What's wrong?

A lesson that I fear I was never taught, most of my questions are better if not asked. Inside of my soul, though it feels like a physical space, there is a box or bottle or designated cavity meant to house the feelings, thoughts and questions that I'm not allowed to indulge in. Many of these things come from a place which I thought was full of good intention and concern for the well being of others. As I'm learning about many facets of myself, I was wrong. The people in my life that would rather I keep these parts of myself in a tidy and concealed space may change over the years. They come, some stay and some go. Sadly I recall that these people that seem to want to smash and destroy a part of who I thought I was, I love or loved each and everyone with every part of my flawed and obnoxious heart. For 31 years I've been a burden to an increasing amount of people. I'm not sure that I'm sorry, but I do know that I feel some sort of pain for that reality. The bottoms of my figurative feet are scarred from the past and bleeding in the present from the miles of eggshells I've walked upon. I bare this pain not for you or them, but for myself. without walking that path I can't fathom the loneliness and loss I would have had to endure. But where does it go? All of my curiosity, concern, inconvenient feelings, can they really just keep filling that bottle or box? Today as I feel a boiling within me, a trembling of unwanted feelings, I wonder to myself (and the rest of you I suppose) is the space getting full? Is this the feeling of it overflowing or simply that I've forgotten how making a deposit to the box of my less favorable traits can burn. 

Dear Portland

Dear Portland, You are a beautiful city full of art, culture and fine foods. A city filled with intelligent progressive thinkers constantly creating new and innovative ways to keep their home clean and beautiful. TV shows and documentaries have been made about you and I myself idolized you as a place I could only dream to be a part of. But your beauty and wonder is a lie. You are beautiful in the way an old well designed and antique furnished home filled with termites is. You have an epidemic that grows by the day and is being ignored. The less fortunate, the impoverished, the down on their luck, the hungry, the poor. No matter how you choose to label them, your homelessness issue is something I've personally never seen so intensely in my life. As I drove in, my dream of what you were collapsed immediately. Small communities of overused weathered tents lined the grass by the highways. As I entered, people in tattered clothing held signs begging for my help. Your parks were built with statues and playgrounds for everyone to enjoy but nobody does because countless people with nowhere else to turn sleep upon the benches, the grass and even the statues.
      No Portland, I am not naive or idealistic. I am aware that many, if not the majority of these people ,made poor choices. I realize that several continue to make those poor choices. What I want to ask you, the city as a whole, is this. If we tell a child "you are bad, you are worthless, you will never be anything and nobody cares about you" day after day, week after week, creating a lifetime of never thinking anything more, what is likely to happen to that child? I suppose we could all answer this differently but personally I would imagine that child would be all of those things we convinced them they are. Why? Because they are human beings, because they are at our mercy and helpless. Because they trust and depend on us. Not unlike the HUMAN BEINGS living on the streets of your fine city. The ones you won't look at. The ones you step on, laugh at, scoff at and belittle. The ones you reinforce the feeling of worthlessness in by treating them like a species lower on the grand scale of life than yourself. They are all someone's child, possibly someone's mother, father, sister, brother, or best friend. Some are severely mentally ill. Others took a wrong turn and became seemingly hopelessly addicted to things that leave no funds to afford a life. And as time drags on, sadly, some don't know any other way of living.
         I want to solve your problem, but I know I can't. I want to give you the answers and make you what I thought you were, Portland. I racked my brain every day since I left trying to think how I can help, how someone else can help. Sure, I came up with a lot of small ideas to make things a little better but in the end I noticed one common theme in all of my plans. Restoring dignity, giving these people back their humanity. Whether it be through having lunch with them, getting them a shower, giving them a book to read or just talking to them like people...because they are people. Just like you, just like me. We are not made of anything different, we are not worth more than they are. I haven't given up hope of making my way back to help or even doing so with the far smaller population of less fortunate people here. I'd love to start my own movement, but until then at the very least I will remember to look people in the eye. Smile and say hello. I will treat each human being I meet as an equal and do whatever small kindnesses I can to restore any dignity they may be missing. I urge you all to do the same. It doesn't always require money or foundations. If each one of us can help one other person feel worthy, confident, strong and deserving of a better life then we each helped to create a huge movement. In short, if you want to see people do better, maybe you should do better as well.

Thank you Portland, thank you for opening my eyes, for showing me the truth and for making me want to do better.

Mirror, Mirror, Where am I?

Too many words can go unsaid and too many gestures stifled. So many feelings that should have been shared fall victim to fear. Fear of a faceless imaginary monster that we have placed inside of people we love and care for. A beast that I have come to believe will swallow me whole if I let anyone in. Don't tell them you love them, they might not feel the same. Don't tell them you want them, they might not have that urge. Don't wear that shirt, what does it say about who you were, are, or someday could be? Don't bother deciding on a meaning to life, there's too great of a chance you are wrong. Go through the motions, doing only what you think they may want. Eventually you won't remember what was so hard to hide. Whoever you were stretches thin. Each person you see gets their own version of you, because if you can't find way to smile you may as well make everyone around you do it instead.

    Until they don't. It starts with the ones who once knew you, I think. Assuming that anyone ever did. Your likes, dislikes, flaws and strengths all start to swirl together into a confusing mirrored image of themselves. They wonder where you've gone and if you were ever really there. You haven't noticed. You can't see. This is the most debilitating aspect of the fear, the monster, the invisible beast. You never saw it coming and you didn't notice it while it stayed.  Little by little it drained you like a slow leak in a balloon. Music, art, food, religion, political opinion, love, sex, parenting, social interactions at the lowest levels. One by one seeped out leaving you lifeless and confused. 

    This is not their fault. Nobody beat you down into this hole. Nobody scooped out your soul leaving the mimicking mirror shell. Not even you. Not marriage, not age, not children. The beast is not embodied, but I like to believe it can be fought. Every awkward laugh, one point for me. Every time I uncurl my hands from crippling anxiety and reach out to a person I love, a breath back into the balloon.

      In case I forget again. I am a human being with a purpose. Though I have accomplished many incredible things, I have not found that purpose yet. I will. I am a girl in love with a boy. Though I doubt this and challenge it often, that boy also loves me. I will always crave the epic romance that has probably already run its course in my life. I am a mother, a good mother who often hates herself at the end of the day but knows she did everything she could for her children. I am spiritual in a way I may never find words to explain, but it runs through me sure as the blood in my veins. I am a friend, a friend that sometimes tries too hard to be everyone's best friend. I am emotional in a way that I wish to share but never quite know how. These feelings all embarrass me. Almost anything that i feel deeply becomes the first victim to the fear. Perhaps recognizing this is the only step toward protecting the air I have left. It's time to shatter all the mirrors until the only image left is your own. 

Denial

A certain amount of time passes after an event and when that time has passed we are then expected to move past it as if it never happened. Each event gets its own separate time limit depending on the severity. No one will ask you how long you need, this time limit won't be discussed. Shoulders to cry on will simply shrug away. Listening ears will go deaf to your words. You will be a redundant bother to many but no one will tell you out loud. As your faithful companions begin to lose faith the weight grows heavier. Staying quiet so as not to stir up problems, you will soon forget what your voice would sound like if you were to allow it to speak. So many times your mouth will shy open only to close quicker than you could process the thought. Why stand up when you'll only have to sit back down. Driven by fear and pain the sickness has already consumed you when you weren't even looking.
       I am no more than a memory in my own mind of whatever i once may have been. I hold no life in my heart and I cling to the remnants of what I thought made happiness. I am torn down and unable to rebuild no matter how solid I may seem. I go through the motions wishing they meant more. Wishing every day that I could simply wake up and FEEL. Feel anything at all, something more than empty pain. Something real.
       How do I simply step into the other side of stagnant disappointment? There is no more mask, no cover, no way to hide from the dependant lives around me. If I knew how to be the person trapped inside I would gladly open the gate. If I could trust her just to "be" and not only to perform perhaps the clouds would just drift away.
   

The Evolution of my Personal Love Story

Ive never been one to ignore a gut feeling. Despite my cautious attitude that has only evolved in this particular phase of life, I am impulsive and proud of it. I don't remember the moment I first saw you, and the subsequent memories after that are almost certainly altered and distorted. But the feelings...those are real and vivid. I felt drawn to you with such intensity that I was willing to compromise anything for you. Later on, hanging on by threads, this would be my biggest flaw. 

     Like anything I do I showed you my whole world. The fun, the silly, the wild. The sad stories and darkest memories. I let you in on quirks and jokes and little flaws and quickly opened the flood gates to the pain. I let it pour out and stain you. Tarnishing everything in its path but it always washed away...until it didn't. I can be overcome easily just thinking about the beginning, before you knew how difficult it could be. I felt powerful, amazing, strong and worthy...because you didn't know I wasn't yet. Maybe I never showed that. Maybe I never even felt that way, but the memory Ive created of us back then would be stronger than the truth. We were picturesque. A legend to be shared through the ages. Inseparable. Most remarkably, telling the story from where I am now...I was amazing. I shined like a star. I had light, true unmistakeable light that everyone could see pouring from my very soul

      It wasn't amazing for you. I let it decay without even noticing it. The light stopped shining and I walked around in the dark with an internal navigation system that seemed to click on like it had already been used many times. My writing darkened, my painting stopped. I looked at a perfect body of fresh possibilities and sliced it open to feel alive. I began to hate everything that lived in me so much that i forgot how to love anything at all. This part of the story transcends time. Its not singular...a repetitive event that I'm cursed to relive no matter how hard I would try to avoid it. Sometimes I can make it years, sometimes only weeks. But the darkness creeps in and without warning it chips away at our perfect story. We recover, and many years later after having fallen many times I still couldnt tell you at what price. 

         I live exclusively to find that same light that I radiated so long ago. Selfishly trying to find a purpose bigger than cleaning the house and teaching lessons on washing your hands properly. I am a person with depth and soul. I am more than a physical body on a conveyor belt on the assembly line of the american dream. I've gone from rule breaking to rule making. My everything has been crushed and my spirit is nearly dead. I wasn't built to last in a world like this but I hang on because I've never been one to start something without finishing it.That brings us to my greatest flaw, doesn't it? I would compromise anything for a life with you. I have compromised my everything for the life I thought you would want.

     You didn't want this. In a heightened glowing portion of our fairy tale we took steps down a path we didn't fit the mold for. A stronger version of myself would have broken that mold and done things much differently. I would have married you in a field wearing whatever I had on that day. I would have had our same amazing children but whisked them away, with you, somewhere less regimented. I would have let all of my feelings exist in the moments they belonged in....not blown up after repressing them in fear. You aren't unscathed and we both know that, but i had the power. I had the ability to make this life anything. Instead I curled up and quit. I took the path of least resistance thinking it would serve those I love the best. I now see that compromising your existence to please others is not effective. You wanted to exist with me already. 

          What now? I cant very well tear down 10 years of walls that I built rock solid in a day. In fact several weeks after realizing the hell I've created I am barely chipping at a solution to tear it down. I believe that all things, whether seemingly good or bad, have a core truth. I believe in us, and at our core burns a fire that keeps me alive. With that belief also lives the fear that my same life sustaining fire is too hot for you to touch. It's there and you know it but you may never understand how I can stand in the flames and thrive when all they do is burn you. Somewhere in our time line I see relief. The pressure falls away and we live a shared, agreed upon life. My depth, however misunderstood, will be celebrated. You will be appreciated for who you really are...not just that your soul makes mine live. I fantasize about being able to stare in your eyes without being afraid or nervous. For you to be able to look back in mine and see contentment...not pain. 

            Im not dead. Im not gone. I can only hope I haven't killed you. We are a legend, a dream, a story for the ages. We are the butterflies in the beginning and the gut wrenching pain of the end. I am the heroine and the villain. While you are the hero and simultaneously the confused passer by. Looking from the outside at a person you only sometimes know. It isn't fair for you and I am too selfish to fix that. We all play roles in life. Mine is to feel so intensely that it breaks me. Yours, sadly, is to pick up the broken pieces every time. 

        Thank you for allowing me to need you so much. Fuck you for quitting when you have...

Your strength is unparalleled and tested at every turn. Sometimes I wish you were weaker. 

profound depression from the point of view of the disease itself

I love the way our hair falls in front of just one eye.

I love the way our body shakes when you're about to cry.

It makes me feel so strong to tear you down to shame.

You should feel so honored to be a pawn in my little game.

Hold it back. Suck it up. Those feelings are just a lie.

Put on that smile. Stand up straight and let emotion simply die.

Read your lines and close our eyes. Walk the way I say.

Don't tell your friends, don't shed a tear. Just tell them that you're ok.

I am the voice inside your soul. I am the creeping pain.

I am the reason, I am the weight. I am your crutch and cane.

I tell you that you need me if you want to feel complete.

Im killing you, what a show. Come on now, have a seat.

You never stood a chance against me, I held you before you were born.

Now we are one, destroying all. A beautiful person....but torn.

Ripped and shredded. Cracked and Decayed. Broken and left to rot.

I am all you have to hold, the cold comfort you've always sought. 

It doesn't matter how you fight. You can't run from your very soul.

Eventually one day, so very soon, all that running will take its tole. 

You won't get up. The weight will grow. That last effort won't be there

Then I'll creep in to take your pain leaving only that vacant stare.

The rest will quit. They'll shake their heads. They'll walk away from what we are

Accept it...leave it. let them go. Whats just one more scar?

I Cant Write Songs I Can Write Poems With Bad Form

 I'm so lucky, I seem to have it all
 but the pedestal is cracked and built for me to fall.

 Buy me all the things to make my world complete,
 tell me that I'm lucky that my life just cant be beat.

 I could tell you why you're wrong but I'd rather just fake it through.
 Why bother getting judged when I can be just like you.

 Hold me down, break my spirit. I'll accept it when you're done.
This is right, now I'm perfect. The world has finally won.

I drone through, my guilt will lead the way.
I can fool the whole world, I know just what to say.

 The luckiest girl who ever lived may not be allowed true pain.
Nothing in life is bad enough to outweigh what she has to gain.

 Let her die slowly, dismiss anything that made her real.
Work harder, look better, do more and to hell with the way you feel.

Life can be imprisoning, isolation at best.
Simple to see the bad but blinded to the rest.