Little Miss Muffet

When I was little my mom always would ask me if I wanted english muffins. “Yes,” I’d always say. Then I’d hide them under the couch cushions for her to find later. I must’ve loved hide and go seek too, then. She’d find them in about a week and there was never just one in there. I love when kids do stuff that you can’t get mad at because you start laughing. I think that’s what I miss the most, is the laughter. I used to always be joking around and having fun and then everything got so damn serious. Do we turn a certain age where the world just seems different all of the sudden? Or are we following the world that is constantly teaching us to change towards them? I always promised myself I wouldn’t cave. That I’d keep my light heart and would laugh uncontrollably for ten minutes once more. It hasn’t happened yet but I have hope that it will. I hate things that are too serious! Why am I so serious now?! I sit with a blank stare trying to think of things in life that make me smile and it used to be just the simplest thing! I’m quite klutzy and am always tripping and falling, or like I mentioned in another post when I was taken on a blind date horseback riding. Not paying attention and getting hit in the face by a branch. “Whoopsie!” Was one of my favorite words. Looking back now, I think my most popular saying is “I’m sorry.” What?! That can’t be. It is though. I got married when I was 21 to an abusive guy and I think all I ever did was apologize just because. Then, I just knew that when I apologized we could move on. That was his routine when we’d fight in a way. Nothing else was routine about our fighting and I paid a heavy price for it in the way he treated me, and for me losing many of my friends. I grew up in a close knit group of friends, I think in 7th grade was when I started to get to know many more of my classmates and would soon think of them as family growing up. I love my own family so damn much but growing up was more stressful than it should’ve been. Shit, I just can’t talk about this right now. I’m out.

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Shattered Stones

I don’t know if I feel right talking about this because it’s so private and isn’t just involving me, so bare with me. And a lot of why I’m writing this one is because I want people to see how easy it is to do, but also how much it really can hurt.

I’ve never had good self-confidence. Growing up I was always looked at as a little chubbier and was the tomboy, so I was always with the guys as well. Personally, I feel like I grew up like an ugly swan who simply came into her one at a certain point and now has lost that again. I mean, I had to have braces twice, luckily the headgear was at night, and was always watching my best girlfriends getting the boys attention, which I was fine with to a certain extent, but wasn’t overweight when some of the guys at school definitely noticed me more when I worked my ass off and lost 25lbs that was too much to lose. And I was too young at this point to realize that a lot of what your parent shows you, they endured as a child and a lot of what you endure, you may give off when you are a parent. Being asked to lose weight when you’re 11 and 12 years old can be confusing for the one being asked. I was too young to think about my weight then, even though I did anyways. But hearing that confirmed my idea that I must be ugly and I all of the sudden felt morbidly obese instead of with a few extra pounds. And later I’d come to realize how much pressure my mom’s mom put on her as a kid and how life really does come full circle. When I became 16 I grew tired of having extra weight so I decided to work out on top of my swim workout and looking back I see how unhealthy I was becoming. Weighing myself at least three times a day, if I were a pound up that day then I’d drink a ton of water to try and get it off. I felt like I was allergic to myself all of the sudden. But one guy made a comment that I was cute because I was losing weight and that was enough for me. So I put up with the allergies. Then one night I ate pie and regretted it so much I tried to get sick. It never happened but, the binging was there all the same and I didn’t see it like that at the time. Being a kid is hard enough, and I know everyone says that but it’s so true. If you start out your worst enemy it’s such a long tough walk over the bridge to being happy with what’s inside. Actually, that’s such a crock! Being happy with what’s inside, is huge but you really need acceptance of the whole self and that can be a lengthy process of understanding. Even as a little girl I was never happy with myself and just wanted to make everyone else feel good.

There was so much fighting in that house it was a lot to take. And then I’d start to notice patterns of the way my parents would talk about their parents and it was the first sign of the cycle beginning. And I could never figure out what it was over. It would just start and explode with stones at the glass house and no one realized it. But my brother and I were called unfortunate names and at least for me, I took them with me until a couple of years ago when I finally somehow let it go. I knew I resented them growing up for certain things. Like, she shouldn’t have come to me to ask whether or not I felt they should get a divorce. Huh? That’s your question? Shit. “I don’t know,” I told her. That’s not between my mom and dad, that’s between your husband and you. But I could never get that question out of my mind. What DO I think? The fighting really had gotten that bad. There was always name calling to each other and to my brother and I. “How could you be SO stupid?” was one. “You’re helpless.” It was too the point that I was convinced I was stupid. Then when I was in high school both of them told me they had something to tell me when I got older. I had a feeling I knew what it was but it wasn’t my place yet. And it shouldn’t have been my place to choose who I was going to live with. They shouldn’t have declared divorce on my birthday. It got to the point where on one hand things were a great time, in a great family. And there were times where I felt like a little drill seargant that knew when to talk and when to shut the hell up. Suddenly, I became her shoulder to cry on. It was a time I was so thankful to have my brother, though. Then, right as the depression was hitting him and I got close but then pulled apart. The apart world, is where we’ve been ever since.

Stolen Self

I was awake when you came in, the intruder I’d meet but never miss. With force you tried to teach your lesson, that you are stronger, meaner and quicker. But I’m a Tyson kinda fighter and I’ll try to keep you at bay as long as I can. I try to hit you away. But you’re relentless in life, you’re dispicable in person and you are my future guilt and shame that I did not ask and do not deserve. You should’ve stayed away. I was uncomfortable with you from the get go, which is unsurprising amongst this anxiety everywhere I take. With your force you played a tricky hand I wasn’t ready for and all I could do was go with every instinct I knew to do, and that was to fight. But just like all else that ails me, your force became strengthened. Maybe I was your example, might in your lesson. You taught me about fairy tales failed. The goodness of a story inturrupted by selfishness and greed. You’re mean, monster. You growled when I said no and took it as an applause leaving me there silenced in the end. Unable to boo, unable to scream, simply unable in everything that I tried to save. Relentless, you took me apart. Some people need to wear caution signs when they walk around this Earth because of their constant tricks. And with no magic, just dirty pool you took my soul in these moments. It felt like I’d cut myself clean as you ripped me apart. But at least I’d make it quick and painless. In your world pain is the trophy and ownership is the boss. Too bad you can’t own the girl already taken by the devil inside. My hatred will cease but you impeded in my success of it all and caused the tears another eve. I didn’t mean to ask for all the bad, I promise I didn’t. I think some can smell my weakness like meaty prey. Still in each morning I try to start over but realize this life needs to better itself also. There’s so much pain in this world that we all can see and complain about but are forced by triumphant will to keep in such misery. This was never meant to be my game. I was looking for something different but became complacent in dispair and attempts for it all to hold still. I need more time to learn how to fight I suppose. But maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m really good at the ones who force themselves upon me in my plight to fight back, fight first and to find my power of in a voice. On this night I was silenced, though. Silenced so much that in it’s heated degree the thermometer burst. I could say nothing. Nothing to him, nothing to me and not a peep in these outdoors where I’m supposed to scream.

P.S. The art piece at the beginning is not my work. I just loved the piece but couldn’t find the name

A Bandage Won’t Work For That

Please note, this has content that may not be suitable for everyone. It involves self harm.

There they are again. The sirens someone called out for. Wailing into the night diffused by nothing but the sky. They’re intertwined with the roar of the sirens that no one could mistake. An ambulance. Here to help you and take you to the nearest hospital where the staff will then take care of you. But how do they take care of us mental illness patients? I ask. What do I do if I have no where else to turn except for options on the outside for my own demise? How can I stop the mind metaphorically bleeding and literally bound with screams of terror. I imagine myself in a crowd looking up to the sky and screaming as loud as I can. No one can hear it but me, but it hurts so much you’d think everyone could have felt it. What am I going to do? I don’t want to have these thoughts. Morbid as could be, these don’t belong here. This wasn’t always my way of thinking, what happened? I scream to let it out, I beg in my head to get it to stop. I wail inside my mind. I imagine things I won’t even say, but the terrors ring true and through and through each day. I’m going to break. No, I can’t, I’m strong enough to deal with this….right? I’ve dealt with bad things before only then I knew it would be ok. Now, suddenly like a light switch it flipped the other way. Omigod, my mind won’t stop thinking these thoughts. Thoughts of ways to try and make it better, and thoughts of ways I thought would make it better but see now it was just the opposite. *Scream*….always in my head I scream. People talk to me these days and don’t realize how deep in thought I always am. Screaming myself to sleep. I toss and I turn not knowing what to do, as my mind races with fantasies of how I could get it all to stop for once and for all. I’m going to do it, I have to. I need the release more than I can take in air at this point. But I can’t. It’s not healthy, it’s not smart and it’ll leave me with scars deeper than the wounds in my heart. I did it earlier though, that day I pulled off the road. I did it then because I’d heard of other people doing it and I wondered if it helped, not even to ease the pain, but to ease something. And it did for a moment. But alas, the death of you and it’s will for your taking can be the strongest thing you’ve ever encountered. It just leaves me with another reason to feel ashamed. Another thing I’ve failed at, and didn’t take the healthy route. And for just a second everything on the inside is physically real and the same on the outside, which almost makes me feel more normal again. But it all comes back just as instantaneously, and I am wading around in the depression again, only now it’s worse. Because depression carries with it such significance of guilt and shame that you think it couldn’t grow any more. But then you do something that you know other people would look down on and realize your hole just dug a little deeper. But make my mind stop, please. Make the echoes into the night not sound like the sirens of tornadoes coming. Let the screams stop and the morbid visions take a break. I’m already in a mental hell that no one really believes, all I feel is alone and all I want is to feel whole again. But was I ever whole? I think back to the days in school where I’d have a bad one and just cry. Another thing I always do…..cry myself to sleep. And I hate it because my mom can always tell when my eyes are puffy so I never have a good enough excuse. What do I tell her now?

I tell the Dr. about what’s going on. I show him the aftermath of it all. “Andrea, I think I’d like you to go to the hospital,” he says. “But what can they do for me there?” I ask him. “Well, they have ways of helping people that are in this dire of need, and I think you’re there.” He points out. Suddenly, my father’s face flashes before me. He’d come home early from work and bolted into my room ripping my sheets off while I was napping. “Andrea, mom says you’ve done something to yourself, are you ok?!” As he gives me a once over. He looks frantic. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” I tell him. “I just don’t know.” Earlier that day, I’d come home from the Dr. and tried to hide everything that had just happened with my cheery attitude. An attitude that everyone can see right through but I’d have no idea until the haze of all this doom would wear a little more thinly.

“Ok,” I tell the Dr. with a big sigh like this is never going to work. And so I head to the hospital. One thing about the depression is that it leaves an anger inside of you. Not overtaking you, but enough so that you are bothered by the things that you see more so now than ever. I’ve never liked too much attention and am kind of always the one hiding in the corner, coming out when my comfort zone has arrived, so when I went to the hospital, I was depending on some secrecy about the whole thing. I mean that’s what they give patients right, is privacy? But that day they didn’t. The stripped me of my clothes and took out anything from the room that I could hurt myself with, then made sure the door was wide open and left it and me there for the next six hours. People would walk by, looking in and staring at me just long enough for me to grasp what it was they were thinking? I wonder what she’s in here for? Or, the judgmental looks. I was utterly humiliated and finally grabbed my clothes that were in a bag and walked out. This would be the thing I would become best at…running away. You take a young girl, feeling vulnerable and exposed as it was, then take her clothes, strip her of her dignity and make sure the door is open wide for all to see, the suicidal one, and I’ll give you a pissed off person once so strong, who still to this day feels the exposure of that moment, seeing the eyes of the judgments walking passed.

Bridge Over Troubled Water

The sidewall has cement walls lining them with deep green ivy flowing down the sides. I stand at the corner of a balcony looking off into the distance. It was about midnight. Quite is the night within the stars turning from the blue into the black. Two bicyclists pedal passed on the street with no cars. I wonder what it’s like to be them. To not be on a balcony, to not be wondering what will be my next move. All I know is that I came here with suicidal intentions. I just know there is a bridge lit up in the distance. Looking down, I see reddish brown cement tiles and think to myself that this might be it. That if I came here tonight to do what I intended on doing I wouldn’t focus on the bridge. That tonight could be the night I don’t have to be submerged into the troubles of time, the weights of life and the distance to feel whole once again. Tonight I couldn’t decide, I just knew change was holding on just like the effects of my medicine. Help was beyond me just like the bridge over the troubled water that could result in an untimely death anyway. My friend ran out and yelled my name. Putting her arm around me I looked to that beautiful bridge light up with the night as bright as the sunniest day. I remembered the bicyclists headed through the neighborhood of her balcony, so desolate this moment. As they are, my mind is swift as I try to decide my next turn. Will I or wont I? But what does it matter now anyway? Like the image of the bridge I grow more bleak with time. Slowly passing in the effervescent clouds of the night.

Charlie Brown

Seventh Heaven

I’m a little shy a first when you meet me but once you get in my comfort zone I will always be this seven year old girl dancing on the seat of our old sailboat. There I was listening to oldies, watching a yacht come closer with about seven people, so I start doing the twist as I waved for all of them to join my party. Low and behold, all of them did the twist too, waved and went on their way. And that’s my goal of life right there. What can I do to put smile’s on people’s faces and keep life’s joy going. I never want to hurt anyone, it makes me hurt more and I have no say into how far my mind will take it.

As a little girl who should have been self-conscious with my lime green spandex shorts and palm tree tank top. But I wasn’t at that age. I could treat everyone like my friend because it felt like they were. And I believe it’s still that way except for adulthood. Why is it that we as society will stop in our tracks to ooh and aah over a baby, or stand first in line to help out a young kid, but as age kicks in people become afraid so they begin to steer clear. And I mean afraid in the sense that people are too quick to compare themselves to one and other. No wonder everyone is on all of their technology/phones all the time. It gives them a chance to not worry about having to feel better about themselves because there’s no one “prettier” next to them for others to pay more attention to. Now, that makes me wonder about myself and others. To write online for all to see. Are we doing it for ourselves, or so the readers approve of what we say, decide we’re cool enough to hang out together, so they respond. That might be part of it other than greed. I didn’t realize how scared I am about being judged not just after my diagnosis but I realized,even before that. Is that something we all care about that much, even farther into adulthood? I mean we all get ideas of someone based on our first interaction with them so essentially we do judge to a certain extent. However, I really turned out to be one of those people that loves everyone I come across or can see something in, which is the majority of anyone I meet. And I’m one of those who’ll give chance after chance still seeing the best because that’s honestly what I believe people have in them. But then there’s the times where people take too much advantage of me, I literally start wearing my sunglasses at night to hide from the world.