P.50 

        When I checked back the next night, 3rdEyeOfHorus had replied within only a couple hours, with a mini- novel; of which I was further intrigued. We sent a few messages of equivalent length back and forth before concluding we obviously vibed inordinately well and exchanged cell numbers. I had my usual reservations about becoming potentially involved with any romantic expectations, but figured I wouldn’t get ahead of myself and should at least try talking to someone other than a therapist.

Only things went much differently than the norm I had expected;  I actually started caring about using my phone during the three allotted evening hours, during which we talked the entire three hours each night via text; things got intense very quickly, along with the whole finishing eachother’s sentences, feeling as though you’d known them for the longest time, and all of those other cliches that usually made me rather nauseous. We talked like this for just under a week, until one night he never replied.

          I waited- rather aware that I was being ignored, but figured there was a reason; I wasn’t angry, as in my life I had been forced to grow very, very good at waiting. But I wondered in a somehow tormented silence if I had somehow managed to say something wrong, despite that I had still been rather vague as to the true nature of my life. He knew I was in treatment but as usual I downplayed how bad things were. I worried in a manner so highly uncharacteristic of me- had I scared him away, did he think I was crazy, or what in the hell was the deal when we seemed to be getting along so supernaturally well.

I felt foolish and childish, I felt that I had grown already somehow attached to this person who was barely more than a stranger. What the hell was going on with me? I had always been so great at not minding anyone or being ignored; how could this person’s doing so hurt so much? Was I becoming obsessed? I usually didn’t even give a shit if people liked me. I had no idea what was going on with me. I felt mixed up since the first day we spoke; like my insides had been ripped out and set on fire, but in a way that simultaneously felt as wonderful as it did hellish; like everything was wrong and right at the same time.

         I heard from Jacob a bit over three days later, of which he said that he had needed some time alone to “think things over;” Things I wasn’t exactly sure what.  He said that he was confused because he was always one to be very careful and reserved to not get carried away in mere childish infatuation, but that he felt he was in love with me. At first I was so surprised I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t exactly know if what I felt was love, lust, a bit of both, or simply getting too caught up in a chemical cascade; but there was definitely an undeniably compelling  attraction- a thing I had never as much as felt before in my life. I was pretty sure I’d never even been “in love” before- much less one to prematurely assume such- but ventured to say that I loved him too. And that was when the fighting started.

….

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P.24 the Last Letters

    “Go on. I know you can give me more than that.” 

“Hm. Okay. You said home life- you already know that I still live with my parents. My brother moved out a few years back, so it’s just me left to deal with mom’s bullshit. I don’t really talk much to my brother, haven’t spent much any time with him since we were teens without licenses. But he was damn glad to finally get out. It was us vs them as kids; now it’s just me. Most ironic, but fortunate- my brother grew up with a severe learning disability and supposed ‘aspergers”, they said he’d never be able to properly hold a job or live on his own- but he did both, with a successful career in the works and going damn straight at life. Equally as funny, I was supposedly a “gifted” student intellectually- at least as the assessments go- but I actually ended up being the one unable to do any of those things; maybe instead of him? I mean I’m happy for him, and pray more for him, but me- I’ve run out of excuses for failure at my age-”

“Wait, slow down. Your mom’s bullshit?”                                        

“Yeah, that’s just what we call it.”

“Call what?” she repeated.                  

I was getting lost in my head again, spinning off in fifty directions. 

“I don’t know, I guess she’s always been like a straight laced and sober rageaholic. Ever since as young as I can remember, she was always stressed, always angry, constant yelling, blaming, martyrdom- we hated being around her. We still do. I still do. Everytime my brother comes to visit he says he still says that he had forgotten how awful she is, or doesn’t know how I don’t just cold cock the woman. Sometimes I nearly do. I break other things instead. And that’s partly why I’m here, tensions were just too high and I have my own shit without hers. They can’t deal with my forgetfulness anymore, and I don’t know why my brain just doesn’t seem to work the way it used to. Even I’m tired of it, I’m surprised they hadn’t kicked me out sooner, for leaving crumbs on the counter or some other dumb bullshit that she’s always cared so much about.”

   “Okay,” she scribbled something down, “See, there’s something. She seemed nice when I talked to her. And your dad?”

“Duh, isn’t that what families do- pretend to be nice when friends are around? Pretend that you like eachother when your date is over?” 

“Sometimes. What’s dad like?”

“I’d say he’s a good Christian guy, a lighthearted kid in a grown man’s body most of the time. I really respect him. He’d always bring the hammer down on us when Mom’s screaming wasn’t enough- but if you ask me, I wouldn’t say he was the head of the household when I was growing up. But he prayed. He taught me to, and to mountain bike, and to keep my eyes fixed on only where I want to go. I suck at that, but I at least learned the lessons literal application after hitting enough rocks, facedown into the dirt.”

“So you like your dad.”

“Basically. In the same kind of distant understanding my brother and I have always had, without much in common, conversation or understanding. But honestly I’ve wondered my entire life if the problem of disconnect isn’t just a problem with me- that maybe I’m a psychopath or sociopath who doesn’t even realize that I don’t actually feel anything, but just use people to get what I need in order to not die.”

“Do you really believe that you use people? If I may say, from the extensive conversations I’ve had with Sherice, you’re anything but a psychopath.” 

“I would never consciously use anyone, but can’t help but wonder; because all growing up I’ve said I love you to my parents- to my mother- but inside felt alone in a family and knew that I could never see them again and wouldn’t hurt any more for it. But as a kid, I’d say I love you to my mother if she said it, but it was like choking on bitter seeds, because I knew she could never know that inside I felt like I wanted to say that I hated her and when I grew up I wanted to be anyone or anything but like her. But she could never ever find that out because as a kid or teen, I still needed things. But even I knew disgust enough at that age to know that something was wrong- and that today I have absolutely no concept of what love is.”

“When you were a kid and you’d get upset, you wouldn’t feel a little better if your dad just held you, even if he couldn’t fix whatever it was? Or you’ve never had a relationship before that you felt love in?”

“Not that I’m aware of, and if I have ever felt “love”, then it must be catastrophically, severely overrated. Never felt it, never been in it; it’s likely nothing more the actions we take as a conscious decision to treat others as ourselves. But if that’s truly all love is, I doubt that it could be as strong a driving force in everyone around me, in this world; I doubt all the songs about it would be on the radio, or even be written at all. I doubt people would become obsessed with another person solely of sexual  attraction, or get married, or raise up more kids who will go though life believing love is just a tool, or a meaningless rose or box of chocolate on February 14th that some people get or deserve while others don’t.” 

“I can tell you that it’s more than that.” She wrote again. “Now let’s move on to relationship history.”

… 

8.11 free write

There are two sides to everything

Every story; To you, to me

There are two sides to everyone

One we hide, and one we try to love

A coin with two faces

the same, but opposites adjacent

Revealing both the bad and good

Don’t let that be misunderstood

For perhaps not feeling the way you should

There are two, ever at war

Pushing and pulling

But never knowing what for

One side is you, the other me

One to choose, one to lose

And both incomplete. 

Indefinitely

You know, I would have stayed

Definitely

I wouldn’t have left you alone

Unless you had asked me to go

Even then, I would likely try and pretend

That It didn’t hurt me as much as it did
I know the signals are always mixed

In the midst of difficult circumstances

But when it comes to how much you matter to me

I said what I meant, not just what was convenient

But I’m also imperfect and will never have an apology that’s flawless

For all of the times I’ll surely say something thoughtless

I wish that I could read your mind so that I could make it better

and be what you needed right then

But I can’t if you are unwilling to help me understand

I know not everything I say is easy to hear

And I have my many faults that I’ll own for sure

But not a word I wrote was ever meant to hurt

I’m always willing to apologize a thousand times, and try my best to change

but can’t if you don’t tell me what I did to cause you pain

I’ll always believe in working out conflicts and misunderstandings

But you just leave again, without saying anything

And I’m left just to wonder a hundred other things

If we are both stones- stubborn and unknown, each again on our own-

You must be a  Playa Desert stone

For I’ve never seen one quite so apt to get up and go

Though I know I can be too

So I may get that part of you

Or perhaps I’m just too young to apprehend the truth

I want to understand you, but could you me too?

I may have A Lesser Darkness dwelling within

Like most of us; but mine is less hidden

We all have our light and our dark

but I had hoped that you could see my heart

And know that light always shines through

I said I love you

And that never changes or goes away

Even in the midst of the highs and lows we all face

Just as the ocean always remains

It is calm and steady, but rages in the same

For the rivers and tides ever ebb and flow

but always return to where they were meant to go

I don’t want to dog you too much

But I thought you would be as close and for as long

As I would Indefinitely be able to carry on

Or be somewhere near

All whether it’s never- six months, or a year

I won’t take or place the blame on anyone

I often feel foolish, feeling like the only one

Who in some subtle way is always holding on

I forget a lot of facts, but never can a face

I’m always looking back on those who just won’t stay

So I’m writing again for you

It’s the last thing I can do

I don’t why you affect me like you do

Surely you must know how deeply this hurts me too

Of course I’ll still be here waiting for you

And for impermanence

Because everything worth it is always

Indefinite.

Familiar Eyes


Days like today I ask myself        Why do I feel so much weaker   Than everyone else

When death beckons softly            As better than this                        Feels like I’ve died a thousand times                                                    but still can’t find

Familiar Eyes                                   That say home to me                     And so I hide                                           I don’t want them to see              That I can’t always try                        A thousand one times                Maybe I’m the fool for ever loving Familiar Eyes

I don’t want you to look in mine and see                                              That even after all this time I still bleed                                                         I don’t know how to try the way I once did                                              Tell me are you still so empty the way that you said

That death’s beckoned softly  as better than this                               Like you’d died a thousand times  But still couldn’t find

Familiar Eyes                                    That say home to you                       Do you hide                                   when you don’t want them to see That you can’t always try                  a thousand one times               Maybe you were the fool                for ever loving at all

When you think you know someone                                                 It all falls and comes undone              I remember a small child             Who once thought                          there was a home inside      

Familiar Eyes.

January 11th Free Write

Silly Boy- you think that you’re in love…
But It’s just your drug
A one you’ll never get enough of
And just like anything that goes on for long
You begin to wonder what’s going wrong
When the novelty wears off
When it doesn’t reflect what you hold within yourself
You’ll only know it’s love
When you’d walk through hell
When the synapse resists
And the high runs dry
But she still tries
Sometimes the years do fall into their place- Many can attest
Boy, she can hold and affirm you- feel your heart beat against your chest
Silence in the moment
Your hurt
But what do you really know about her?
Do you know her fears, her secrets
Her tears, her regrets?
You never knew, for you never asked
You never have, for you never had
She can’t save you
When all you damn need
Is someone to see you for once
Through the consuming empty
You’re grasping to fill
With the next hit
Poised to kill.

December 21st

image

I’m sitting here in the rain with my little black bird friend, contemplating accepting the recent challenge to take another blind, uncomfortable stab at writing in a fashion beside the usual analogous poetry…
Typically, I’ve committed to such form of expression primarily to give the reader the ability to interpret it to be whatever is most significant to their own current circumstances. The second relevant reason, of the many, pertains to exactly what both prevents, yet brings me to be sitting here in the first place.
As a walked into the room, I saw a commercial on the television comprised of asking various individuals what they wanted to do with their future. Putting myself in various uncomfortable social situations, this question keeps popping up for myself of late, and so consequently this commercial evoked within me what it usually would- I laughed, and then I cried. Much to my surprise, the commercial then took a turn to include answers from the vantage point of individuals who suffer with various invisible illnesses, of whom said the same thing I hesitate to. It was a commercial for a site called Ok2talk.org of which is dedicated to being a safe place to share and gain anonymous support from others in similar situations. I would encourage anyone to check it out. Reading the words of just a few (I swear I just have something in my eye), their words resonated so hauntingly familiar- with the  words I reserve for myself alone. Sure, I know there are a lot of people out there who do understand and are also living in the midst of an invisible illness, but most don’t meet- for the obvious reasons.
In attempt to answer such a normal question about my future, I’ll tell any truth that can ease or evade being a “downer” to most, I’ll say that I’m fine (because in a global sense, I really am great) or “haven’t figured it out yet.” But if I answer from a personal level, I would say what they did- that I’m just trying to get through today! How the fuck would I be able to think, know, or even care about what I’ll do with the future?! I mean, I’m not the only surprised that I’m even still here. Yet for many, this statement lands a tad bit confusing or is interpreted as laziness or a lack of ambition. This is why it’s not talked about in the equal degree of its reality in countless lives. This is why there has in the past few years been the larger movement to remove the taboo from the stigmatized “mental illness.” This is why, most of the time, I myself avoid even trying to explain or describe “what it feels like.” It rarely bridges any gap and has often opened the door for judgement and abandonment- typically already a pervasive theme for hurting people.
Losing people because of the manifestation of my depression was such a deep-seated fear (and reality) of mine for the longest time, and still comes up from time to time. But I’ve been realizing that in trying to put myself out there despite all that’s unsaid, I’ve been able to meet- to my utter disbelief- a few people who reflect the love, patience, and character that I had become so sure had become lost within myself and in the world. As for the many “otherwise” situations-
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Proverbs 17:17
“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.”