7/5/2024
(Dream)
I’m in a restroom
I'm approaching the mirror
Before I can see my reflection, I’m yanked up
I’m being held up by a ghost
I can't scream
There’s no sound
I reach for the shower curtain
When I gab the rod- i’m dropped
I turn the door knob but it won't open
It's locked
I’m banging on the door
The fear becomes too much
…Brings me back to consciousness…
7/2/2024
I wear socks to keep my feet warm
Asinine behavior for rooms likes these
As a rule, I generally resist wearing socks
Or pants for that matter
But keeping these pieces of fabric on my body is necessary
A silly attempt at grasping for any comfort
I focus on the subtle flicker of the lights above me
Until I become one with the ceiling
The world disappears as I go under water…
The crackling of the paper beneath me repulses me
Please hurry…
The poking and prodding stops
My body is too heavy to move
It’s unresponsive to my directives
I suddenly drop from the ceiling
Pealing off the residue of memories from every inch of myself
I wipe my face and brace myself for the exit
I don’t make it more than five steps
Disappointment and shame pour out of me
I’m compelled to disappear into her office chair
I know she wants to sell me on the next steps
Comfort me with the knowledge of it being necessary
That I’m doing the right thing
Despite my continuous discomfort
I’m not an idiot
I don’t object to the reasoning
Reasoning however, doesn’t bring me comfort or make me feel brave
There isn’t anything she could say to get this other part of me to buy in
The part of me that needs the socks…
She’s screaming…
It’s echoing in my skull…
And just to make Her stop, I’d leave all the fabric on…
But for now, I sell Her on the fantasy
One more- just one more time
And maybe then, we can be done…
7/1/2024 12am
Chest tight
Like someone bound it when I was a kid
Now there's no room for air
No space to grow into
Restless
6/29/2024
“I’m not feminine enough… broken enough”
“People have had worse”
“How could I have the life I have now if it was all true?”
She’s bubbling underneath the surface
I place my hand on my stomach to keep Her still
More importantly, to acknowledge what I’ve spent so many years denying Her
I allow Her to be present, to just be
She’s the strength that allows me to suspend time and space
She’s the wisdom I need to read between the lines
She’s the bravery I lend to my clients
People habitually state that grief is something you let go of
That your suffering is due to your inability to release it
I’m not so sure I believe in this perspective
I don’t think you can let go of grief
I think the suffering lies with your degree of resistance to the presence of that pain
Blaming someone’s suffering to their inability to let it go seems unjust
I could be wrong, but this is the instinct that pulls me
It’s the loudest thought the moment they begin to speak
The second, someone begins to describe the branded memories tormenting their soul…
I don’t think you can fix grief
I don’t think you can cure it away
It's like telling someone who’s having an appropriate response that they’re wrong for having it
And they only suffer because they can’t let it go
Just as I begin engaging with the intrusive thought, “Am I even helpful?”
She pauses at the door, takes a breath, and then a moment to mouth, “Thank you…”
6/24/2024
I’m not good with asking for help
In moments like these, I freeze
I go in circles-don’t know how to make a decision either way
Letting someone help me requires going against my nature
I’ve unpacked it and looked at it all kinds of ways
Doesn’t make these moments any easier
This time last year, was the same thing
I watched my friends show up
One by one, each picking up my literal baggage…
The entire process was uncomfortable
Took half the day but the hours felt like days…
It unsettled me in every way
I am deeply grateful for the privilege of calling them friends
I just can’t seem to stop resisting this way of relating
I worry I cannot not repay them for their sacrifice
It makes me uneasy to wonder if it’s pity
I can sort it out on my own
Find the resources I need even if it’s more of headache
Because I can, I feel that’s the right option
But over and over again they force themselves in
If I close one door, they open a window
I don’t know why they keep trying
I don’t get why they show up
I just know I’m stuck and deeply grateful for them…
6/19/2024
I’ve been invisible all my life
Being visible never resulted in anything positive…
It’s been safer to blend in with my shadow
Catching someone’s attention was misery
Till this day, if someone looks at me for a millisecond too long
It feels like my skin in shrinking
Like all my insides are about to be evicted
If I could, I’d walk through life with my back up against walls
Walls hold me up straight
They keep me steady when my knees get weak
There’s comfort in being invisible
It’s safe, and familiar
However, it does come with it’s faults
Being invisible means being overlooked
It means being underestimated in more ways than one
It means having to fight harder to prove myself
And when others find it to be, “a big deal” …
For someone “like me”-I only want to retreat
Back into the safety of my shadow
I’ve lingered in the spaces of average
Teachers never saw me as the smart kid
Counselors had long given up on any potential
Bullies miscalculated the weight of my punches
I’ve never been the prettiest girl in a room
There was never anything really exceptional about me
I’ve benefitted from their errors in judgement
It allowed me to recklessly do as I pleased
No one would miss me if I ditched class
No one’s dusty son was trying to catch my attention at parties
No one expected anything more than what I was I doing-destroying myself…
There have been times I was fooled into thinking things could be different
A spark of hope would lead me to believe that someone could see me
Like actually see me
I’m ashamed to admit there’s a part of me that wonders
That’s curious about would it’d be like to be like to exist in that world
To be accepted and appreciated
To be loved in all my average-ness
To be anything, but invisible to just one person
And to them, I could be exceptional
I could be anything
I wouldn’t be underestimated or overlooked
The parts of me that’ve been deprived could be filled with just a look
It would be like winning the lottery
But then, I remember the odds
Being average doesn’t get you the winning ticket
6/14/2024
I awake in the dark
Sweating and tense
I woke up just before the bungee cord stretched me too far into the concrete
I take the room into my lungs
I'm scanning for details
I reach across the bed...
But it hits me long before my hand finds only the pillow
He's not here
There's no one who loves me here
6/13/2024
It’s like someone latched a 30 pound weight to my neck. I hate anniversaries. A year can seem like a long time because so much can happen in a year. But, it’s not long enough for some wounds. If I’m honest, I haven’t done much to heal this one.
He left right at the end of a chapter and in the build up for the next. There was so much going on and I guess I’ve been hoping this was only a year away from him. Some vacation that I’d come back from. I know I’m different because I don’t feel the same excitement when I see other dogs.
I’ve tried not to think of him. To push away all the memories in hope the pain follows behind. I moved his album of pictures from my phone into an external hard-drive that sits in my closet. Try as might, I still remember.
His paws smelt like Fritos and people always thought I was a little weird for inhaling his toe beans any chance I got. He had his own scent and I can’t find it anywhere. Most people like paws but I loved his nose. It was my favorite thing to look at. As a puppy he was small enough to fit in a pocket so since day one we showered together. Originally, it was more about killing two birds with one stone but it became our thing. He’d run in and out of the waterfall falling from my body. Playing and then sometimes sitting under it with his eyes closed. After his scrub and rinse, he’d sit on the bath mat waiting for me. He made showers fun for me again… at least with him. I miss how attached he was to me…and I to him…
Animals have their own personalities and his was pretty silly. It was a perfect match for me. He’d get bursts of energy and skip around the room until he got my attention. And when I got my hyper bursts- he’d jump right in. He’d zoom around me until I’d giggle and let out a big hyena laugh, then he’d be satisfied.
I loved the way he’d stare at me. He was small but he loved me big and not just when I had bacon or a toy in my hand. I know he did because his eyes looked the same even in the hard moments…
His entrance into my life was much like his exist, a surprise. We were inseparable from the start and so the match was made.
Nights are always hard for me. My body begins to tense up as the sky turns from hues of pinks, purples, and blues, to black. My breathing gets shallow and quick. He use to do this thing where he’d lay on my chest covering my neck like a scarf. He’d wiggle and snuggle into me. He made sure to remain steady for me. He’d just wait till I could focus on his breathing and until I could pet him or catch my breath. He guarded me all night…
Some times he’d cry with me… but he never let me go too deep. He’d patiently wait for me to come back and loved me all the same. No one’s ever sat with me through an entire panic attack. Least not before him. Not without getting scared or mad at me throughout it. They can last hours and there isn’t much anyone can do to help. I learned early on that no one comes to help you. You just have to hide and wait out the monsters. But he refused to ever be away from me in these moments. Even if I tried to protect him from me and push away everything. He’d wait out the monsters with me.
Today’s the one year anniversary of me waiting them out alone.
6/12/2024
“Student or professional?”
I frequent this small art supply store by my place
It’s in between abandoned suites with bared up windows
You have to ring a bell to be let in
I love the way art supply stores smell
It’s kinda how I love the smells of home depot and book stores
You could leave me all day in any of these places
They turn down the volume…
My restless hands needed to exhaust some energy
I begin to walk up and down the isles
Admiring all the tools and options one can use to tell a story
So much of it, I’ve never used
The owner walks up to greet me
She smiles and asks, “student or professional?”
I shook my head confused, “neither”
She kept smiling and waiting for my answer
For me to pick one, so then I say, “Just student grade paint is fine”
The longer she smiles at me, the more I think she might be trying to upsell me
But I decide to humor her, “Ok, professional”
Before I could finish responding she’s leading the way to the back of the store behind a counter
The wall is covered with Golden, Liquitex, Winsor and Newton
The professional grade stuff
All brands have the student stuff and then there’s this stuff
I can’t help but get excited at how many shades she has
There’s like 20 different shades of grey
I never buy pricy stuff
The student stuff works just fine
But, I felt a little impulsive
I grab two tubes
She scans them and says, “Good, 20% discount for the professional”
I laugh and shake my head
Then she hands me the tubes, still smiling at me
“Good customer…. You’r always a calm shopper. Good eyes and hands….Professional.”
I thank her with a nod and accept I’m not winning this argument
She’s never seen my work and could be very well upselling me
But I couldn’t help but think of all the things I consider myself a student in
I push back on the idea of being a professional in anything
Now that art is back in my life
I don’t think I ever want to lose it again
I think I would like to do something more with it
6/7/2024
It's odd my job is to keep secrets
When I really think about it, I've been keeping people's secrets all my life
Maybe that's why it comes easy to me
It's really easy when it has nothing to do with you
I never feel the need to speak about other people in that way
I think it's important for people to maintain that kind of power for themselves
The power of telling the stories of things that have happened to them
It's the only part you get to control...
I hear about all kinds of stories
Stories about losing power
Stories about how to manage that loss
And stories about taking it from others
I remember being told as a new boot that my first fight would cause me to freeze
That I'd be quickly humbled by the darkness I'd find in people
I was told to expect the unexpected because the violence would always find me
Now I seek the mess and destruction in others
I purposely go digging for it because it ironically holds the key to something different
I've yet to hear anything that shocks me or makes me freeze
I suppose I'm still waiting for the thing that'll ... scare me
I often wonder what that says about me...
The first fight was in the showers
It was wet and the steam made it harder to see
I don't remember thinking but somehow I coordinated a plan to put the fire out
We were short so I was alone
Back up that finally arrived over shot the pepper spray
Hitting me and a bystander with asthma
Pepper spray in a steaming shower room is not a room you'd want to be in
So, my back up left
I managed to get handcuffs on everyone
Then carry myself and the bystander, now consumed in an asthma attack, out of the room
The banter about my quick feet lasted weeks
They told me it was a good thing
But my stomach was upset every time I recalled the event
It was the topic of therapy for weeks
Why didn't I freeze?
How come I'm not upset?
What does that say about me?
I suppose there is still a part of me waiting to hear something that shocks me
I cannot seem to find a human experience that scares me...
I'm scared that the plague they've left in me is contagious
I'm terrified others can see it
That their evil,... is also, now my evil
6/1/2024
“I’m fresh out of the shower
And my skin smells like lavender
But something inside me feels rotten
Something about me feels permanently dirty
Like the only solution would be to loosen the screws in my skull
And pour lavender soap into my brain
Let the hot water run over my memories
And wash them down the drain
If only it were that easy to forget you… and myself… and that day
But unfortunately,
Memory is the one stain that soap and water can’t erase”
Whitney
6/1/2024
“They say if one orange in the bowl is rotten you should throw it out
Because it wont take long before the rest of the fruit is spoiled
But tell me, what if I’m the rotten orange?
What if I’m ruining everything I touch and I don’t know how to stop?
What if the closer you get to me the more damage I do?
What if you tried to love me and I turn you rotten too?
What if decomposition is the only love I know?
what if i belong where the rotten oranges go?”
Whitney
5/23/2024
When I think about love I get two very conflicting feelings
Both equally as intense
I think of love in the ways I think about the ocean
A brief passing thought, is just above the surface
Distant enough to miss all of its flaws
But close enough to take in the joy of its beauty
If I think of it too long, I become terrified of it’s depths
I fear all the things that hide underneath the surface
I’ve always loved being in the water
As a little girl I imagined what my life could be like if I was just a plain old fish
How simple and free it could feel to have the whole ocean
I’ve always sought out water for it’s cleansing properties
Something about it always makes me feel a little less messy
A little less dirty…
I would swim out as far as my little legs could get me
Far enough to not hear the people by the shore
For a moment, it’d find silence
I could float and disappear
Pretend that I was a plain old fish
Then the intrusive thought would enter
“What’s beneath me?”
Curiosity would lead me to think of all the things I’ve read in books about marine life
Suddenly, I’d feel exposed, vulnerable, even under attack
I’d lose contact with its beauty and frantically swim back to the shore
But once I’d get there I’d feel the ocean calling back
The waves hitting my feet, pushing and pulling
Even with this fear, I desire to be consumed by it
If I could love the wrong person so deeply…
Imagine if I found the right one?
5/3/2024
...You spend so much of your life in fight or flight. Anticipating the next knockout and doubting not only your capabilities but your worth. The voices consume all the hope and suck the air out of the room. I have a few wires crossed- it's the cost of my experiences... of my wounds. I've spent so much of my time in spaces being unwanted, discarded, used up, and spit out. Being the "thing" that gratifies your needs was the highest status I could attain...and at my worst, trash.
I still find myself frustrated with Her at times, but more often than not, I'm stuck wondering how anyone could've ever hated Her or ever wanted to cause Her any harm. How could someone look at Her innocence as something they were entitled to? Why would they desire to break Her? I don't ask those questions expecting I'll ever find the answer. I think it's a good sign I can't understand it... because I'm nothing like them. I know destruction, but I choose to cause no harm. And although I've been infected with evil, I choose to heal.
I'm fighting to find peace within myself. This delicate balance of fixing something I didn't break. The peace I do have today is worth everything I lost to get here. A good friend described the return of the shadow as a relapse, an addiction. I'm addicted to abusing myself. It's the only way I've learned to relate to myself and anything outside of it feels...unnatural. So much so, that I can't comprehend why others love me. Who could love trash? Why would you love it?
I'm like a cat with 9 lives. Always landing on my feet somehow. I don't keep track of the lives- not sure where the count currently rests, but it feels like multiple... The shadow always lingers in the background. Just waiting for the most opportune moments to remind me of the worst moments of my life. All my senses reenact the experiences like it's some fucked up version of my favorite 4DX movie.
The shadow inevitably comes back but today. Today, I'm louder than all the other noise. At the very least, today serves as a bridge. Buys me time, until the next relapse hits. Maybe it's the few crossed wires, but for that, I'm grateful.
4/27/2024
“I’m really glad you exist”
The sand storm settled
My eyes sweep across the horizon
I take in it’s stillness….
But, something in me shifted in that moment
I turned to meet his gaze
Part of me was thinking he might of been referring to someone else… to something else
There’s a mark on my soul
Like the soft spot on a newborn’s head
Meant to be protected so that it heals…
I carry the mark of a missed step
I’ve been playing his words over and over in my head
Over and over the feelings moves through my veins
I am wanted
Wanted by him
I know he loves me. I know because I feel it
But more than that, he sees the scars and open wounds
Without even understanding he chooses to accept them graciously
He finds them loveable and he doesn’t miss a moment to let me know
He fidgets using my hands
He requests my compression hugs and rests his head in my lap
He demands to be around me…
I’d be missed by him if I didn’t in fact, exist
4/9/2024
Maybe the point is all this is... proof
Evidence to what I've been saying
That things don't come easy to me despite what others say
To prove that I worked hard for the things I've accomplished
This narrative that, “things come easy” to me
That I have to check my brain privilege
That I'm "just more mature"
Countless times I've had this conversation
Like this is something I stumbled upon
Giving the credit of all my work to chance
I was born shitting and crying like everyone else
Actually, I wasn't breathing
So maybe you could say I started this race a couple breaths behind
My life experiences taught me maturity
And sometimes I think, "I'd gladly trade the cost of this for ignorance"
I exposed myself to new things
I teach myself
I research, I read
I learn how to do things for myself and when I don't quite get it-I try again
I built this brain
And I don't say this in a cocky way
It's by no means is, “the best” out there
That's my point
I did all these things all the while also heavily killing my brain cells
Self-sabotaging and quitting
Hating myself and often contemplating a way out
I try not to ask unhelpful questions like, "Why?"
But rather, "What am I supposed to gain from this? What can I use from this?"
And I'm thinking, "Here it is..."
Here's the proof
That I wasn't born this way
And sometimes no matter how hard you train and prep
You will keep checking that 6ft wall
Until maybe one day.... you clear it
3/28/2024
As I pull the cork out, I awknowledge how much I have compartmentalized in the recent months
I’ve been holding my breath….
Sometimes it works pretty well
I thought I’d pull through
I couldn’t recount all the times i’ve been a shell of a person and have managed to just get shit done
It's not about my abilities
There’s no choice…
I’ve learned to function this way
Not understanding who I was or where home was
I’m tired of being the wounded friend
The wounded relative or coworker
There has to be others like me
No matter how hard I run…
I somehow find myself at the starting line…
The noise is at max volume and I can awknowledge they were coming for me
I tried my best to fight them off
To be clear, my best may not be yours
I’m exhausted with trying to keep this image up
We all have mess
And maybe mine is less socially acceptable or hard to look at, i dont know… but it’s mine
It got me this far… no?
It took some time to digest
I saw it in her face
The look of pity…
I hate that look but I told myself I was wrong in that appraisal
When I opened the sheet of paper, I was disappointed at how accurate my reading was
I guess I just moved
I don’t know if there was a thought or feeling
I text him immediately because I couldnt call him
He was expecting the call…
And I wanted to call but with great news. My pride couldn’t face whatever reaction was waiting on the other end
The hopeful and supportive energy
The encouraging words of second chances
And I don’t mean to invalidate this support
I’ve been in those shoes too
What can you say?
I just mean it’s pebbles being thrown at the demon that lives in me
Does nothing…
No one’s louder than the demon
At first, I think there may be an objective way to see this
Maybe someone who understands this process can launch more of a boulder at what’s spreading…
Quickly I realize i’m alone with the demon
There is no one else
There never was or will be
This is my fight
And one I quiet honestly, couldn’t give two shits about right now
So I walk right in front of the demon
I lay on my back and beg for the ending…
I did the deep breathing
The tapping, rocking, and reframing
It doesn’t work
Not always…
And I suppose this makes me feel more like an imposter when I sit across people trying to enforce these skills
It could work for some but I know all to well-
Sometimes…
You’re just fucked…
I get it, but how do you tell a client that?
Sometimes the only way to care for yourself is getting loaded
And yes, I don’t want to encourage this in someone else but in me, it just quiet honestly fucking works
My breathing slows down as I focus on sweet taste, the heat
The tears stop and I can feel the muscles in my face relax
Leaving behind the throbbing
I don’t intend to hurt others
I don’t intend to take you with me
I hear my father crying and I can’t help but feel disappointed in myself
Feeling your son look for the right reaction in this situation… even in this state I couldn’t make myself better for him…
I can’t look at them…
The thought gets louder
So does my desire
I’m exhausted
3/25/2024
I run out the door
I’m done for the day but it feels like running away
I gasp for air as I make it down the stairs into my car
I notice my hands shaking…
The dryness of my cheeks
I’m not entirely sure of why I’m running…
When I get home everything falls to the ground
The burn in my stomach soothes my restlessness
I ran to disappear
The darkness returns
At max volume, I’m forgetting the reason I live…
The water is boiling
My skin instantly turns red on contact
I grind the coarse material over my body
The burning slows my breathing…
Like roots, it begins to reach out and consume every inch of my body
I wish I could say, “I can handle this”
But I don’t always know if I can survive it
Sometimes, like today I don’t want to
3/18/2024
“Avoid it at all costs”
The discomfort in my body increases as I ignore this warning
There has always been this urge, this itch to break the rules
The thoughts and feelings came flooding in
I tried to drown them out
I’d say I’ve been successful
There is a large part of me that’d love to stay here
It’d be easier in it’s own way
Like death
I can’t remember if I was born with this feeling or learned it along the way
Feeling ready for death…
The instinct is clear, natural
I suppose the urge to break the rules applies here too, so I stay
She has come back into my life in a way I didn’t expect
Although I was the one who opened the door-
I find myself resisting the consequences
The memories…
I’m in this constant state of irritability
Full of anger, rage, and hate
Lately, it hasn’t ebbed and flowed
I remember what it’s like to want to set the whole world on fire
To want to see the destruction that lives in me elsewhere
Over time you learn to function despite the poison that invades your being
You learn to live with the ghosts that plague your mind
You get use to screaming and realizing everyone around you is deaf
Feeling like no matter how hard and how loud you scream, no one can hear you
Your suffering does not exist, YOU do not exist
I work to learn the sign language
Only to discover, ah- they’re blind too
I’m trapped in this box
Surrounded by people
And not one knows who I am
3/6/2024
(Dream)
I’m in my own home- it’s inherited
Feels like I’ve had it before…
Other people’s things are here
Furniture…I focus on this vase with flowers
I touch the wood table top its on and it falls over
This vase is also electic and plugged into an outlet
I attempt to keep the electricity from ruining it by tilting it… holding it up
The water gets in the plug and I drop it
It begins to spark and fast
I scream hard for my dad
He comes and sees it
I ask how to stop an electrical fire
He tired with his hands but it’s melting…
He goes for water and I ask if that’s a good or bad idea
I scream even louder as it melts the table it was on
I want it to stop and I’m scared
It burns a hole through the ground
He says something like, “good luck with that now”
I collapse to the floor
I feel completely hopeless
I scream, “i can’t do this anymore!”
I wake up