surviving myself

i have a fear of abandonment
you see
like many people do
except
instead of clinging
when i feel forgotten
i alienate
i isolate
i build more & better
walls
higher & thicker
walls
because
you see
if you can’t get in
you can’t hurt me
if i never let you in
you can never
leave
me.

this one is dedicated to the last therapist i fired after he cancelled an appointment with me without telling me why. i was going through a hard time anyway & kinda spun out on him.
at an early age my frankenstein’s monster complex kicked in. “if i cannot inspire love, i will cause fear…”
or just turn invisible as was the case for me.
the more my parents ignored me, the more invisible i became.
my little sister became the squeaky wheel…i became the invisible girl.
my method has literally never worked out for me.
but
i persist. because, for an invisible girl, i am persistent in making myself even more miserable.
now
now i am trying to take some walls down…but even as i do, little setbacks get me to stirring the concrete & setting the bricks anew….

metaphors galore…a good name for a band.

highs & lows

i am happy…
or is it just mania?
a high following a low
what is normal
i wonder
i feel
happy
like everything
is falling
into
place
& the life
i imagined
is finally finding its way
into
reality
will i crash again
tomorrow?
what is normal
i wonder
knowing i love
the ups
& downs
& would never trade
my chaotic
everyday
for a medicated one
of flatlines
& no stories
to tell
no poems
to write
i will always choose
paint splattered walls
over
white ones.

a thought i had while talking to a friend diagnosed with bipolar disorder. what is crazy? really… i mean, is it just a matter of riding out the ups & downs? i’ve always valued the fuckedupedness of my life for it’s giving me fresh perspectives & sparks in my imagination.
maybe i’m crazy…but i wouldn’t trade it for the world.

the prison of me

i need to break out
of the prison
of me
i’ve built some high
walls
dug some deep
trenches
it
won’t
be
easy
but i need
to be free
of me
(not all of me)
just the bits that
whisper
the bits that
scorn
the bits that kill me
a little
at a time
telling me
i’m not good enough
not
brave
enough
not ready for the world
the bits that tell me
to just
go home
& hide away
don’t even try.

inspired by my tarot card reading that asserts i am creating my own restrictions to my happiness (with some help from the ex.)
but i need to break out of the groove
i have set
for myself
first.
then, maybe, i can stop letting others put me in boxes.

root bound

here is what i am working through in my journal now.
those feelings of worthlessness & being unlovable…those feelings that came out in my backwards movement recently.
i want to stop it.
i want to stop feeling worthless.

mothra’s day massacre

here’s a funny story
some years back
i noticed my ex
burying something
in the dumpster
knowing he never took out the trash
my curiosity was piqued
so i went
dumpster diving
for mother’s day…
turned out
his stalker girlfriend
had left a mother’s day bouquet
of tulips
on our doorstep for me
unlike all the weird little notes
& gifts she left for him,
he saw fit to throw the tulips
in the trash…
that might be
the only time
i got flowers for mother’s day….

okay…not funny “haha”…more like funny in a really really painful way.
mother’s day & i have a terrible track record.
with a husband who said on the first mother’s day after my giving birth to his son, “why would i get her anything; she’s not my mother?”
with a mother who didn’t seem to know the first thing about mothering…but who was always happy to complain, criticize, & be cruel….
with my own conflicted feelings on being a mom….
it’s a fucked up day for me.
yet…i caught myself buying a necklace for myself…i think it was supposed to be a surprise, for mother’s day. so maybe i am starting to heal?
maybe.
a celtic trinity knot necklace. a protection symbol. with green amber ( my favorite.)
it’s nice to know that i remembered to get me something nice for mother’s day.

the image is a card i sent to my little sister last year for mother’s day…it was the closest i could get to saying “happy mother’s day.”

& for my next trick…

surviving myself
may be
the best trick
i have ever done
now you see me
now
you still
see me
i’m still here
manacles
straight jacket
cement shoes
submerged in a tank full of every tear
i have
ever
cried
&
i climbed back out
i
survived.

gorey laundry

my dad
he was
embarrassed to be
my dad
he thought
i was weird
different
abnormal
my dad
he was
embarrassed
of me
of the way
i dressed
of my being
outspoken
with opinions
contrary
to his own
my dad
he was
embarrassed
to be my dad
embarrassed
that i wanted to be
a writer
an artist
he tried to convince me
of the mistake
i was
making
he did not believe
i could possibly
succeed
i would be a failure
…how embarrassing
he was
embarrassed
of me
my dad
a man who did not
show his hand
a man
who kept so much
hidden
my dad
he could not bother
to hide
his
embarrassment.

i was to give a speech at my high school graduation because i was the salutatorian of my class.
my dad did not want to go to my graduation because he was sure i would embarrass him.
on my perfect little sister’s wedding day, i was put in the uncomfortable position of being her maid of honor. my dad’s words to me?
“don’t embarrass your sister on her day.”
he told me i would regret following my dreams. he told me that no one actually follows their dreams. he told me i had to be practical.
my dad.
spent so much time pushing me down.
when i eloped with a stranger (because i just wanted to believe that someone could really love me,) he said, “you’re not my problem anymore.”
i guess
now that he’s dead
i can say that right back to him.

thanks to edward gorey for this illustration inspiration

i could tell “worse” stories about my dad. about his alcoholism and his violent temper & how terrifying my childhood was…but the weird thing is, though that stuff was terrifying…it didn’t hurt nearly as much as living a life knowing what he thought of me.

invisible threads

maybe he still holds me
with
invisible threads
cords woven
into my heart
maybe he still keeps me
in a prison
with no bars
i think i am free
but somehow
i am not…
how many times
have i left him
but maybe
he still holds
me
after all
in his
refusing to let me
go
he pounds another nail
into my coffin
telling himself
he is keeping me
safe.

as i was driving, monday, to take the minions to meet their dad, i glimpsed another passenger in my car when i glanced to the rear view mirror.
shortly after, i drove past a cemetery with a fresh grave.
i wondered, will their father be there, at the meeting place?
or am i finally free?
i was sure that my ex-husband had died.

however, as we now know, it was my father who had died, not theirs.

i thought that if my ex-husband had died, i would be a little sad. i mean, my kids would lose their dad…but i would also feel…
free.
kinda the way i felt when i found out it was in fact my father who had died.

on retrospect, i guess i shouldn’t be surprised that i got the energy of my dead dad mixed up with the energy of my ex-husband…i mean, there is a reason i often choose charming narcissistic assholes to be with.

& what i wonder now is…can’t i be free without anyone else having to die? how do i break the binds that he keeps me tied with? because i truly believe that his not letting me go is stopping me from being truly free of him.

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