the (not so) pretty truth

* This post was written by me in 2013, but the original host site it was posted on does not exist anymore, so I am re-posting it here.

Fun fact, this post is how my husband found me, by reading these exact words and connecting to everything I had to say. 6 years married now, because of such a random twist of fate.

A lot has happened since writing this, including clarity that I was still very very mentally unwell. I was still living with and surrounded by my toxic family. I wasn’t in therapy. And I wasn’t being completely honest with myself yet. Nevertheless, I still want this to be out there as part of the beginning of my healing.

I am also disabling likes & comments. This just needs to be here, left alone.

one day, maybe i will fly

Sometimes its so hard for me to see beauty. I feel so blackened, so burnt. Pieces of my skin fall off, and I leave my ashy mark on every path I step foot on. The public bathrooms are my sanctuary; I lift my feet up above the door, and I curl up, and I wait to be alone. I don’t want this world to spin anymore. Why won’t it slow down? Why is everyone out to hurt me? I want to look around and see good people; to allow myself to believe that their smiles aren’t fake. I want to breathe in kindness, authenticity, loyalty. I want to see beauty in the eyes of these ugly people, whose shadows give their burdened hearts away.

i cannot save her, only myself

Why aren’t things different? Better? Fixed? Why is it that when the rain starts, I am still falling down into the dark pits of past trauma? I don’t understand it, why I am still tormented so. I can still remember, physically, the touches that I did not agree to; the fear of making a sound; the emptiness.

hi phil

My skin still burns. The pain feels current, even though the waves of the abuse have long since washed away. Why do I still feel you? Why do I still see you? Your touch leaves a residue; a grime that I cannot scrub off. Your prescence is hiding in my closest, under my bed, next to me while I sleep. I feel your eyes on me when I stand naked in the shower, when I cry alone on the floor.

You are not gone yet.

win or lose, mom?

 

Look at me. Look me in the fucking eyes. I am here. I am human. I am equal to you.
Look at me.

Listen to the words coming out of my mouth. Or the silent thoughts. The grudges. The venom. The lies. The truths.
Listen to me, hear me.

broken, healing

There are pieces of me strewn along the office floor. There are parts of me hiding in the drawers of the guest room. Pieces of me hiding under my bed, thrown into the closets, sleeping under my pillow. Each pile of things represents a different part of me, of my life. They are unorganized and unmindful. They are sad and mean. They are kind and empathetic. They are reaching out to be held.

beauty

i have dirt under my fingernails

and cracks and ridges where soft skin should be
my hair is pulled up into a messy rats nest
with brittle ends and greasy roots

please, don’t leave me

had a bad dream again last night.

i wake up to the back of his neck. i nuzzle my face into his skin and i repeat
i need you
i need you
i need you

a different kind of person

I used to be a different kind of person. I was broke and tired, I was running on pure desperation. My conscience was hidden underneath layers of cold; under layers of sadness that were stale and hard. I didn’t know how to articulate my feelings into words, and besides, no one was there to listen anyway.

thankful

I will not deny it, things haven’t been so easy as of late. I seem to have slipped into some kind of comfortable sadness; some form of loving loneliness. This is how things used to be, not how they should be now. But I suppose that is the artistry of depression, it cares not for circumstance.

panic attack

It starts with a tingle, a slight burn in my stomach, and twinge of confusion in my head. And I know that the panic is going to surface, and I know that I am going to lose all fucking control, and I know that I cannot stop it. So I brace myself. I hold on for dear life and hope that this time I won’t cut myself or try to kill myself or hit or throw things or yell or scream. I hope that this time, I will just curl into a ball and take the beating silently.

abnormal depression in a normal world

The lights, all the lights. The flashing cameras, the voices of strangers. It is happening again. Another celebrity has died, and mental illness gets the spotlight for a few minutes. It gets to be paraded around in front of your television screens; it gets to be talked about in such a way, you’d think it wasn’t really that bad at all.

fix me, dr.

I started counseling again yesterday. I don’t know what I expect to gain here, but I knew that I needed to try. She told me that she wanted me to write down some goals that I have for this counseling thing, and to bring them next week. Goals?

dreams i have had

it’s not easy saying goodbye. some days, i don’t hurt as much. others, i hurt a lot. i get scared, because goodbyes have always been hard for me. goodbyes have been final. they have meant the end. you turn a …

ocd

Did we lock the door? No you don’t need to check. Yes, please go check. Are you sure we locked the door? You check it. Ok good, its locked. No wait, we didn’t check it good enough, must go back. Over and …

that one time i was a mormon- part 3

Click here for Part One

Click here for Part Two

Yes, I was homeless. Basically what happened was that my mom was in a mood, and coerced my little sister to send me some very vicious messages. Words that likened me to the worst of the worst. Typical of my mother. Needless to say, I packed up what I could fit into two garbage bags and walked down my parent’s gravel driveway and sat down on the sidewalk. I called Linda.

that one time i was a mormon – part 2

Click here for Part One

Click here for Part Three

The next day, I was out walking with my landlord’s tween son, Terrance. He was a budding magician, and loved doing magic tricks for passersby. He reminded me of my little brother, and so I liked hanging out with him. As we approached the bottom of the hill that our house sat on, I saw those two missionary boys knocking on the door.

that one time i was a mormon – part 1

Click here for Part Two.

Click here for Part Three.

There was that one time that I was about to become a Mormon.

I was living in a 4 bedroom house with a batshit-crazy landlord, her son, and two other renters. I was doing important things like working night shift as a caregiver to patients with dementia, eating frozen dinners at 6 am, and sleeping all day.

new home, old fears

Sometimes I feel like I’m still drowning, and I don’t even know why. I look around this place, my life. I have this beautiful home now. A spacious gem that I never would have imagined I could actually live in. I unpack my things and walk room to room as I try to figure out where everything will go, and then I go up  and climb into our new bed and I watch a movie on my new computer. And then I sleep. And I dream. Nightmares.

I am still so scared.

the unromantic romance

All my life, I have been a romantic. Not in the “love” sense, but in the way I expect big moments to be. I want everything to be artistic, I want everything to be exquisite. Like walking onto the cold Oregon Coast sand, taking pause right before jumping into the icy water. Like looking out as far as my eyes can see, and feeling the waves of wonder pushing against my body. Or like hiking through an untouched forest, waiting for the fairies to begin playing with my hair. I spent a lot of time alone as a child, building up my imagination as my best friend. I guess maybe that’s why I have an amorous expectation of the world, hoping that when a big moment happens, I will know it’s right by the way my body tingles.

what i wish i had known, then

  Then, I was covered in darkness. I had allowed my hopes and dreams to fall from my fingertips, onto the cold floor, and to shatter. After a while, I had forgotten about them completely. I could no longer recognize …

my abortion

Dear readers, in this post I will cover a topic that I have not yet written about. Since July 2012, I have been using this blog as my outlet; using it as my tool to try and create lyrics of thoughts running through my head. I have written my experiences, my downfalls, my victories. But one subject I had not yet had the courage to share. Perhaps I was not ready, or perhaps I feared stepping into a territory that is often belittled, abused, and harassed. No matter the reasons, I have decided that it is time to come clean.

the crazy

I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t it. Maybe I thought that growing up would solve all of my problems, or perhaps I just believed that I would figure out how to fix everything by the time I grew up. Truth is, nothing has happened. I’m still crazy.

I think the worst part is that explaining this crazy is so damn difficult. It won’t fit into paragraphs. It won’t follow the rules of grammar. It’s messy and gritty and the kind of thing that most of us try to avoid.

But what if I tried to explain it anyway? What would it look like?

It would look like this:

hands on fire

I remember the ice, how it soothed her. She dipped her feet and hands into the frosty water, filled to the brim with pieces of frozen cubes, for it was the only relief she could find. The shaking and fever …

the lost lighthouse – a haiku

The fog had darkened
his frail abandoned lighthouse,
and he smelled the death.

what my eyes will never unsee

I remember thinking, “That is the worst thing I have ever seen,”
and then you decide to prove me wrong
over and over again.
You one-up yourself,
and instead of relief,
you get thrown new horror every single day,
that is worst than the last.

oh, dear little sis

Your eyes burn my skin
they pierce my eyes, my soul,
as they plead for help that I cannot give

Why did you have to end up here, once again?
On that bed, on that stretcher,
hooked up to fifty IV’s that do nothing but remind us all
that you are one in a million.

terrifying and beautiful: the truth of my marriage

You are terrifying and strange and beautiful. Something not everyone knows how to love.

Married life is not what I thought it would be. It’s edges are sharp, jagged, and they leave me with cuts that bleed. Marriage is no fairytale – no romantic story – it is work. I never understood that, nor could I have … but I do now. It is dangerous to think that this can continue without working harder than we ever have; we both are unfinished pieces of a horrifying puzzle, and putting two together does not just simply go smoothly.

the slow burn of love

It is a poison, spreading through the veins, crippling the senses, murdering the heart, finding hilarity in the destruction it is causing. It brings out the best in you, it lets out the worst in you. Love. You see the …

fear of silence

I crave the security in keeping busy. I crave the control over having a ‘to do’ list and checking off each thing. I crave the daylight. I crave noise. When the silence hits, when the sun begins to set, the …

no fairytale

Love
is no fairytale

Perhaps in the beginning,
we see a bit of that magic.
We are swept off of our feet
or we are entranced by the disappearance
of our doubts.
Perhaps in the beginning,
we see that favorite movie
or the ending of that book
coming true
and we think
‘This is love’
and that things will always be that way.

why i write

There was a time when I had given up hope; a time when I had the exact plans set on how to end my life.
There was even a time or two when I tried my hardest to carry out those plans.
Times I tried,
and times I failed.

the (open) letter to my father that he will never read

 

Dad,

Yesterday, I decided to find you.

I tried, I tried so very hard, to not need anything from you. I tried to convince myself that I could move on without you; that I could carry on with my life somehow, without ever getting an apology. I gave it my all, I swear I did. I sweat and bled and broke,

midnight musings of lonliness

When I was a little girl I was stuck; always at the mercy of others. It was then that I developed my claustrophobia, my fear of having no escape. I remember being bound so tightly I could not breathe I …

one year of loony

Well it’s come! My one year anniversary with WordPress. *clinks glass*
I’m having a hell of a time trying to figure out what kind of grand gesture is appropriate for such an occasion, but since I am very anti-climactic, I thought I would just take a brief drive down memory lane and perhaps end with what lies ahead.

answers…

Cover me in that darkness,
the one that sits beside me.
It is always there,
listening to my heart,
beat,
beat,
beat.
It waits,
for a window
of opportunity.
Old habits,
never die.

dissociate

It’s a strange thing. I open my eyes, rub the sleep away. I walk into the bathroom, catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. No connection. I shower to wash the grime away; the same dirt that I have …

a loony in portlandia

It has been a whirlwind couple of months for me. I am definitely living an entirely new life, and it is quite the crazy adventure I am embarking on! I am happy.  Very happy. And my life, at this moment, is …

tied

My mind has been hushed thoughts, quieted As I watch him move work bind me into myself sweat beading down his head tighter The embrace overwhelming comforting me the deepest hug quiet peace “How are you feeling?” silence there is …

one moment

One moment. That is all it takes to change the course of your life forever. I have been buried in moments; choked and beaten into the darkest of depths. touched, burned, tortured, abused, battered, bruised I have had pieces of …

archangel

I was a natural spring
flowing
and
erupting
over and over
again
until I stood alone
choosing my destiny
according to my mood
according to my past

trigger

All it takes is a click
A flash
A voice
A smell

Passing someone that looks familiar
or passing the one that actually did it
or getting into a car with the same seats as before
or hearing a name

or seeing a coin fall out of a purse
or catching a hint of a specific cologne
or driving past a freeway exit

All it takes is a second
and the trigger sets
trickles down my spine
numbs my legs
buckles my knees
knocks out the breath
whitens my vision

All it takes is a question
and I am immobile
I dig my nails into my skin
because I no longer cut
because I no longer drink
because I no longer use
I shake
I curl up into fetal position
I run to hide in a secret space where the tears can fall in private
because no one can ever see me cry like that

All it takes is that one irrelevant moment
to load the gun
and boom
you have it next to your temple
roulette
will you live or will you die?

Not even sure anymore just how many there are
new ones pop up each day
some are dormant
some are fresh
some are fucking masters of manipulation

I’m sitting on your bed
surrounded by his weapons
and all I can say is nothing
because you would never understand
and I could never help you to
because I cannot talk about it
and so I sit
and I cry beneath my skin
and I silently beg for mercy
but you will never know
and you will never see it
and I suffer alone
Your fantasy
is my hell

one second
one word
once voice
one smell
one sight
one object
one touch
trigger pulled

about a boy who loves loony

I built myself a home. One, two, three, four, story after story of levels to perch myself up onto this net of neuroticism. I thought it would be an easy life from this viewpoint; no one could reach me here, no one could touch me here. I would rise above it all and float away, invisible to the darkness below.

what is depression?

my depression is lethal,
it is a terminal disease
you do not survive this
i can play ball with the dog,
i can get out of bed,
i can keep myself from crying,
i can wash my hair,
i can eat and laugh and be,
but I will not survive this.

i am a breathing paradox
so happy, feeling on top of the world
//
i am in shambles, floored, ripped to shreds
the happiness is gone in an instant

and this goes on
the euphoria and the severe
depression
dancing together forever, never a medium
never a middle ground
i am up high, and a second later, I am below the ground

what is depression?
feeling blue?
cured by pills?
those commercials that show a woman not able to play ball with her dog,
a man that cries in his office?
if that is depression, I want it
i would take that willingly
because that is not my depression

my depression is lethal,
it is a terminal disease
you do not survive this
i can play ball with the dog,
i can get out of bed,
i can keep myself from crying,
i can wash my hair,
i can eat and laugh and be,
but I will not survive this.

that is the difference between the depression society likes to flirt with,
and real, deep, in-your-soul darkness.
it likes to let you feel alive,
just enough so that you crumble when the high has passed
it likes to toy with you, play with you, turn you into its puppet.
it likes to give you moments where you feel that everything will be okay,
because it likes to see your soul bleed when you realize that it never will be

every second of every day there is a razor slicing your brain into pieces,
every person you meet has an ulterior motive,
every mouth tells lies,
every crack on the sidewalk is a sign,
every touch is a symbol,
every fuck is meaningless,
every laugh is dry,
every man is a fraud,
every woman is a nemesis,
every mirror tells the truth.

You cannot ever truly let yourself love another,
because they will hurt you in the end.
Or you will hurt them,
no,
you will destroy them in the end.
And there is no one person that could change that,
no special set of words that could change that,
it simply is.
You are not allowed to ever fully love or be loved.
And no one, despite what they say, could ever truly love you anyway.

You float most days,
losing track of the days weeks months
years
Disassociate until you are standing next to a calendar,
three years later,
not able to recall anything.
The only thing you know for sure is that you spent the last three years drifting.
You accomplished nothing.
You hid in your bedroom for most of it,
afraid of the world.

The fear is another thing.
At all times, you are barely breathing.
At all times, you are struggling for air.
Everything scares you,
everything is unknown and dangerous.
Leaving the house to check the mail,
being in a crowded mall,
driving on the freeway,
going to the doctor,
going to the store,
answering your phone,
the fear overpowers you,
until it is all that is left.

And the anti-anxiety meds helped for a while,
until they didn’t.
And because you look so put together on the outside,
no one believes you when you speak of this fear.
That is another difference, you see,
on the commercials,
depression and bipolar and ptsd and all the others
are so visual.
You see their depression
You see their sadness
You see their crazy.
But that is a fable
that is the soft-padded room that people like to crawl into.
That is not this.

It stays hidden.
It doesn’t not show its face very often.
People think you are okay now,
that you’ve grown,
that because you are not crying all the time or punching walls or drowning in alcohol
you are better now.
And that is the most dangerous place of all.

When you are dying from a terminal disease
and no one knows it
no one sees it
and you are too far gone to be able to express it
you cannot explain it
you cannot define it
you just stand there,
dying,
rotting,
alone.

The pills do not work for this
therapy does not work for this
man cannot fix this
because man cannot define this
It is a curse beyond the human race
a galactic flaw
that cannot be ailed.
There is no label
call me whatever you’d like
but they will fall short
and I will still be here
hanging by this noose
while you are busy searching up definitions.

You quit seeking help
because you are so exhausted of being disappointed
by the lack of results
There is no help for you

Inside my mind
there is nothing
there is everything
and I am chained

word/play

Words like a noose around my neck Who says? You say? They say? Labels, all of these labels as I struggle to find the right ones to explain myself But who makes them? A man two men taking it upon …

3am chronicles

i was lying in bed just a few moments ago, clock hovering at 3am, entertaining my fantasies while watching the tiny screen i rolled over, turned the power off, and i saw it the shadow. it was next to me, …

how to choose a hooker

So I have decided to go back to what I do best: helping people find sex. Logic, people, logic. Now, on how to choose a hooker, and why you should trust my help. You see, I dont know who you …

scar tissue

Unlovable. I am, ’tis true. If I am loved, it is for but a lie. For if I laid the truth out onto the table, not one would stay. My scar tissue runs deeper than I thought it did. Yes, …

friend or foe?

The night sky covered us. We walked around that old school yard; I was crying, upset, about the boyfriend at home. You comforted me, acted as a friend. But then. Knife to my throat. Turn slowly, get on the car. …