R: “It’s gonna be ok.”

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.

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Frantic (041918)

My heart beats faster

Than it should

As i lay next to you

And i notice a change in your breath

It’s ’cause we both know we want more

Than just laying next to each other

And we know we’ll give in

To a certain point

Suddenly your lips are nearly touching

My lips

And you make no move to move away

And i ask you if you wish you could kiss me

You take a few nervous breaths

Before you answer-

Yes and more (i’m paraphrasing)

And then we let everything happen

Except the kiss

And everything else you said

Micro

Like all the little things you do

How you ask me how i’m doing

How you encourage me to get out of bed

How you let me know when you’ll be home

How you celebrate my small wins

Though those are even few and far between

i lose more than i win

Always failing

And i forget to see

Your micro love

And all that you do for me

True love isn’t in the grand gestures

It’s in the everyday ones

And in the way you softly say,

“hey”

Foreign (041018)

it’s like we don’t even speak the same

language anymore

like we’re strangers

who’ve always known each other

but pretend not to

because being true

telling the truth

we would risk getting hurt

i used to be able to take that risk with

you

used to let you in

but maybe i did it for the wrong reason

i thought if i let you in

that you would do the same for me

always expectations

how do i let go

of wanting you to love me?

Suddenly (031018)

And suddenly I loved you.

I know I should have always,

I just didn’t though.

You loved me too soon

and I loved you too late.

If only we could have met in the middle.

And suddenly we are finding out what we mean

to each other.

I can’t hear the truth because it will break

my heart

my hope

my “us”.

I hold on too tight;

teach me to let go.

Reflecting on My Metaphor

i am a typewriter and someone else is pressing the keys

i am a match that won’t light

i am yarn, frayed and unraveling

i am glue that never dries

i am words written backwards

i am a stone that can’t skip

i am lukewarm coffee

i am a pen out of ink

i am an empty spool of thread

i am a threadbare sweater

i am a left sock without a right

i am a flower, always wilting

i am written in an unspoken language

i am all consonants and no vowels

i am a broken vase, not yet mended with gold

i am a butterfly with broken wings

i am an owl without voice

i am loaded scales with no counter weights

Untitled/110818

struggling faith

lost and distant

please find me, Jesus

i’m searching

for You

 

where are you?

i know

this won’t last

“joy in the morning”

and all that

but still,

 

i’m reaching

just a lost sheep

little black sheep

with mud

on her face

 

i’ve been

here before

and found

my way again

following Your light

 

i know

You never give up

on those You call

Yours,

like me

 

look for me

until

i remember:

i am

Yours

Dialogues

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.

Stepping Stones, part 2

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.