled by my mental health issues. I am incapable of holding down a job. I am incapable of doing much but study and write.
I think I have surpassed my promise of writing for at least 4 hours today and I want to finish the book I am reading and start a new one. I am inspired by the book I am reading to write something equally as funny about my mental health. Carrie Fisher is a freaking genius with words. Who else could have written, “Instant gratification takes too long.” It’s like the best line to describe me ever. I am going to write that book. I am going to also publish my book of mental health poetry called, Inside Out. I wonder how one finds a decent literary agent. I think I am getting to the point where I need one.
Goodnight
I am not dealing well with the emotions that have come up for me around this particular anniversary. Buddy chose a life as a homeless person for many years for a number of reasons. He wanted experiences. He wanted to see the country. And I am sure he had many reasons he never shared with me. What I do know is he had a great time. He enjoyed himself. He wrote a lot, writing I hope my father will one day let me get a look at.
When he was younger, he and I shared story ideas back and forth in the mail. He would send me headlines or opening lines and I would write; I would send him opening lines, and he would write. We shared our poetry with each other. We shared our feelings about our dad. We both felt we were like him. We both felt a deep need for his attention.
Buddy was way more than my little brother, he was my friend. He inspired me, encouraged me, and accepted me. His love made me feel good and it made me feel connected to my family. Dad remarried and I have this whole other family I barely know. He helped me know them by telling me about them. He was a good brother and a good friend.
So why am I so angry with him? It isn’t just because he killed himself, although there is certainly anger over that. It isn’t that we weren’t in touch for months before he did it, although the anger about that is at me, not him. Perhaps I am mad at him for beating me to the punch. He always said it wasn’t a matter of if he killed himself, but when. I never thought he would do it before I did. I fight with those feelings every damn day of my life and have since I was a child. I first felt the need to die around the age of 6. I truly fight the feeling every day or every night. If at any time I have any emotional upset, the feelings get stronger, deeper, and harder to deal with.
Yesterday I got dumped. I am trying to find ways of dealing with the feelings that come with that. I want to die, flat out, no shit, no crying wolf. I just want to die because I know that I am never going to be well enough to be a partner to anyone. My therapist says I am wrong, but I am 49 and not getting younger. I met the person I always hoped to meet, and immediately drove her out of my life by being myself. Beware of people who tell you just to be yourself in any situation, if "yourself" is a severely damaged bag of goods. I should NEVER be myself outside of therapy because being me means being emotional, impatient, boundary crossing, and just plain annoyingly fucked up. The point of bringing up being dumped is that Buddy was pushed over the edge, and killed himself over finding out his boyfriend had been cheating on him. He died over a boy. He died of a broken heart and spirit. I am broken hearted and broken spirited. I want to die. I keep thinking that it is as easy to mourn two children on a given date as it is to mourn one. So his anniversary date is calling to me. It begs me to make it my own death day.
I am so twisted up inside. I just want to break everything breakable and trash everything else. I need to tear up all of my writing, give away all of my shit, drive somewhere in my car, and take enough pills to make saving me impossible. Part of me really wants to do it in my therapist’s neighborhood because it’s quiet there. But I can’t do that. I can’t do any of it because it is not yet my time to die. Dead inside already, my body seems to need to keep going. “You are free to create and honor any past you choose, to heal and transform your present.” Richard Bach. Nice idea, but how do I create a past that isn’t all broken and pieced together? How do I create a past without memory holes in it? I am basically always ready to run off and die over every negative emotion. I can’t see a way out. I cannot see my way to the other side. I need to find ways daily of remembering that I will hurt many others by my death. Well maybe not many others, but a few. I doubt there would be a crowd at my funeral. Maybe all of the people who don’t like me, way outnumbering those who do, could throw a party because I finally did it instead of talking about it.
I get accused of crying wolf about this whole dying thing. I guess that is because I talk about it. I talk about it to take the power out of it, but perhaps that escapes my friends. I know my friends are smart. I know they have offered me good advice at times, except that part about being myself, but they don’t seem to get that when I stop talking about it is the day I am going to do something about it.
If you are reading this, and you are tired of hearing me talk about my pain, my life, my desire to end it all, think on this for a moment, if I don’t talk about it, I am in way more danger of doing it. I’ve been good. I am not dragging my friends into my “drama” as they call it. I am not reaching out to anyone. I am writing. I write and write just to keep the thoughts from making me crazier. I know many of you don’t believe I am as sick as I am, but you are wrong. I am very disabled by my mental health issues. I am incapable of holding down a job. I am incapable of doing much but study and write.
I think I have surpassed my promise of writing for at least 4 hours today and I want to finish the book I am reading and start a new one. I am inspired by the book I am reading to write something equally as funny about my mental health. Carrie Fisher is a freaking genius with words. Who else could have written, “Instant gratification takes too long.” It’s like the best line to describe me ever. I am going to write that book. I am going to also publish my book of mental health poetry called, Inside Out. I wonder how one finds a decent literary agent. I think I am getting to the point where I need one.
Goodnight
It's Not How She Looks
It’s not how she looks
But how she looks back
From first encounter it was there
The look returned
I shared my attraction
She didn’t flinch away from it
Friendship
I hoped for more
Patience
I waited
Wanting to go out
Hang out
See her away from work
Time
In time I got my wish
We hung out
Truth revealed
She isn’t so straight
Kiss
On a dare
Kiss returned
Soft and stimulating
Risk
Take the risk
Ask for more
Win or lose
Take the risk
One kiss
One night
No matter
Dreams come true
Beauty comes to me
And while satisfied
Hunger grows for more
2008
But how she looks back
From first encounter it was there
The look returned
I shared my attraction
She didn’t flinch away from it
Friendship
I hoped for more
Patience
I waited
Wanting to go out
Hang out
See her away from work
Time
In time I got my wish
We hung out
Truth revealed
She isn’t so straight
Kiss
On a dare
Kiss returned
Soft and stimulating
Risk
Take the risk
Ask for more
Win or lose
Take the risk
One kiss
One night
No matter
Dreams come true
Beauty comes to me
And while satisfied
Hunger grows for more
2008
I Know Strong and Weak
I know what strong is
Getting up every day
With pain in your back
Soreness in your heart
Wounds that never seem to heal
And showering
Dressing
Facing the day
I know what strong is
Every day struggling
To make forward progress
Knowing you’ll probably fail
More often than not
Each time you fall
Standing up again
Taking on the challenges
Of every day
I know what strong is
Haunted by your past
Unable to let it go
But yearning to learn
Facing yourself in the mirror
Knowing others see failure
Trying not to let it get to you
I know what strong is
Walking through the pain
Refusing to give up
Staying alive when dead would be easier
Loving people you know won’t love you back
Standing up to abuse
When cowering is what you want to do
Letting yourself cry, or scream, or feel
Instead of building walls
Keeping others out
Or holding it in
Letting it eat you from the inside out
I know what strong is
Not perpetuating violence
Letting it stop with you
Even when hitting
Or throwing things
Would be so easy
I know what strong is
I know what weak is
Living in the past
Feeling each hurt again and again
Letting it eat at you
And spill out on those you love
I know what weak is
There is more strong in me
Than weak
More resistance to failure
Than failure
More drive to get well
Than desire to sit still
I know strong
I know weak
I am both
Not equally
Not happily
I am weak mostly
In the eyes of others
And strong in the mirror
I know what strong and weak are
I know they are in me
I know that few
Ever see
Anything but
Weak.
Revised 3/19/2010
Getting up every day
With pain in your back
Soreness in your heart
Wounds that never seem to heal
And showering
Dressing
Facing the day
I know what strong is
Every day struggling
To make forward progress
Knowing you’ll probably fail
More often than not
Each time you fall
Standing up again
Taking on the challenges
Of every day
I know what strong is
Haunted by your past
Unable to let it go
But yearning to learn
Facing yourself in the mirror
Knowing others see failure
Trying not to let it get to you
I know what strong is
Walking through the pain
Refusing to give up
Staying alive when dead would be easier
Loving people you know won’t love you back
Standing up to abuse
When cowering is what you want to do
Letting yourself cry, or scream, or feel
Instead of building walls
Keeping others out
Or holding it in
Letting it eat you from the inside out
I know what strong is
Not perpetuating violence
Letting it stop with you
Even when hitting
Or throwing things
Would be so easy
I know what strong is
I know what weak is
Living in the past
Feeling each hurt again and again
Letting it eat at you
And spill out on those you love
I know what weak is
There is more strong in me
Than weak
More resistance to failure
Than failure
More drive to get well
Than desire to sit still
I know strong
I know weak
I am both
Not equally
Not happily
I am weak mostly
In the eyes of others
And strong in the mirror
I know what strong and weak are
I know they are in me
I know that few
Ever see
Anything but
Weak.
Revised 3/19/2010
Blank White Page
Blank white page that stares at me
And it’s just a place to spill my guts
And I can’t write and I want to write.
I must write and I cannot write
I want to cry but crying won’t help.
Guts spilled are so messy, disgusting
Who wants to see that
On a page of paper?
But I must.
Writing is easy,
It has been said,
One simply stares at a blank page
Until drops of blood form
On the forehead!
I must spill my guts,
Or let them fester
Rot inside me.
Necrosis of tissues
No longer needed,
Excise.
Surgery, guts spilled
On the operating table,
Remove, cut away,
Graft in, replace the rot
With memories
Of good
Is the hope
Blood, there will be blood
Memories stained in it
Mind infused with it
The bloody mess that
Droplets on my forehead
As I spill forth the words
That cannot be held
And will not be quiet
3/19/2010
And it’s just a place to spill my guts
And I can’t write and I want to write.
I must write and I cannot write
I want to cry but crying won’t help.
Guts spilled are so messy, disgusting
Who wants to see that
On a page of paper?
But I must.
Writing is easy,
It has been said,
One simply stares at a blank page
Until drops of blood form
On the forehead!
I must spill my guts,
Or let them fester
Rot inside me.
Necrosis of tissues
No longer needed,
Excise.
Surgery, guts spilled
On the operating table,
Remove, cut away,
Graft in, replace the rot
With memories
Of good
Is the hope
Blood, there will be blood
Memories stained in it
Mind infused with it
The bloody mess that
Droplets on my forehead
As I spill forth the words
That cannot be held
And will not be quiet
3/19/2010
It Will Never Be
It will never be,
me loving her,
her loving me
All of issues,
all of my junk,
keep people at distance,
chase away love.
I’ve tried on love,
but so far
none has fit,
they stay for a while
then see the real me
the one with the warts
and disfiguring scars
I chase them away
The future looks dim
if the past keeps
touching the future
My past burns me
Tears me apart
3/19/2010
me loving her,
her loving me
All of issues,
all of my junk,
keep people at distance,
chase away love.
I’ve tried on love,
but so far
none has fit,
they stay for a while
then see the real me
the one with the warts
and disfiguring scars
I chase them away
The future looks dim
if the past keeps
touching the future
My past burns me
Tears me apart
3/19/2010
How Many Times
How many times did I just let it happen?
How many times did I keep the secret?
Was it my fault?
Could I have done it different?
Fear immobilized me
He’d just beat me more.
How Many times did I just let it happen?
How does that add up to participation?
How is it my fault?
Could we have done differently?
Fear immobilized me
He would just use me more.
How many times did I just let it happen?
How many times did I just slip away
To some other place
In my head,
Another head,
Another brain,
Different memories.
Fear immobilized us all
They would just use me more
How many times did I just let it happen?
How many times it was kept from me
By the others
The team
In my head
How does it come to be
That all was my fault?
Fear immobilized us
And they always used me more.
2010
How many times did I keep the secret?
Was it my fault?
Could I have done it different?
Fear immobilized me
He’d just beat me more.
How Many times did I just let it happen?
How does that add up to participation?
How is it my fault?
Could we have done differently?
Fear immobilized me
He would just use me more.
How many times did I just let it happen?
How many times did I just slip away
To some other place
In my head,
Another head,
Another brain,
Different memories.
Fear immobilized us all
They would just use me more
How many times did I just let it happen?
How many times it was kept from me
By the others
The team
In my head
How does it come to be
That all was my fault?
Fear immobilized us
And they always used me more.
2010
How Do I Measure Up?
Holes in my brain,
Gaps in my memory
Pain took away.
People came in
Took the pain
I could not take.
Splintered mind
Twisted soul
Ugliness inside.
Ralationships,
Friendships,
Family,
None care for me long.
And I know
Why,
Holes in my brain,
Gaps in my knowledge,
No boundaries,
No help,
No tact,
No one
To break the code
That holds the key
To how to
Change.
Code breaker
Came
And
Went.
What is a friend?
What do we give,
expect,
Long for?
What can I count on,
Who can count on me?
I cannot count on me.
Past
Is what I can count on;
Repetition,
Knowing the same shit
Will happen again,
And again,
Without change.
Instruments
Of torture change.
Faces change.
Pain is constant.
Rejection,
Rejection of me,
Rejection of my behavior,
Rejection of my sensitivities.
I am useless
Wasted skin
Filled with past pain.
And no relief,
No understanding,
Compassion;
Just distrust,
Misjudgment.
Pain,
My constant.
There is no constant
In the Universe
But change
It is said.
But for me the biggest
Constant is rejection
And pain.
2010
Gaps in my memory
Pain took away.
People came in
Took the pain
I could not take.
Splintered mind
Twisted soul
Ugliness inside.
Ralationships,
Friendships,
Family,
None care for me long.
And I know
Why,
Holes in my brain,
Gaps in my knowledge,
No boundaries,
No help,
No tact,
No one
To break the code
That holds the key
To how to
Change.
Code breaker
Came
And
Went.
What is a friend?
What do we give,
expect,
Long for?
What can I count on,
Who can count on me?
I cannot count on me.
Past
Is what I can count on;
Repetition,
Knowing the same shit
Will happen again,
And again,
Without change.
Instruments
Of torture change.
Faces change.
Pain is constant.
Rejection,
Rejection of me,
Rejection of my behavior,
Rejection of my sensitivities.
I am useless
Wasted skin
Filled with past pain.
And no relief,
No understanding,
Compassion;
Just distrust,
Misjudgment.
Pain,
My constant.
There is no constant
In the Universe
But change
It is said.
But for me the biggest
Constant is rejection
And pain.
2010
Constant
Holes in my brain,
Gaps in my memory
Pain took away.
People came in
Took the pain
I could not take.
Splintered mind
Twisted soul
Ugliness inside.
Ralationships,
Friendships,
Family,
None care for me long.
And I know
Why,
Holes in my brain,
Gaps in my knowledge,
No boundaries,
No help,
No tact,
No one
To break the code
That holds the key
To how to
Change.
Code breaker
Came
And
Went.
What is a friend?
What do we give,
expect,
Long for?
What can I count on,
Who can count on me?
I cannot count on me.
Past
Is what I can count on;
Repetition,
Knowing the same shit
Will happen again,
And again,
Without change.
Instruments
Of torture change.
Faces change.
Pain is constant.
Rejection,
Rejection of me,
Rejection of my behavior,
Rejection of my sensitivities.
I am useless
Wasted skin
Filled with past pain.
And no relief,
No understanding,
Compassion;
Just distrust,
Misjudgment.
Pain,
My constant.
There is no constant
In the Universe
But change
It is said.
But for me the biggest
Constant is rejection
And pain.
03/2010
Gaps in my memory
Pain took away.
People came in
Took the pain
I could not take.
Splintered mind
Twisted soul
Ugliness inside.
Ralationships,
Friendships,
Family,
None care for me long.
And I know
Why,
Holes in my brain,
Gaps in my knowledge,
No boundaries,
No help,
No tact,
No one
To break the code
That holds the key
To how to
Change.
Code breaker
Came
And
Went.
What is a friend?
What do we give,
expect,
Long for?
What can I count on,
Who can count on me?
I cannot count on me.
Past
Is what I can count on;
Repetition,
Knowing the same shit
Will happen again,
And again,
Without change.
Instruments
Of torture change.
Faces change.
Pain is constant.
Rejection,
Rejection of me,
Rejection of my behavior,
Rejection of my sensitivities.
I am useless
Wasted skin
Filled with past pain.
And no relief,
No understanding,
Compassion;
Just distrust,
Misjudgment.
Pain,
My constant.
There is no constant
In the Universe
But change
It is said.
But for me the biggest
Constant is rejection
And pain.
03/2010
crushing ache
Crushing ache
Busy
Pushing away
Leaving behind
Crushing ache
loneliness
Day
After
day
Reaching out
Texts
Emails
Calls
Messages left
No answers
No imcoming calls
Alone
Crushing ache
Friends
Where
Are
You?
Busy
Pushing away
Leaving behind
Crushing ache
loneliness
Day
After
day
Reaching out
Texts
Emails
Calls
Messages left
No answers
No imcoming calls
Alone
Crushing ache
Friends
Where
Are
You?
Change CAn Only Happen in Me
Yesterday is what it is
It cannot be changed
Change can only happen in me
How does yesterday affect
How does it change me?
These are the questions
I seek answers to daily
Yesterday is in my mind
Daily
Spinning every moment
Of now into something
It isn’t
And I don’t know how
To change that yet
Change can only happen in me
I look at the past
The hurts
The joys
What do I want to remember?
So much is missing
So many holes
Yesterday is what it is
The events don’t change
The good or the bad
But what do I want
To relive
The pain or the joy
Moments of joy
Out numbered by pain
But what joy they are
When held up to the pain
Without the pain
The joy can’t be measured
And still the pain is what I act on
Yesterday is what yesterday is
Change can only happen in me
Choosing the joy
Means letting go of the pain
What purpose does it serve?
To live in the pain?
Why do I hold on?
To let go is to risk
To risk is my fear
But without risk
I stand still as a post
Let go of yesterday’s hurts
Hold on to the joys
That is the mission
The journey
Am I up to the challenge?
Can I really let go
Take the risk?
Time will tell
Tomorrow will be yesterday
Soon enough
And then I will know
Did I make the choice?
To change my view
Or have I held on
Yesterday is what it is
Change can only happen in me
It cannot be changed
Change can only happen in me
How does yesterday affect
How does it change me?
These are the questions
I seek answers to daily
Yesterday is in my mind
Daily
Spinning every moment
Of now into something
It isn’t
And I don’t know how
To change that yet
Change can only happen in me
I look at the past
The hurts
The joys
What do I want to remember?
So much is missing
So many holes
Yesterday is what it is
The events don’t change
The good or the bad
But what do I want
To relive
The pain or the joy
Moments of joy
Out numbered by pain
But what joy they are
When held up to the pain
Without the pain
The joy can’t be measured
And still the pain is what I act on
Yesterday is what yesterday is
Change can only happen in me
Choosing the joy
Means letting go of the pain
What purpose does it serve?
To live in the pain?
Why do I hold on?
To let go is to risk
To risk is my fear
But without risk
I stand still as a post
Let go of yesterday’s hurts
Hold on to the joys
That is the mission
The journey
Am I up to the challenge?
Can I really let go
Take the risk?
Time will tell
Tomorrow will be yesterday
Soon enough
And then I will know
Did I make the choice?
To change my view
Or have I held on
Yesterday is what it is
Change can only happen in me
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