May 23, 2013 § Leave a comment
Healing is hard. Really really hard. It takes a long time and often it is not very much fun. I think we have this picture of healing that has something to do with a woman’s peaceful face upturned towards the morning sun and she is free and she is happy and radiant on a mountain-top near a stream which symbolizes how she’s cleansed of all the toxins that had previously oppressed her before this great liberation claimed by her own self. Healing is actually very painful and frustrating and usually reminds me that I am one of the most impatient people I know. Healing feels icky like an itch that happens over a scab that you shouldn’t touch. But want to. And deciding to heal is only the beginning of a very long cassette tape that you have to listen to in a hot, cramped car on a road trip with all the family members you dislike. When the last song on the second side fades out that moment of silence where you have to sit with your hateful thoughts is the worst because you know that fucking tape is clicking over and getting cued up for another round of the worst song of all, the first song, the one you started with, the one you always go back to, the day you realized you were really fucked. But years later, you’ll be in the car again, this time with someone you love, and that first song will come on, and you’ll smile because even though you now have the freedom to turn the song off and/or smash the stereo in with your fabulous made-for-walking-shoes, that song reminds you of the hot, disgusting car ride with many versions of your hateful self and that even though you are certainly not on a mountain-top with your radiant face upturned towards the sun, you have never left the road, and you have come just as far as you could.
May 13, 2013 § Leave a comment
The runes told me this morning
we cannot control
that which does not yet have form
as I turned the imperfect wooden disk over and over in my fingers
I knew that my desire and discomfort had much more to do with the past than any future I could ever imagine
so for a small blissful moment
I stopped carving tombstones in my mind and
away drifted wistful echos of phrases such as,
“Here lies tomorrow, pregnant and empty at the same time”
May 5, 2013 § 3 Comments
My theory is that there are few who really see a reason to keep on living
We only pretend for the sake of being seen
It is our curiosity that saves us in the end
The thought that maybe, after all this shit, we will find triumph
And our sadness will be recognized as truth
March 18, 2013 § Leave a comment
When we are sick, the hardest but most important piece of the recovery puzzle is to become involved with other people. Mental illness typically causes us to withdraw from the world, which is not so surprising when that world seems so hell-bent on killing itself through a slow parade of the ridiculous “normal”. When we have an insurmountable debt of hope, trust and faith in others it is very difficult to participate and communicate within our community. When we do not believe in others, we cannot connect with others. Isolation due to mental illness robs us of the intuitive and innate feeling of power and authority vibrating from our peers. The “normal world” wants us to feel disconnected from our fellow humans. It is oppression. It is the tool to keep us down, it is the kool-aid for the cult, it is the pill that drowns the water and leaves us thirsty for ourselves.
And here I am typing from the cool womb of my apartment staring safely at the sun.
March 10, 2013 § Leave a comment
This comment surfaces through the swirl of intoxicated euphoria, through the hilarity of early morning from the night before, and although it’s meant to have the depth of a duck pond, I see all the oceans swelling into the stars. I know that it is true. “You will never know how awesome you are.” That’s the whole splish splash game.
March 4, 2013 § Leave a comment
“Becoming me all over again” is the most amusing way to describe how I’m feeling about the decision to start writing here again. It’s the don’t-take-yourself-too-seriously approach to the egocentric, existential emergence of my braver self.
I started this blog in 2009 in the hopes that I would write more. It worked. I posted about a few hundred times between 2009 and 2011 (I’ve since made most of those posts private). Writing here helped me write a play and some other stories. That was great. Then, for so many reasons that I’ll never want to truly understand, I stopped posting for 2 years. Now I’m hoping to check in here more often just for the sake of it. For no other reason than it feels good to speak freely.