Posts Tagged ‘life’

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Starting out three months too soon,

He didn’t make it.

My twin was too little,

I took the nutrition,

This you’ll hear, is my rendition.

Left alone, parents aside.

Only touched out of necessity,

Rarely for love comfort,each time much brevity.

Fed through my head because I couldn’t feed.

A little weird, I think, because apparently I managed my needs:

In the womb, next to my brother,

The moment we’re out I don’t get another

Moment near him as they swooped him away,

Or fell into the bucket, there’s none who will say.

None who can or will tell me the truth as I stare off into space,

Appearing aloof.

Bitterness abounds as my family breaks apart.

It was at my birth, at my start.

Sure there were problems and problems before,

I can’t help but think I added to the stress more.

Regardless, I was an innocent life,

Quite fragile, delicate, and constantly under the knife.

They thought I was stupid, young, naive.

I knew what was going on, always protecting my reality,

Not wanting to believe,

That my parents couldn’t love me,

That they constantly grieve,

The three children they had

1 dead

1 dying

and the last, keeps trying.

That’s me, the last, a bundle of unknowns,

I stepped away to grow up on my own.

From a very young age I never connected,

They blamed birth, the brain bleed, always something indirect.

They never stepped up, they never confessed,

That all this, all this came from distress.

If they were dead, this life might make sense.

At the very least, I would have evidence, and my world not as dense.

I despise them, I pity them,

For parents they are not.

I used to want to leave, ran away a lot.

No one helped me as I sat in despair.

I was the crazy one, life perfectly unfair.

I was judged, ridiculed, abused all the time,

When I asked for help and spoke the truth, it was as if I did the crime.

I didn’t, I was just a little kid,

Shouldn’t have to take care of myself,

Yet I did.

This pattern created a grown up too soon,

From the age of 6 I was off, zoom zoom.

I began to rebel, only from them,

I began to stay away, always sent to my room.

The monster within me wouldn’t leave,

As I destroyed my things, myself, all in a vain attempt to grieve.

For not having a mommy to cuddle with when I was upset,

Not having a daddy as he was filled with his own, deep-seated regret.

I did have Barbara, emotionally and completely destroyed.

I did have Ken, an unstable adult child, who I sometimes enjoyed.

Then there’s Michael, who never really liked me,

He noted this before and to the police I was crazy,

And last from my childhood was Judi, far from a lady.

I yearned to connect, to please have a family,

No, not for me,

That would be uncanny.

As my world unraveled, I followed suit,

How did I not die on this treacherous pursuit?

I was done, ready to die,

What kind of life is this, all alone, with no one nearby.

Somehow I’ve lived, they call it fortuitous,

They call it a miracle, they call it bliss.

I don’t know what to say,

I just don’t want to struggle, through this, day after day.

I want to live, to stay alive,

Yet there’s uncertainty and death has been near,

The angels called for me, and I was like a deer,

Caught in the headlights, unsure how to proceed,

As the angels waited nearby,

Would I concede?

I didn’t go, not wanting to die alone,

But I was ready, done with the drone,

Of being sick, unloved and unwanted,

The only hope I had left, slowly dissipating,

My life was on the edge as I was done fighting,

Too scared to die, too tired to live,

I drifted through the night, unable to give.

I woke in the morning, rather confused,

The medicine finally worked, I didn’t lose.

I was alive, albeit tired, weak and meek,

Wanting to finish school, week after week.

I loved where I lived, not wanting to leave,

Yet I had to, this time,

If I wanted to breathe.

Life is breath,

Breath is life,

I must remember this pattern to be rid of the strife.

I’m alive now, I’m writing this down,

Missing Denmark, my twin, and my upside-down frown.

I was happy there, though I was sick.

I had friends, ones I could pick.

I’m lost here, where I don’t belong,

I’ve nothing here, not even a mom.

I have me, only me, someone I despise,

Who stole from a baby, ripped apart a family,

All by being alive.

 

 

 

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I Laugh

Posted: 20 J0000002UTC 2011 in Health, mental
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

I laugh because I want to frown.
I smile because I want to drown.
I am sinking, deeper and deeper.
All I show you is happiness.
Showing happiness is easier.
Easier than all the time you might spend worrying.
Worrying about me, worrying about life.
I make it easier for you.
I make it easier for me.
It’s not easy though.
Life is not easy.
It’s a pool, an in contained pool with chaos floating all around.
With people lying in the pool, dying.
People are dying.
Do you hear me?
People are fucking dying.
Do you even care?
I thought not.
That’s really why I didn’t tell you.
That’s why I made everything look ok.
That’s why I smile.
That’s why I laugh.
Because life is rough and if you go along for the ride, you won’t make it.
Not if you show your true emotions.
You can’t make it.
You’d die before you do.
And me, I’ll just die smiling.
It’s better that way, isn’t it?

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See that one over there?

The one walking with a limp…  no one actually cares.

Wearing clothes that are hand-me-downs,

because face it, no one like her ever wears ball gowns.

She has always had trouble fitting in.

Her siblings, they just grin.

They watch her get hit, or shoved or threatened.

Standing by, they have their lesson:

“As long as we set her up,

We won’t get beat down.

As long as she gets the brunt.

Only she wears the frown.”

The little girl keeps trying to tell people about horrors abound.

No one believes her unless they witness it for themselves.

Or perhaps in a gutless act of mercy, just protecting oneself.

 

These kids grew up in the same town,

Two look up while one looks down.

One goes home at night, unable to sleep.

Yet, all who are able to help, do not… and the girl, she just weeps.

Locked behind doors because her eyes won’t shut.

Praying to the sky that this isn’t a permanent rut.

As the thought of kidnappings or murders in the night leave her frozen.

She wonders each time, “why was I chosen?”

Chosen to live a life full of love, devoid of chaos.

She pours her heart into living each day.

As it gets harder and harder to live, she sways.

Always on the brink between life and death.

Emotions long gone, she’s told she’s insane.

In a journal entry from age nine, she acknowledges the pain.

In a vain attempt to let others in,

She climbs further and further into the hole, hoping someday she’ll win.

 

If I don’t care about my life why should anyone else? I once heard that you learn to love yourself through the love others show you, namely the supposed unconditional love one is meant to receive from their primary caregivers. This is bullshit. I don’t think I’ll ever love myself, because the people who conceived me can’t seem to do so. Fuck this and fuck my current mindset because I’m so fucking sick of rejection. Whoever said that all it takes is one person to believe in you must have had a superhero who checked in on him or her a lot. Someone who truly cares about me would do that right? It wouldn’t take money for caring to ensue, would it? I’m so damn sick of this game of life and the rejection and the pitiful looks from those around me when they get a peek at the life I have to live day after day. Why didn’t I die at birth with my twin? Why am I still here? Right now it’s fucking painful and I don’t want to bear it much longer. It’s not fair, who’s there to reach out for me when I need help? I’m in a state of despair right now and yet I know I’ll keep fronting that optimistic attitude I hope one day to actually embody, not fake

The larynx is responsible for the voice which is located in a region most people would consider the throat. So I guess technically, this wasn’t my throat, yet this was the first word that popped into my mind tonight as I was speaking with my Somatic Experiencing Therapist. She asked for sensations that arose when I made contact with my throat and instead of sensations, I gave her words. After all, that was the first thing that came into my mind.

Tonight however, my “throat” and me were two separate entities for lack of a more accurate depiction. My throat spoke to me and I spoke back.

Lately, I’ve been having problems with my esophageal spasms (Jackhammer Esophageal type). If I didn’t already have an eating disorder, this would be a great way to propagate one. I can see now that it stems back from long before I was able to form memories. for this time period, all I have to reference are medical charts from my home for the first two months of life, A.K.A., the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at New York Hospital.

I read in the charts that there were times when at the doctor’s direction, feedings were discontinued for me, sometimes for more than one day.

This leads me to believe that this is where I learned a pattern, namely the pattern of defeat and then to reset/rebound/get back to baseline again. I was going to be all corny and write, “get back on my feet, no pun intended”, but then there would be a pun, and oh look I did that anyway.

It’s a matter of resilience and what people do when confronted with a difficult situation. And it’s true, you never really know how you’ll react or cope until something comes your way. For me, the pattern seems to be that even at the worst of times, when negative circumstances arise, I tend to have a decent ability to sit in my shit, and then come out from it stronger in the end.

For an excellent understanding of resilience, if you enjoy TED talks, check out Brene Brown and resiliency. I don’t know how to make the fancy accents on the 2nd “e” in her name, but I’m sure it’ll pop up… or click here for easy access:

However, this is not a pattern I want to continue. I don’t like that a negative circumstance is what I need to live positively and more strongly if you will. I want to have a fighting spirit without the constant reminders in the form of some traumatic or challenging situation.

Back to the topic at hand-conversations with my throat. I had my hand placed on my throat during this conversation:

Throat (imagine a person slumped over in a chair, this is how my throat is acting, not literally, just defeated): Why should I work now? You’ve neglected me for so long.

Me: Yeah, but it was hard-wired for me to do so from a very young age. No one took care of me, they ignored me. It became a pattern, habitual

Throat: Yeah, but what about now, now you have control.

Me: I know I do, I can’t describe it better than I was hardwired to not feed myself.

Somatic therapist interjects: I prefer to think of it as “conditioned”. You were conditioned to do this, not something that can’t be changed.

Me: Oh yeah, sorry, forgot that word. Hard when learning a new language to remember words in other languages (I’m learning Danish). Then I relayed this information to my throat.

Throat: (scoffs)

Me: I’m not really sure what more to tell it, because it has a point.

Therapist: try just sensing it.

Me: Ok.

Throat: You know, you abused me, you treated me badly.

Me: What? I may have an eating disorder, but I never have purged. How could I have treated you badly?

Throat: You may have not purged, but c’mon, I’m connected to your whole body.

Therapist: You know your throat has a point, do you agree?

Me: Oh yeah, absolutely (not sarcasm).

Therapist: So can you sense anything changing in your throat?

Me: I reached for my drink to test.

Therapist: No I want you to just feel it.

Me: A sudden burst of energy-Upon doing this, my feet began bouncing up and down nonstop for minutes, I probably would have run a mile if I were standing considering the speed and duration of my movement.

(Many minutes later)

Throat: I need (therapist). She’s got skills.

Therapist (chuckles): Lots of people have skills. You just need a person.

Me: Yeah, but my throat knows that you can help it.

Therapist: How does it know that?

Me: Because you helped other parts in the past and my throat was witness to that. Like remember the time we had a session and you said normally you don’t go that fast with your clients but my body was in crisis? First, you put your hands on my kidneys and then you moved to my left side and said there was a lot of heat in my stomach region. Then, it was kind of like a volcano after some time and began spewing out (the negative energy). Then you moved to my neck and the upper part of my chest, but you didn’t get to my throat that day. My throat felt neglected, forgotten.

My throat became more neutral, which was better than the initial distant teenager feeling it first emoted. Hoping that I can learn to listen to my body and we can work together more often than constantly fight with one another (physical symptoms manifesting as a way to express that something’s not ok).

In my decision on whether or not to remain at school overnight to complete a paper, these were the factors I contemplated:

-if I stay at school, I won’t be able to change clothes for tomorrow
-if I stay at school I save two hours of travel time and could use that most efficiently on this paper I’ve completely procrastinated on
-if I stay at school, I will likely have less adequate sleep than if I go home
-if I stay at school, I will have less distractions than at home
-I’m probably too tired to bike home anyway
-I’ll have to figure out a way to get food at low cost if I stay at school for many meals
The last brilliant aspect that popped into my head:

-if I stay at school, I won’t be able to weigh myself, omg I have to weigh myself if I’m going to actually eat

Guess which entity won out? You got it, the last one.
Never mind the fact that going home means I have a shot at making and attending a same-day doctor appointment for my esophageal spasms. Spasms which refuse to let me or those surrounding me eat in silence. “Gurgle, gurgle” goes my throat after every solid or liquid swallow of sustenance. My stomach growls constantly as the nutrients I put in it aren’t enough to last very long. Backed up throat, chest pains-apparently those pale in comparison to my obsession with getting home to use the white-plated almost-square piece that will reveal my weight in digital red numbers to the nearest .5 kilograms. Kilograms-the measurement I now comprehend full well-at least around 60-70kg. What a reason to learn the metric system-all to know my weight-such motivation!

Stupid fricking scale. Annoyed with my brain for believing a number is actually worth something. At this point, I don’t believe I’m worthwhile unless I’m trying to work on my physique. Thanks brain.

I can’t do this shit. The jealousy takes over and I feel like I constantly have someone lying to me from some angle. Everything K said to me in our last session and seemingly understandingly still had me contemplating the possibilities that B may be telling the truth and K is lying to me and I feel absolutely perplexed and stumped and out-of-wack.

This all began with a gun control panel my friend wanted to attend. I cautioned her away from it since she was in a bad spot and thought going would allow her to release some of her pent up emotions about this hot-button topic. I tried to steer her away from it, afraid her voice wouldn’t be heard to the effect she might anticipate.

Surprisingly, questions were allowed to be asked by the audience about one hour in. Equal gender distribution was in attendance and when fielding questions, 2 of the 10 questions “chosen” by the men panelists (female didn’t even speak) to be answered were male. Disgusted and ashamed that gender discrepancies continue to exist in a “liberal” nation. Males simply have two “near” circles below the navel, and females, above. If only it were that simple.

I walked out and left after cussing under my breath at their being no point in attending if not everyone can voice their opinion. My question would have been fielded to both parties, and addressed the individual panelist, not a political affiliation. The question would have been, “Have any of you ever seen a fellow human being who has sustained a gun shot wound?”

I firmly believe people’s opinions would change if they knew of a close range injury/emotional repercussion from force or threat with a firearm. I’ve had the “pleasure” of treating a patient with a gun shot wound to the head. I’ve also had a few guns pointed at me while holding a four month old baby by those meant to protect and serve.

To the student who got fired up and said “the reason for gun control is so the crazies don’t go and shoot their kids”and continued on huffing complete with a horrific, accusatory look on her face at my friend… you have NO IDEA who the crazies are… I think you’re one of them.

So yeah, you wanna speak your mind? Go the fuck ahead AFTER being exposed to a firearm outside of a controlled environment, outside of your protective bubble, away from a shooting range or hunting season (though I realize accidents/injuries occur there as well).

But anyway, I was so heated that I texted K, particularly because administration of the school was in attendance unbeknownst to me and I flat up left and am unsure if they heard what I said and will use that against me, some way somehow.

We had recently texted an hour prior to that for scheduling this week’s appointment. No response yet… one full hour later. And, according to B, she and K have spoken. So, who’s deceiving me? K, B, both?

If it’s B and she’s lying then how sick and how convoluted of a friendship do she and I have? Do we even have one? I think not. The moment I began to talk with her about something that was triggering, she made it known (and rightfully so if I believed she actually wanted to heal at this moment). I don’t feel let down, at least with her, just more of an inconvenience.

If K’s lying then it’s all about the money. It makes sense that she would text me when it’s financially-related… what about my fricking mental health though? Where’s my fucking support?

I hate that I’m going through this again. I feel trapped in an uncomfortable carousel, going round and round, without stopping. The images keep moving, life continues, and somehow I’m trapped and lost in translation.