sludge is my body
sludge is my mind
in the early hours
consciousness fights
for breath
awareness
is swallowed up
submersed
resurfaces
fragmented
overloaded
messages chime
phones ring
voices
worlds away
the altered reality
of disability
has claimed me.
Stubbornly, I follow
my desires and motivations
over the edge, humbly
rediscovering
my sorry limitations.
Calling home, hoping
for a sensible response –
reliable, clear-headed –
(I should know better –
no one like that exists
where I come from).
Miss Vanity and Ms. Martyr
come to the rescue, with
Perfect baby, Spirited baby
and the Despondent One
in tow, along with
adolescent Asperger,
awkwardly incapable
of social intercourse.
Doubtful of their intentions,
certain of their impracticability
and suspicious of neglect
I pull back, angered,
threatening to exert independence;
I don’t need anybody
least of all, you people.
Miss Selfless smiles reassuringly
gesturing for my compliance –
she has everything under control
there is room for everybody –
I climb on board –
surprisingly comforted,
conceding assumptions.
I am embarrassed by my situation,
in need of repair…
Approach cautiously, I warn
it’s a steep state of decline.
My stories, exposed, overlap,
piles of debris cluttering
where hope should dwell.
This is not a place for children,
or the pure of heart.
I feel trapped, but don’t express it.
Ms Forever Up and Miss I’ll Pray For You
smile as if to say:
Don’t worry, Silly,
we’ll clean this up in no time.
And look after the babies?
And look after the babies.
Weariness begs me to surrender,
trust these dubious cons –
too overwhelmed and overcome
to care, resigned to repeat
the drama of the past –
fearing this is my lot.
Dissatisfaction niggles
Don’t give up –
there is more to aspire to
a greater dream to dream
give it time, give it time
and quit driving yourself
beyond the confines
of this current state
of dis-able-ment.
Crazy catches me –
semi-conscious/ zoned out –
body slams me,
hot mouth pressed on mine
suppressing objection
(as if I’d object)
working my juices
my mind overboard
passion flaming
I forget
who I am
where I am
yesterdays
tomorrow
Modesty intervenes
compelling flight –
flesh torn from flesh
prematurely –
this seduction,
taunting me in youth,
surprisingly vital still
I forget
who I am
where I am
yesterdays
tomorrow
Breathless,
heart palpitating
loins throbbing…
abandoned again.
It was only a ghost
a spectre from the past
mocking me –
false ecstasy.
(Linked to dVerse pub where desire and sexuality are on the board tonight.)
I would entertain confidence,
but here, on the edge of emotion
(others before self )
I am ungrounded.
I gesture kindness
(a shady, alluring reconciliation)
your heart unavailable
distracted and driven.
Pushed aside, I am
(non-conformist)
ostracized,
still raw.
I ponder relationships
(incensed and violated)
worthy of investigation –
these many sides of self.
Sidestepping social niceties
(I am righteously enraged)
personal indignation
makes for interesting dynamics.
Exile is hurtful,
unacceptable – I look
for a voice – pause –
your expectations a brick wall.
Obligations temporarily overloading,
executive functioning down,
my exterior collapses –
we fall out.
Remember when we were lovers,
and would stay all out night –
me full of bravado,
you coaxing one more drink?
I’d awaken the next morning
head thick and fogged
and you’d reassure me
that the car was in the driveway
safe and sound
and want to do it all over again
but I’d have to work,
so you would sulk all day
until you could sweep me up once more.
“You’re going to burn out before you’re 25”
a co-worker told me
and you just laughed and said:
“Not me, I’m invincible!”
and we’d dance the night away
never knowing where we’d end up
or how we got there.
When did it change for us?
When did you abandon me?
Was it the day we lost four friends-
all dead in a fiery crash –
a tragic combination of speed and alcohol
that fateful long weekend?
Or was it that time
you let me get into that car
told me I’d be okay
flattered me that a man so handsome
would want my company
then left me alone
to be raped?
Maybe it was me that
just couldn’t look you in the face anymore
deceived by your recklessness,
seized by the recognition
of your self-serving ways.
Time and obligations
have made me forget you,
yet every once in awhile,
I dream of those days
when we watched the sun come up
then sleepless and still buzzed
faced the world – our oyster –
as if nothing could tear us down.
A singular activity
suffices not to distract
from underlying pain –
multi-task.
Robotic attentiveness
fails to allay
constant buzzing –
re-focus.
Sidestepping issues
elicits no solace,
unravelling inevitable –
shutdown.
I am trapped
in solitary confinement,
sensory deprivation –
unleashed
momentous force
raging within
boring outwards –
scream
silently, alone,
unheard, unseen,
unburdening –
repent.
Self-pity dead ends,
breathe in life,
suppress negativity –
re-align.
Multi-tasking
ignites purpose,
smacks of productivity –
conceals.
I used to ride the New Age train
finding answers in the stars
unlocking the Mysteries of the Universe
a warrior for peace.
I was a see-er, an analyser
purporting to spew wisdom
a vehicle for a higher power
a spiritual guide.
It was like riding the bull
in a rodeo show –
fast and entertaining
but not sustaining.
And when I fell –
as surely we all do –
only the dust in my mouth
attested to my momentary ride.
The crowds have moved on
nothing to see here anymore
just post theatrical let down –
the show is over.
I was the mirror in the funhouse
distorting images of reality
believing I offered insight
unaware of the duplicity.
Magical thinking is
the merry-go-round of life
spinning fantasies
of wonder and revelation.
In the end, it is uncertainty,
not creed or indoctrination,
that rules destinies –
change is the only given.
She’s not in the kitchen –
presiding over the preparations,
thriving amidst the chatter,
tutting away thieving hands.
She’s not in the classroom –
mastering subjects,
upholding order,
ruling with a charitable hand.
Nor is she at social affairs –
smiling regally,
head bent in rapt attention,
compassion oozing forth.
The Queen is missing –
the poise and grace
that marked her carriage
has vanished without a trace.
Don’t ask the old woman –
tottering down the lane
stooped and stumbling –
she’s not all there.
Her mind’s a trickster,
her ego a petulant child
unwilling to concede wrong –
she’s merely the court jester.
I dream of waking before the dawn,
preparing for my day with proficiency,
professionally preened and on the go.
In reality, I see the early light of day
through an insomnia-induced haze,
or miss it altogether, unable to rise.
I will carelessly tie my hair back,
and moan at my image, forgoing cosmetics –
no one will see me, after all.
If I dress, it will be for comfort,
elasticized waistline compensating for swelling,
soft fabrics to soothe the burning aches.
In my dream it is the first day of school,
and I am excited and anxious,
caught up in the camaraderie of the moment.
I awake to the resounding silence of solitude,
no schedules await me, no colleagues
exchanging pleasantries, communal conspiracy absent.
I will pace myself, shuffling
between bed and simple tasks,
a cup of tea, maybe some writing.
I drive in my dream, a shiny red car
in which I glide through the streets
and park with the pride of knowing it awaits.
Its been years since I’ve felt the freedom
and independence of self-chauffeuring,
reliant on the more able-bodied, sharply cognizant.
It’s a rare occasion that rouses me from
this compelled complacency, enough
to venture into the hyper-stimulating world.
Disability has closed around me,
limiting experience, restricting imagination,
until I dream – and am whole again.
Progress – seldom linear –
tosses me into unexpected decline –
stranded and incapacitated.
My son – with labour-hardened strength
leaps to my side, steadying me
and I feel the fear in his caring grip.
My daughter, ever compassionate,
reaches out for me with horror-filled eyes
as my body crumples onto the bed.
My husband, my oak, seeks to comfort
his voice betraying the helplessness
this futile predicament imposes.
Beloveds, I know that you see me
this dis-abled, non-functioning shell
weakened and sickly, lying on this bed.
Do not be deceived – that is not me –
it is only an illusion –
a vessel – temporarily fettered.
I am, in essence, beside you –
ambitions and desires intact.
Feel me there, tall and proud.
Sense the wholeness of my being
remember me for the woman I am yet to be –
My spirit stands strong.
One Woman's Quest 