Tag: mental health

Poetry, Self-Reflection

Be here now.

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FindingYourLightFromWithin

It could be from my husband’s absence (he’s a touring musician and has been gone for the past 6 months), it could be from my father’s passing, it could be from our recent move, our recent wedding, or any other living, breathing thing – but right now I’m floating.

Before therapy, a time like this would have me spinning.  I feel the impulse to have a head full of questions.  I used to beg the universe for answers.  I wanted so badly to understand why I was hurting, why I was shown so many paths in life if I was “stuck” on only one.  I used to bury myself so deep in fantasy versions of my life, the visions of timelines not yet lived, and other worlds I created that I would be so far removed from the present.  But not now. And I gotta say, it’s refreshing as hell.

Yeah, I’m confused.  I’m taken aback by my circumstances.  I wonder why my husband has lost his faith, I worry on how to talk to him about my heart aches with loving kindness, over the years I’ve felt tired and alone in my pursuit to feel joy, and I am uncertain about the future and what it holds – but isn’t all of this the best part?  Isn’t the unpredictability, the riskiness, the absurd and spirit of inquiry just so human?

Last night, the first primitive nuclei divided and created a new and separate nucleus.  No one knows how the first nuclei was formed, there have been many theories, but to my knowledge, there hasn’t been a definitive answer and last night, I witnessed the creation of the secondary universal nuclei.  The world split right in front of me – and in its beauty, and in its rapture, I was present.  My eyes were swollen with tears, my lungs overwhelmed with mist and my hands were sparking with magic.

We all have the answers, every answer, to every question ever asked.  I am floating in the translation of the word simplicity. I feel it in my fingertips, it sends shivers down my spine and causes goosebumps on my flesh.  I am human, I am here.

Titleless 
She was the only witness.
Only she heard my hunger.

And if it was that easy, she answered,
“Just you wait.”

Without hope, without need,
She drenched me in wonder.

Still frames projected behind my eyelids,
waves, the harmonic motion, stirring my source.

A lifetime with your touch, a life without your touch,
We danced with the line of collapsing time.

 

Philosophy, Self-Reflection

Rock Bottoms

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It’s hard watching other people hurt.  I was in Al-Anon for 5 years, a 12-step program to help friends and family members of Alcoholics, and while I was attending meetings I heard so many rock bottoms.  Every story is unique to the person. To one, it could sound as mundane as just losing a job, while others could make you question how a human could degrade themselves so severely.  In all of my years of hearing the hurt of rock bottoms, one thing I’ve learned is that they all feel the same.

A person is standing in front of you; broken, shattered and feeling unfixable.  Their pain is palpable.  Tiredness is heard in every breath.  On-lookers can see lifetimes of sleepless nights, restless days and impossible amounts of solutionless problem solving happening behind their eyes. They are beaten and they appear to have lost any resilience or faith they once had.

My husband is in his rock bottom and my heart is breaking for him. While I’ve been confessing my pain about my father here on these posts, I’ve been witnessing the slow and yet so steady debasement of my husband’s once uncompromising joy for life.  There are so many things I want to say to him.

There is a moment in our lives when we get introduced to ourselves.  It could be the moment you won an award for a Science Fair project, the time you played too loudly over the jazz band, when you finally gained enough courage to leave your abusive boyfriend, or when you – for the first time – danced naked in your kitchen while eating a pie you baked just for yourself.

Or, when you hit your rock bottom.

Humans are not immortal, but hell, we have a remarkably strong will to survive. I am consistently in awe of our strength, perseverance and this basic human instinct that is so deep-rooted in our genetic makeup that it has kept our species alive for roughly 200,000 years.  If when we feel weak, may we find the sliver of energy remaining to access this gift of fire that burns from our ancestral roots.  Then feed it with your tenacity.

Meet yourself; the naked, vulnerable, and bruised warrior that has been living in your skin since the dawn of time and hear the lesson that has been whispering in your ear since you were born:  You are love.

Poetry, Self-Reflection

A Color Darker Than Black

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Sky

These last 14 days without my father have been the hardest days I’ve experienced in a long time.  I’ve been a witness to death before, but this one is a new breed of aching.  It’s a depression that strikes at any moment.  It takes my breath away and then fills my burning eyes with salty tears that I thought were dried up. My thoughts are consistently scattered and I am leaping from one feeling to the next, like bullfrogs on lily pads, careful not to fall into the water.

There is so much comfort in my world that there have been moments where I feel like I could become a lighthouse directing all around me to the beacon of love itself.  And then almost instantly, my heart collapses and I feel cold metal sludging through my veins, fearful I will be numb forever.

My faith is unwavering though and I know that I have seen darker hours.  And even if I hadn’t, I realize my purpose is to be a vessel for the universe to use as she wishes.  I am a constant student, unlearning everything all day long so that I can become empty for her to fill me up again and again. Bring me pain, bring me beauty, lead me where you need me.

My dad is a cloud and he turned into snow – he continued on to his next and newest form.  A form that is unbeknownst to me. But in my reflections of him, I feel his peace, his lightness of heart, his youth and above all – his love.  As a friend recently said to me, “…there would be no day at all without love. There’d certainly be no night. Or any other infinite thing.”

My human mind can’t comprehend why pain is necessary, why “bad things happen to good people” or why there can be so much savagery in the world – but I do understand balance. I see the pendulum. I’ve swung from one extreme into love and light. Everything is temporary, and so is this hurt. I have a choice to live well and love through the ache and I will always side with love and allow the brilliant universe to continue to show me the way.

A Color Darker Than Black
I dreamed of driving alone in the desert
taking pictures of shadows.
I never expected to know people.
Loneliness felt like enough until it wasn’t.
I was enough until I wasn’t.
I am not weak in my worship, oh world.
My eyes are simply weighted and my body does not feel of my own.
Lead me, use me and I will grow vibrantly like a wild tiger lily.
No explanations required.
Venus has had fewer men than I.
Speaking their words, fueling their desire with my primal fire.
Still, the empty hollow in my chest begs
Whimpering and broken I plead for peace
Not yet ready, there is a color darker than black.
Clawing and grasping for breath this darling girl has resilience.
You see, I am a time traveler.
I can see all of the parallel universes, the past expressions,
the future is not unknown – it is written.
This blackness does not hurt me
it wets my appetite and forgetfully reveals the opposite side of the spectrum –
the blinding, effervescent light.
A kaleidoscope of color – timeless, limitless.
Will you feel it all with me?
Sit by my fireside,
and read the most elegant love letter ever written.

Self-Reflection

November 7, 2018

by Purpose and ProseLeave a Comment on November 7, 2018

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I wrote the following in a notebook the day I found out my father died, 7 days ago, on November 7th, 2018.

My dad passed away in the night and I find myself sitting under a weeping willow, writing, watching people texting, taking pictures, laughing – and it’s wondrous how some life goes on, others slow down and sometimes it just stops.

I see hundreds of busy ants collecting their days haul and I’m worried I sat on some.  There’s a very tall man in a pale pink shirt speaking German and I’m reminded of my trip to Berlin during the 2010 World Cup when they lost to Spain in a crushing blow.

I remember how he called me sweetie.

My dad never really traveled outside of the U.S. I only recall him going to Mexico with my mom once on a vacation a few years ago.  He complained the whole time, but when they got home he couldn’t stop talking about how amazing it was.  That was typical dad though.  He couldn’t be bothered or disturbed from his routine.  Even if he ended up loving it.  One of his favorite shirts was salmon-colored.  Too pink for a brawny man like him, but I liked the way it brought out the blush in his cheeks.

I want to talk, but then I don’t, I want to scream, but I’m a child without a voice. I want to cry, but I realize I’m too tired, and I’m already crying.

Weeping willows have always been my favorite trees. I’ve known their sadness so much in my life, but not like today.  To be sheltered under their shadows of draping limbs feels so comforting and serendipitous.  All the trees are weeping today.

The high-noon sun is beating down so heavily and even though it feels good to have my skin warmed, I am aching.  There’s a girl with purple hair and bangs eating a bag of chips saying “I love shit like this,” pointing at The Temple of Love statue in the garden.  The stone is brilliant and the pillars are standing tall beside her, the same way my dad used to stand next to me.  I love shit like this too.

Today is pregnant with color, but I am unfeeling and all feeling.  My husband carelessly blows an ant off his arm as I am allowing them to take dominion over me.  I have become one with the colony. I am their property now because I am no longer within myself.

The pain is

Poetry, Self-Reflection

A sober, slow-burning love

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The Boy Who Never Sleeps

I was hospitalized recently.  After 9 hours of tests, scans and lotsssss of morphine, it was determined that I had a ruptured ovarian cyst.  (Didn’t even know I had a cyst.)  (Also, didn’t know how painful a rupture could be! Answer: V.E.R.Y.)  The experience left me dazed, dizzy and drunk, likely from the morphine.  But weirdly enough, after feeling scared during a few points throughout the day, I left with a strange feeling of sadness that it wasn’t something worse.

I sat on this over the last week and went through a myriad of questions to understand why I felt that way.  Did I want pity from people?  Do I want to be a martyr?  Why would I selfishly want for something worse?  I’ve found my answer – I wanted to know what was next. What happens after this?  What is the continuation of our human existence?  I’m so excited to learn that answer that I felt impatient.

I have tried to commit suicide 3 times now.  Each time, my life had been saved only by the grace of a higher power, and not by a mishap on my end.  Fortunately, I have spent years in therapy, group sessions and additionally I have spent years mentoring and counseling young girls (and some boys) on depression and how to overcome childhood adversity. So my suicidal days are long behind me.  Knowing this about myself, I was eager to learn why my curiosity for death came back, but in a new form.

I like the sentiment “I’d rather die 10 minutes early than 10 years too late,”  but it doesn’t completely apply to how I feel.  I am ready when the universe deems me ready.  On my last attempt with suicide, I remember looking up at the sky in a nearly blacked-out state saying, “I get it, you win.”  And I meant that 100%.  I am powerless over my own death.  The universe, God, my higher power, Mother Earth – the Architect – directed me down a challenging, beautiful, tragic, brilliant path and I am forever grateful for every day I wake.  I am also grateful for my abnormal and unexpected desire to understand death as it’s enabled me to live with no fear.  My fearlessness and resilience are two of my favorite attributes of myself.

I wrote a post last year, “Accepting Death & Being Rewarded with Life,” where I talk about the bliss of owning your own life and no longer being beholden to your death.  I encourage all who read this to try contemplating their own death for a little bit to see what fears, notions, and stirrings come up.  Only when we ask questions and seek answers will we know the depths of ourselves. Stay curious my friends.

(I wrote this poem two days after my hospital stay.)

A Slow-Burn
Please don’t forget.
I know your memory flickers like an old tallow candle.
A strong, vibrant burn.
Pure without smoke, but with one clever gust –
Extinguished.
Longing to light a room once more.
But don’t forget this one.
Delicate caresses from tender hands.
Dizzying, drunken cells excited, heated,
Fireflies born between them.
Please don’t forget.
A tear fell from your left eye as a strand of your curled strawberry hair was tucked gently behind your ever-eager and listening ear.
You were frightened but he was there.
Allowing a soft brush alongside the curve of your cheek and down the jaw,
Eyes meeting only briefly in the dimly lit 3am apartment.
Recall, be certain, do not alter this one.
It’s innocent.
Comforted by your ancestry, affectionate solicitude.
His fountain streaming into your blood and circulating through thoughts and daydreams.
Never waking, forever wanting,
Another foggy ocean night.
Please don’t forget the harmonies of your heartbeats, the rhythm and pulse, raising and lowering your heavy head upon his sleepy chest.
His hand lowered slowly,
Drifting, drifting, drifting…
Dreaming of his moonlit ballerina in the sand.
His eyes, his hands, his thoughts pulling you in, holding at a distance.
Unrequited or not, the sky is twinkling with his songs,
And your hands are filled with stars.
The dance, the kindness, the faithful hearts that are never to be misjudged.
Too true the intentions to have standoffish defenses –
Love is a flower and he is your garden.
Thankful and enraptured that you’re allowed to love him
But whatever you do,
Don’t forget –
This is a sober love.
One without surrender,
The kind that is forever patient and requiring protection.
Like your slow-burning memory and its glass hurricane against the harsh winter winds.