I don’t usually click the “create new post” button on here and write what’s on my mind, I have done so occasionally, but it is much more common for me to flip thru the pages of one of my journals and pick a poem or other short written piece that I know I haven’t published yet and throw it up on here. But once in a while I need the feeling of my thumb flying across the screen of my smart phone, trying to tell as much as I can of whatever story literally just happened to me. Tonight there is one of those stories, but the words are getting stuck somewhere, maybe in my biceps, and aren’t making it to my thumbs. In the past 3 hours I’ve cried 4 times. I felt like a burden on the people who were being so generous and giving me a ride, I felt like a nuisance as I stated my opinion and my experience while surrounded by a group of women who are more mature than me both in physical years and in faith, I had an outburst when the topic of discussion hit close to home, I wanted to tell a story but there wasn’t time, and by defending my crazy I only made myself appear more crazy. I’m sure whatever I said tonight was incoherent and I can’t explain it away. And yesterday in an effort to just enjoy a conversation with a friend, I gave her all sorts of details that it seems she is collecting in order to pass judgement on my life choices and recommend all sorts of ways to fix my life. Well, the truth is lady, i just wanted to have another adult to talk to, I didn’t need for you to tell me that I need to be on meds for my mental illness and for you to claim youve seen my behavioral extremes, when really you’ve only ever seen me depressed, some days I just don’t let the depression crush my whole day and I am able to laugh and I don’t lock myself inside my house for weeks at a time, just because I put on clean clothes and earrings does not mean my depression is gone and just because I talk about something I am excited about does not mean I am having a manic episode. But this post is just more incoherent crazy person babble, reinforcing that I am in fact having some sort of episode related to my mental illness. Eff it, Im too tired to fix me right now, tomorrow has a chance and so do i.
lost and distant
please find me, Jesus
where are you?
this won’t last
“joy in the morning”
and all that
just a lost sheep
little black sheep
on her face
my way again
following Your light
You never give up
on those You call
look for me
Self: Brain, why are you broken?
Brain: i was born this way.
Self: could you have been helped long ago?
Brain: perhaps, but no one believed there was anything wrong with me.
Self: i did.
Brain: but even you doubted.
Self: what can i do now?
Brain: the only way is to work against me. fight me.
Self: why can’t you just let me win?
Brain: that’s not how i work.
teach, i will
crochet, i will
mother, i will
love, i will
grow, i will
write, i will
live, i will
there is time
there is hope
there is possibility
there is me
hope, i will
i saw him on a Thursday
found out his story was tragic on Friday
knew why on Saturday
his birthday was Tuesday
i didn’t know then
he was beautiful
beautiful boy, what are you running from?
i don’t think he even knows the answer to that question
and the things he can’t forget
i am so sorry
but i am sure they all miss you terribly
i, too, am mentally ill
and i know they’d miss me still
i’m four days older than you
but some things are more the same
we have two sons
we couldn’t make it work
running away doesn’t sound so bad
sometimes things don’t make sense
and i’m desperately trying
to handle your story with care
i am a story-catcher and
beautiful boy, you are not alone
beautiful boy, i wish i could see
please go home
they’re waiting for you
California will always remember you
but Ohio’s heart breaks
beautiful boy, go
i am twenty years old. the year is two thousand and nine. i am wearing a white dress that i designed and sewed myself. i am not happy with the dress. i don’t like how it fits and i don’t like the way i look in it. i am frustrated and angry that one person is not at my wedding. instead of being glad about all the people who are here to celebrate my special day, i fixate on just one person. i should have had my eyes fixed on my groom. i do not notice the way he looks at me. for him i am the only person that exists today. later i will see it in photographs- the way he looked at me on that day. by the time i see it we are both beginning to believe it is too late.
i am twenty four years old. the year is two thousand and fourteen. i can’t breathe. i didn’t see this coming. i did not believe this would happen. R is breaking up with me. he has fallen in love with someone else. this can’t be real. this isn’t happening. i can’t breathe. please don’t leave me.
i am twenty four years old. the year is two thousand and fourteen. i am single for the first time in my adult life. i am trying to put the pieces of my life back together and move forward. i want to be someone who my sons can be proud of. i have decided that i want to be a teacher. i have enrolled in college classes for the first time in over three years. i believe i can do this. i will not fail this time, this is what i tell myself.
i am twenty seven years old. the year is two thousand and sixteen. R is single and has an extra bedroom. he has asked me if i would like to move in, as his roommate. we’ve started having sex again; we are friends with benefits. it sounds like a good plan.
i am twenty eight years old. the year is two thousand and seventeen. i have just gotten my first paying job of my adult life. it is at a yarn store. i am excited about the possibilities of this. it is a step in the right direction. a stepping stone.
i am fourteen years old. the year is two thousand and four. my mom is away visiting my grandpa. he has cancer. he will not live much longer. i am feeling so alone. i miss my mom. i have already decided not to return to public school this year. it is August. i am sitting alone on the porch. there are no walls; it has not become my bedroom yet. i see a small piece of broken plastic in the dirt. it is sharp. i am sharp; if anyone gets close to me my anger and sadness will cut them. i pick the plastic up. i press it into my flesh, near my knee. i drag it against my skin again and again. i am bleeding. i lie when asked what happened. scraped myself on something. it was an accident.
i am seventeen years old. the year is two thousand and seven. my parents drove me to Burbank. we carried my things up to my third floor dormitory. at some point my dad cries. he does not want me to leave home. he has held on too tightly and i’ve been afraid to leave because i don’t want to break his heart. but at the same time i am angry at him because i want to be allowed to spread my wings and fly. i want to stop being his emotional crutch.
i am eighteen years old. the year is two thousand and eight. i meet a boy. he is really sweet. i tell myself i do not want a boyfriend. i want to be just friends with this boy. in a week’s time he will be my boyfriend.
Do you ever wonder what would have happened
if we could have made it work?
If we really had tried everything?
We gave up too soon, I know that.
And I still wonder if it will be me and you
I have hope.
And I’ll always carry that hope,
in my backpack full of bricks,
that I’ll save because they’re ours
to build on.
I’m strong enough to carry more,
more than these bricks and more than my hope;
tell me everything and I’ll carry your tears
next to your joy.
I hope you wonder about me,
I hope you carry hope.
In reponse to
I hate your leaving footprints in the snow.
*I think I may have expanded this into a longer poem at some point, but I don’t know for sure. If I come across it, I will post and link hopefully.