I am dying a little more each day until the time when I am no longer No longer sane no longer safe no longer here Until the day when I will be someone else somewhere else and no longer me here I can’t tell you how to find me or where to find me because I don’t know where there is but when you find it you’ll find me there and no longer here.
Lying broken on the floor trying not to feel the pain of all my bruises and deep lacerations. Trying not to open my eyes so I won’t have to see all the carnage I allowed and the damage I caused, Keeping my eyes closed so I won’t have to look at the accumulation of scars from every day of my life. Lying still and waiting to find the strength to rise above and continue on despite my wounds and all the scars that are invisible to see.
I remember when I was a child, being envious of my friends, who would run home and tell Mom about their day; slamming the screen door and the noise interrupting the spring sound of awak’ning. Standing in a warm kitchen, apple pie baking and she, with a whiff of flour on her cheek, radiant with smile as she listened to the story of the home run that almost was. Seeing me standing there on the breadth, she flashed that smile of understanding, and scolded us both for running so hard in the heat. Then she sat us down at a white pine tree kitchen table to a treat of ice-cold milk and cake. She, silently singing to herself, today’s a treat to tomorrow’s desserts. I knew she understood how I felt; a small child so alone, and she, another one’s mom, with enough love left over to treat me as her own. Thanks Mom.
I remember often my foster home, I being fortunate in my time. Time sometimes spent searching for another one’s love – you see, I don’t have those childhood memories of a mother, Mine left for the other side of the tree. I only remember her as seen in other kids’ eyes, and I realize – that mothers the world over, are really all the same. they love all children, somehow never forgetting a child’s name, so – thank you Mom, every Mom, everywhere.
Lord, please don’t let me love again I’ve done it much too often; each time I end up with a pain that words can never soften. The last time really shattered me; I’m not quite recovered yet. Perhaps a hundred years or two will help me to forget. So please dear Lord because so much has happened to me before, don’t let me fall in love again.
Every afternoon, I sit and sweat and my breathing becomes heavy My vision is misty and I tell myself So this is what hell feels like I’m not too old Just Old enough to remember Never NEEDING air conditioning when It was only for the rich and privileged and now it’s only for those who want to live and breathe We die in winter without heat We die in summer without cooling The A/C even died in heaven the clouds slowly disappeared Everything around is slowly dying Burning up And we need cooling to live It sucks being this old ‘Cause I’m old enough to remember.
It’s lonely when I’m alone and it’s hard to be alone; it makes me crazy and I start spinning out of control. It’s hard. But it’s hard to not be alone, to be with somebody; it makes me crazy and I start spinning out of control. It’s hard. So if you ask me is it you or me, it’s probably not you; I think it’s me. It’s hard to be me.
Every time you hurt me with your words, I wrote an email telling you how your words made me feel but I never sent it. Every time you put me down, mocked me, belittled me, or insulted me, I wrote an email telling you what an asshole you are but I never sent it. Every time you pushed me away, I wrote an email pointing out why you’re alone and lonely, but I never sent it. Today I looked at my saved but unsent emails. Today I saw a pattern of behaviour that I could not accept, because I am worth more, much more than that. Today I deleted those unsent emails. Today I realized you aren’t worth it. Today I finally understood you never were.
They asked if I was depressed and I told them the truth; of course I am – how could I not be. Humans are social creatures and I am a human, therefore I am a social creature, and now I’m forced to live my life In front of these monitors. I can only see other people and places; I cannot touch, I cannot feel, I cannot taste or smell. This is not living. A robot in my chair would be more productive – and it would never get depressed. Of course I am depressed I said; how can I be otherwise?
The truth will set me free, they said and then they told me a bunch of lies. They said I wasn’t pretty enough, thin enough, old enough, or smart enough; educated enough, or rich enough. I wasn’t connected enough or young enough, that I’d never amount to anything, that I’d gone as far as I could go for far too long. And I believed them. But then I looked in the mirror and saw all my strengths, my insights, and wisdom. I saw my determination and perseverance, my dedication and compassion, and I realized they were right; the truth had set me free.