Category: recovery

What’s In a Name

If my life was a book and each of my addresses was a chapter it would read like this:

Chapter 1: Dawn : Early Years

Chapter 2: King’s Way: Learning Who’s In Charge

Chapter 3: Towering Heights : Oppression

Chapter 4: Wake 1: Something Has to Give

Chapter 5: Black Acres: The Angst of Adolescence

Chapter 6: Break shire: The Only Choice is to Leave

Chapter 7: Wonderland: Free at Last

Chapter 8: Will I Am: Establishing Myself as an Adult

Chapter 9: Topping: The End of A Marriage

Chapter 10: Wonderland: Returning to Freedom

Chapter 11: Kill Worth: The Beginning of a New Era of Abuse

Chapter 12: Beached Wood: Learning to Drift

Chapter 13: Hardsley: Life with Children and a Disappearing Husband

Chapter 14: High View: An Attempt at Having It All

Chapter 15: Deck Her: Abuse Isn’t Always Physical

Chapter 16: Bricks Ham: Living a Bare Bone Existence

Chapter 17: Base Line: Starting All Over Again

Chapter 18: Griffiths: Chasing the Fantasy

Chapter 19: Base Line: Starting All Over Again, Again

Chapter 20: Crest Lea: At Last, Refuge

Chapter 21: Mark Us: A Noteworthy Time

Chapter 22: Iron Wood: This is the Stuff We’re Made Of!

(I took liberties with the street names.)

What would your life chapters be?

Re-Righting the Past

Wittingly, I engage in flirtations
hoping to purge self-loathing
wanting to escape this prison,
protective instincts set aside.

Men hold such appeal for me –
strong muscular machismo
distorting intentions, civility,
with smooth talking hands.

My perceptions toyed with
I succumb, despite myself,
sexually drawing a line –
baseless without focus.

Lure of belonging lingers
clouding my options,
I fail to appreciate the plot
discover my folly too late.

Withdrawing, I will calm,
vomiting pure emotion
unable to handle the
trickles of dirty feelings.

My good-girl breeding
excludes boundaries
strips me of autonomy
I need to regroup –

re-evaluate, debunk
roots of conditioning,
empower autonomy,
release worthless guilt.

I will re-write
this powerless script,
cast myself in a leading role
put an end to exploitation.

If I can ever forgive
the misguided sins
perpetuated against self
tarnishing the past.

Chaos Rules

“You’re mother’s in the hospital.”               It’s cancer!              Be brave!              “Your cousins are dead; all perished.”              Don’t speak of it.              You’ll upset others.             “Dad is not what you think he is.”             We have secrets.            Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.            “Your sister is pregnant.”            It’s a disgrace!            They need my help.          “Mother’s back is broken.”           Go away!          I am not wanted.         “Mom is not coping.”         Keep the baby quiet.       It’s all on my shoulders.        Suicide attempts       drug use    more deaths    illness     divorce    sexual promiscuity    breakdowns     insanity     spiraling out of control   Hold it together   We count on you.  I am responsible.  I am strong.  They need me.  Chaos  collusion
runaway rape “I have to leave.” I’ll save you. It’s never-ending.  I’m losing control. STOP!                                                  WAIT!
I AM                                    WEAK
NOT                         ABLE
to
breathe
broken
need
space
I learn to be,
gain strength from
knowledge, baby steps
Let          go
and         let
God         heal
restore                 revival
The Earth beneath me my protector; the sky above salvation; I am safe.

“You’re Mother is in the hospital.”    She wants to die.   I must be strong.
The walls around me crumble…
I am losing ground…
… a child again.

A Falling Out

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.

Invincibility

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.

 

Emotional Pain Dance

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.

Open To Healing

Open to healing –
delve into the subconscious
create a space for inspiration.

Ignore limited capabilities –
no offerings are meager –
enter with pure intentions.

Embrace new starts
have faith in ability
be spurred into action.

The Self holds the answers,
creative expression is the key.
No expertise required.

False Prophet

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.

A Child’s Grief

I didn’t cry when you died in that fire,
you and your sisters and brother.
I didn’t cry when we saw the images on the news –
the charred remains of your house,
four stretchers with black tarps being carried from the scene.
I didn’t cry when we all crowded around the coffin –
one built for four – your bodies reduced to nothing –
family members wailing in disbelief.
I didn’t cry, because I couldn’t.

Your bright eyes haunted me –
that impish smile of yours
cutting through my soul
taunting me, as you always did –
your quick tongue and high energy
dancing around me, making my head spin –
raising my ire until I could take no more.I wish you were dead, Billy!
I’d said it out loud.
Said it in front of everyone.
Said it with spite and meant it.
Said it, only days before the fire.

I know they know.
I can tell by the way they all hold each other,
and cry into their handkerchiefs
and don’t look at me.
I can tell they know it is my fault.
I know it is my fault.
I didn’t really mean it, Billy.
I didn’t really mean it, God.
We were just playing around.
Billy and me, it’s how we are.
We were just fooling.
Billy’d always make me mad,
then we’d make up – everytime
I swear.
Please God, make it not so.
I won’t fight with him anymore, I promise.
I only fight with him ’cause I like him.
You know how it is with boys and girls.
Billy’s my cousin.  I love him.
Please send him back God.
I’ll be good and learn to tame my temper –
Mommy always tells me to watch my temper –
I’ll be good, you’ll see.
I didn’t mean for you to kill all of them –
well…I didn’t really mean for any of them –
it’s just something you say –
when you’re ten and don’t know any better.