Monday, October 7, 2013

Update or a reminder for the future

I am still mostly numb, but time has started having meaning again.

I am still finding lots of holes in my memory from last year and parts of this year.  I have mostly caught up on birthdays.

I find myself craving a love like I had with T.  Dangerous and I feel dishonest.  I just want something to sweep me away. Basically, I want to be rescued from my own brain.  Even though I know the first hint of anything encompassing I will run and hide. It is an idle wish that annoys me on many levels.  I don't want to be that person who wishes and waits for someone to rescue them.  I don't even hold a mild hope that someone could or even would.  You only can save yourself and sometimes, even then you just gotta let shit ride and hope you come out on the other side.

I keep visualizing depression as cobwebs in my brain.  These cobwebs are not those measly bastards that can be taken down with a mop and wrist flick.  They are huge, multi-layered and sticky.  I have my mop of determination, but it keeps breaking.  Duct tape can only repair it for so long and my arms are fucking tired.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

The Otherside of Love

Dear T,

Some days I hate you. When you took your life you took a year of mine.  I've missed so much and I am so lost at times.

I hate that I cannot find my emotional balance.  I learned previously to monitor my moods carefully, but now I cannot find baseline half the time.  I am constantly questioning.  Am I too sad?  Am I exaggerating?  How much of what I am feeling is grief and how much of my grief is real? My emotional paranoia is logically unfounded, but paranoia has no place for logic. I end up giving up and going with the flow.  I am relying on others to let me know if I seem out of bounds.  You know how I hate that.

I hate that your name tastes like your ash when I say it.  I avoid saying it when possible.  You are T, pretty much always T. When I do speak of you, I hate that I feel I should apologize for showing my pain.  I feel exposed and intrusive like I was asked the time of day and showed my crotch because I didn't have a watch handy.  Time does not equal vagina.

I hate the wave of irrational anger that swamps me when I smell you.  It always happens when I am not aware of you being gone.  When I am focused on a task or worse when I am dancing.  I lose all equalibrium and once the anger drains, the grief is there.  And I hate it.  I was myself for a bit.  Just me.  Not me +1.

I hate the compelling need to talk to you when I am driving.  I hate wondering if you hear me.  I hate that I cry over you the most when I am in the car where people can see me.

I hate the craving to re-read old emails and chats.  So far I have managed to get by without reading too many, but it is hard. I hate that you are on my chat list and I hate that you are still listed as a follower on this blog.  Yet, I cannot bring myself to delete you.  I hate that I feel weak because I won't do that.

Some days I hate you, but every day I miss you and I hate you for that too.



Thursday, June 6, 2013

Written 04/27/12

It becomes a rhythm, the mantra

Dead, death, died, deceased

Then his name over and over again.

I can't decide if I am attempting to lessen the impact of the reality by constantly reintroducing the knowledge or if I am just torturing myself for no good reason.

Probably a bit of both.  At least now my nails don't cut into my palms when I begin my recital.

I will take that as a step one.

I can't even comprehend a step two.

Dreaming of Hallucinations

Something is in the hallway.  I can hear it breathing low and harsh.  There is a scrapping against the wall and the stairs creak.  It is heavy, the stairs are sturdy.  I can see the shadow growing as it lumbers closer.  It gets past the carpet and I can hear the click of nails on the tile.

I am in my 30's and I am hiding under my blanket like a 5year old.  Something is coming for me.  I am terrified and I cannot move other then to shake.

I try to call Emily tell her about the beast.  Once she answers, I talk rapidly trying to explain.  She tells me she can't understand, that she can't hear me well.  I look at my phone and realize why.  It's melting.  Plastic dripping from my hand.  I drop the remainder and pile on more blankets over myself.

Then I hear a voice, it sounds familiar.  It is Pen, my roommate, she sounds worried.  Does she see the thing in the hallway?  I lift the blankets off my head and then close my eyes tight in fear.  There is a woman in my room that has Pen's voice, but is not Pen.  I do not recognize this person.  I peek again, body of a woman svelte and tall with the head of a raven.  I think it is Pen, she has an affinity for ravens.  So I try, I tell her that I do not recognize her, but I think she is Pen.  I ask her if she knows what is in the hall.  She shakes her head at me and the feathers flutter.  It's too much, its too real.  I hide back under my covers.  I know there is something wrong, but I can't look again.

I ask her if she really is Pen to get others, others I hope to recognize. I hear her leave, and the beast in the hallway follows her. Nails clicking away and the harsh breathing softening the farther it goes.

I don't leave the safety of my blankets.

Micah & Emily, I hear them.  I hear them, but when I peel back my covers.  It is not them.  I don't understand. Again with the human bodies and bird heads.  I think if I wasn't so terrified I would be enthralled with the beauty before me.

Because I like it

Burning the Old Year
by Naomi Shihab Nye

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.  
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,  
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.

So much of any year is flammable,  
lists of vegetables, partial poems.  
Orange swirling flame of days,  
so little is a stone.

Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,  
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.  
I begin again with the smallest numbers.

Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,  
only the things I didn’t do  
crackle after the blazing dies.

Friday, May 24, 2013

Year Two

Year one was binary.  I bounced between numb and overwhelming emotion.  There was no in-between.

This year is different.  The drowning feeling has dissipated somewhat, which means the numbness of self protection hasn't kicked in.  I have a sneaking suspicion I am the frog in the pot.  Last year, the pot was too hot, too obvious so I could kick out, get away at times. This year, it is more of a bath temperature.  I know something is wrong, but I can't pinpoint it.  The level raises up to my throat inciting fear of drowning but not actually ever coming up past my chin.  I think it is a red herring to distract me from the heating pot.

Something seems to be coming, but I don't know what or from where.  I have no ability to bolster my defenses anyway, so it doesn't matter.  At this point, I just hope I can absorb as much as possible to minimize collateral damage.