Creative Writing · Dark · depersonalization · Depression · Free Write · Healing · Hope · Melancholy · Prose · Reflection · Relationships · Self-harm · Survivor · Writing

Moving Day

In march of 2015 I moved what few precious possessions I had decided to keep into this tiny studio apt that I would call home for the next 2 years. I did not have a bed. I threw out my dishes, clothing and books and gave away nearly all my furniture.

My first night in my little apartment was spent full of despair and confusion in my heart and mind. I was more than broken.  At the time I saw myself as hideous and unfixable. Undesirable in every way.  Though I sat troubled in this tiny room with my kitty wondering what possible terrible thing lay waiting for me next, I still had clarity enough to notice the quiet calmness around me. For the first time in several months I felt safe and the ton I had been carrying on my shoulders with chains dragging by my ankles were suddenly gone. I knew it was over and I felt guilty for enjoying that moment because I truly did not want any of it to be real.


I wanted to still be with the man I loved, even though his sickness was literally killing me. I did not want to feel peace without him. I wanted him and I wanted contentment but it was evident that those things could not coexist. Life with him was chaos. Unrelenting emotions at the blink of an eye. Unsuspecting pain and sadness that became a habit. Much like everything else of him, an addiction.


I struggled. I spent hours on that tiny bathroom floor sobbing. Sometimes putting slices in my thigh. Early into this journey it was late on a spring night and it was pouring rain and I just couldn’t be inside anymore. I took off down the street running. Soaking wet and panting. I walked up to the library. Everything was dark and dripping. There was a brick wall with a good ledge for sitting. I climbed up into the bushes and sat behind them. The trees above kept most of the rain off me, still I could not tell the difference between my tears and the earth’s weeping.


I lay there in the dirt for a long time. I do not know how long but my fingers became numb like the rest of me. I should have felt pain but I did not. I did not feel anything.


Around that same time. I had another evening. He called and got my mind all twisted again and I called my mom upset. I felt like I had no one anymore and she was far away and defending the others. I hung up and shut my phone off and climbed up the street and sat on the ledge looking down the cliffside. I could jump I thought. I could hope for a broken neck. Unlikely I considered and I sat looking into the dark tree tops waiting for this to end.


I spent my days working at my neighbor hospital. Watching mostly dead people roam by. It helped take my mind off my own suffering but watching people slowly die takes a lot out of one, one that barely had enough to give.


I never told my best friend that his anger at me pushed me over the edge. I called my boss in the morning and said “I’m not coming into work today. I haven’t slept because I spent the night pondering how best to kill myself.”  It goes without saying really that this did not end well. I panicked everyone and ended up naked on a ER bed with all my personal belongings taken away from me. I laid dead and numb for hours in that bed. I probably should have been admitted but I hated not having clothes and my phone so I played it off and instead got an uppage in my dose of medication and a leave of absence from work.


I never made it back.


My grandfather died a couple months later. I sat on that floor again. I wept until I passed out. I cried for hours, everyday for months. Sometimes the pain of missing him skips a beat of my heart and I find myself literally gasping and grasping at my chest. How does one recover from death? I do not think we ever do. One’s existence changes completely. You wake up a different person.


When you spend hours and days on days alone you learn things about yourself you previously thought incapable of. You forget the sound of your own voice. You have to talk out loud to remind yourself that you still exist. I would punch my skin to insure I was still alive. And indeed, this was all unfortunately not a dream.


Wake up. Go back to sleep. Forget. Remember and do it all over again. Write three papers, two at a time. Remember this is your purpose now. Just survive.


Today I packed up that tiny apartment, that hole I ran to as the world crashed all around me. I remember those days like a story, a novel of some other lifetime. Written and dedicated to me. I will not forget those days anytime soon but I look back as a proud mother. I nurtured myself along the way. I had to because no one else could or would.


Tonight you called me. I noticed a message four hours after. I do not listen. I do not read your words and I know you are waiting. Today I left the place I ran to because of you. Because of you I had to hide and I was begging for your calls.


Today I run only for myself. I despise what you did but I look back with a smile. Today you are begging for my calls. You long for what I used to crave. I go to bed at peace. 

Creative Writing · Free Write · Healing · I Miss You · Melancholy · Personal · Poetry · Pondering · Reflection · Relationships · Sleepy · Writing

I Always Will

I loved you more than any other chosen person in my life.

I still do.

I still miss so many pieces of you.


Sometimes I hear or see something that only you would get.

And I hear your voice echoing in my mind.

I hear your laugh next to me.

It is almost like you are here again.

And all the terrible things you did never happened.

Other times I feel lonely because I know there are

Aspects of this life, of this world that only you and I could ever remember and find special.

There are so many generic things in this world.

Repeats and reproductions.

But you are not one of them, not even close.


You are more special and beautiful to me than words can ever describe.

Trust me, I have tried over and over again for close to a decade.


My only wish after all this time, is that you could somehow see what I could.

Oh how I tred for all these years to give you what will take a lifetime to discover.

I wanted it now and that was selfish of me.

I know that.

But still, I miss you.


I wish everyday that we could have been, should have been…but I am slowly letting that go because I have to for my own sanity.


Please know that when I sit alone at night, wrapped in a blanket or looking up at the stars on a warm summer night that I remember you.


Not the ugly.

Not the lies.

Not the addictions.


I remember the soul I fell in love with.

That person exists.

The goodness you fear and the struggles you tried to hide.

I remember your excitement and your eyes and your pain.

I remember that I loved you purely.


Everyday since the beginning of time and into our next lives, a piece of me will always be waiting for you.

I will love you always, even when I know I must do it from afar  

Creative Writing · Free Write · Melancholy · Personal · Poetry · Relationships · Writing

Nothing Will Ever Change

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I do believe a part of me will always love you. It is something I did not want to admit and at times I wish this was not true.


I loved you into the depths of the darkest moments, into sickness and hell and then back again.


One can not pretend that the burns and scars i picked up along the way never existed. I see remnants of them when I look in the mirror and when I open the door into the sunlight.


It was in the early mornings that I found you.

And on late nights you left me.

Searching in circles, and I can not find the key.


I walked you drunk and stumbling into your bed again. In a foreign house. In an empty room you had to survive.


I kissed you goodbye and I meant it. 

Creative Writing · Dark · Depression · Free Write · I Miss You · Melancholy · Personal · Poetry · Relationships · Sadness · Writing

I am hurting right now. I wish I could fix you. I wish I could mend us.

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You have no fucking clue

No idea of how much this hurts me

How much I want to hear your voice again

And hold your hand

The thought of your broken heart rips me

I am shredded to my core

Because of you

I want to tell you.

“Come to me. I will hold you.

I will take your pain for a moment.

I will lighten your burden.”

But I know, that you can not make that

That you can not have just a little

You are always too much

And I am always wanting it

Even when I know I should not

I wish I could take away your sickness

I wish I could make a new beginning

Or a beautiful ending

One that does not stop with your darkness

I pray to Gods and all that is Holy

For you to be healed

Please know I am waiting

I am believing

But I also know

I can not walk beside you

Broken Up · Creative Writing · Free Write · I Miss You · Personal · Poetry · Reflection · Relationships · Writing

I Wish…

I wish you knew how much

I would like to speak with you.

I wish that I could say this

I wish you had not left me.

I wish none of it was true.


I hoped always for our future.

That you would find a way.

But you dragged me through your madness.

Yes you took me to out to play.


I want nothing more than to love you and

I would have seared this world.

Instead I burned on the cross.

I sat displayed for the crowd.


A mocking.

A joke.

Just like you always say,

I wished I was a treasure, like the broken records you would play.


I wished that you were only mine and 

that is the one piece that was never true.

I wished the mountains would rip apart 

to bring me back to you.


I wished on wishes and the stars

and blowing blossoms in the wind.

I wished for God to prove me wrong 

and for saving grace to win.


I hoped as lovers hope to make a life,

Find a path out of our sin.

If I could leave and never return

My wish would be to win. 

Creative Writing · Free Write · Healing · Personal · Reflection · Relationships · Writing

Beginnings

It was December 18, the day before my 20th birthday. It was lunch in the office and I had gone to Town n Country for a sandwich. He sat down across the table from me, with a sort of sad look on his face. He did not have any food in front of him so I asked “Are you on lunch?” He said yes. I asked if he had any food. He said no. So I offered him the other half of my sandwich and turned my bag of chips to face him. He turned it down at first but I insisted and he took the other half and thanked me.

Two days later and we are at the company Christmas party. He walks in, dressed to the nines. Black slacks and a green wool army jacket. My heart fluttered in my chest and stomach. I fell for him right then. He walked up to our table and someone asked if he came alone. He had.  I patted the bench seat next to me and said “You can sit with us.” He sat down.


We spent the evening taking shots of jager under the table and stole appetizers that the company had to pay for. I did not know in that moment that I would spend the next 7 years sharing food and watching him bring flasks to drink under the table everywhere we went.  I did not know that I would fall in love and back into pieces over and over again.


I loved him always from that day and into tomorrow. But l have come to find that love is not enough; and if it had been, we would not be on our separate ways.


It has been two years now since I left your side I miss your warmth and smile. I miss our memories and the ideas of what could have been.


You still call for me and I wish I could answer. I wish you were not terrible. I wish all that bad could be erased and all that was left was us. But I realize that the wounds run too deep and can not be unseen. The scars shine through my skin. You told me I always had your love but I was still left starving for your loyalty and honesty. I can not kill myself any more for you. I have died and risen too many times to travel in reverse.

Anger · Free Write · Personal · Poetry · Pondering · Relationships

WTF

I sit here wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.

I mean it seriously, am I really a terrible person?

I can only imagine that answer is yes.

What kind of pathetic woman am I?

I get left by men for taller, skinnier people.


Every. Damn. Time.


What the hell am I supposed to think of that?

It is too coincidental to happen again.


The problem is me. It is always me.

The constant factor.

The known variable.

Excuse me while I hide in my corner and pretend to not be alive anymore.


You told me you loved me.

You told me you cared.

But I am still here alone

and I see you smiling with her.