I posted a week ago that I was dealing with the death of the family pet. My kid is still in grief mode… And I don’t blame them. I miss my favorite siren. But I don’t handle death well.
I have been upsetting my kid because I have accidentally started to use the cat to refer to Luna. I find myself trying to separate myself from the pain that she is gone.
We had her for five years. I am still struggling to process that she is gone.
Everyone has been offering condolences and I appreciate the thoughts….
But it feels so hollow because it doesn’t bring the pain to an end. That is why I struggle with what I should say when someone else is grieving. I hate that hollow feeling so I don’t want to give it to anyone.
So, Thank you for the well wishes… But I just don’t know what to do with them.
I have never made secret of the fact that I am a survivor of childhood sex abuse. And yesterday was a very emotional day.
Survivors know that most monsters wear human skin. My monster was a quiet man that everyone believed was a good person. He told me that no one would believe me if I told about how he hurt me. He made me believe that I deserved the pain. That is what monsters do. They convince you that you deserve every bit of what they do. Even in death he haunts me, as I find myself feeling like a bad person for enjoying the fact that he committed suicide.
Monsters are among us. And now the world has one less. Though I am relieved I will not celebrate any farther. I will instead work on creating beauty to combat the monsters that remain in this world. I will be an advocate for those who have had their voice stolen.
This means that I am going to need to step back and breathe, I need to calm the emotional roller-coaster this has created. I will be back on Monday. Until then, avoid the monsters and be kind
Lyrics – All along it was a fever A cold sweat hot-headed believer I threw my hands in the air, said, “Show me something” He said, “If you dare, come a little closer” Round and around and around and around we go Oh now, tell me now, tell me now, tell me now you know Not really sure how to feel about it Something in the way you move Makes me feel like I can’t live without you It takes me all the way I want you to stay It’s not much of a life you’re living It’s not just something you take it’s given Round and around and around and around we go Oh now, tell me now, tell me now, tell me now you know Not really sure how to feel about it Something in the way you move Makes me feel like I can’t live without you It takes me all the way I want you to stay Ooh, ooh, ooh, the reason I hold on Ooh, ooh, ooh, ’cause I need this hole gone Well, funny you’re the broken one But I’m the only one who needed saving ‘Cause when you never see the light It’s hard to know which one of us is caving Not really sure how to feel about it Something in the way you move Makes me feel like I can’t live without you It takes me all the way I want you to stay, stay I want you to stay, hooh
My 2cents – this song speaks of longing for company, of loneliness. Right now I feel like this is a relevant and relatable feeling. It is a scary time for all of us, globally. Pandemic and isolation…it’s just a level of panic and uncertainty that has a lot of us disabled.
Please, even if you are having issues, try to stay in until this is under control. Isolation is the world’s best shot right now. Stay home and stay safe.
Today my newest poem on Coffee house Writers posts. The posting rules for Coffee House are slightly different for the poetry department. In the poetry department there are two types, the type I am is devoted to poetry and rarely post else. Coffee House is devoted to growth of their writers. So, the poetry department that I am a part of does a weekly assignment. A challenge if you will. The weeks that you post you are required to at least attempt the assignment, and to comment on other attempts. This way we grow, we learn.
I have written free verse my whole life. I am I think comfortable, overly so sometimes, with free verse. I love the lack of restrictions on my writing.
The poet ee cummings used a lack of following the syntax rules to separate his poetry from the mainstream. I am in no way comparing my poems to his, but it was an argument that I used in high school when the teachers wanted me to follow all of the poetic rules. I have learned the rules since, because it is easier to break rules if you know them. In high school though, I was not worried about the rules of what I was writing. It was a coping mechanism. I was writing pure emotional purge, without care of what I was truly putting into the world. It wasn’t until later, when I was safer, that I started to consider how to improve my words.
So I am thankful now to attempt the challenges to improve. A good many of them are new forms. As poets, we often stagnate in single forms because they become easy to write. (The reason why I have been taking on Haikus lately.) I hate stagnation. Poetry should be fresh. A new view.
This week the assignment was a Ghazal poem.From the internet search “Ghazal (Pronounciation: “guzzle”) Originally an Arabic verse form dealing with loss and romantic love, medieval Persian poets embraced the ghazal, eventually making it their own. Consisting of syntactically and grammatically complete couplets, the form also has an intricate rhyme scheme. Each couplet ends on the same word or phrase (the radif), and is preceded by the couplet’s rhyming word (the qafia, which appears twice in the first couplet). The last couplet includes a proper name, often of the poet’s. In the Persian tradition, each couplet was of the same meter and length, and the subject matter included both erotic longing and religious belief or mysticism. ” I did not follow the rules exactly… Wouldn’t be my poetry if I did. I did however try to get the setup right. Tell me what you think, did I get it close enough?
I try to keep my blog some what light. Well as light as a half mad poet can be. Still something happened last night that got me thinking. One of the strongest women writers I know reached out to me. She had, unbeknownst to me, suffered through a suicide attempt during the holidays. Now this is not to tell her story, as it is not mine to tell. This is to tell my thoughts on something she said to me.
I have quite a bit that I bury to just keep going. Not whining, just telling the truth here. Between arthritis pain and carpal tunnel, my hands hurt constantly. My mental health adds a whole other aspect, as I dissociate. I struggle with impostor syndrome. I am diabetic, and my relationship with food is one of mutual hatred. I often get so busy that I forget to eat. I am raising and homeschooling the most stubborn teen known to man. I have not been able to go to college. The only reason I graduated high school was because my principal decided she didn’t want me wandering the halls anymore. I have dyslexia. I am an insomniac.
During all of this, I produce this blog. I write as 2 Separate pen names. I am half of Fae Corps Inc. I take on far more of the responsibility for it than I should, leaving my partner frustrated at me. She feels like I don’t trust her, which is by the way the farthest from the truth. She is one of a handful of people who I actually do trust, unequivocally. I have 20+ books under my pen.
Now…I told you all of this not because I felt the need to share. I told you this so I can share the point that was made for me. The conversation I had, and my take away from it…started out because of a thread talking about writers block. I really don’t have writer’s block, ever. Thanks to tumblr, and other fun sites, I can easily find new prompts. I have a collection of story ideas that may never get written. For me it is more a case of limitations. Mostly physical, and a lot of pushing past due to sheer stubborn stupidity.
Well, my friend told me that I am talented(which was a wonderful thing to hear) and too hard on myself. That brought me to the epiphany of today. I am hard on myself.
I have a hard time realizing my limits, and nothing I ever do feels good enough. Somehow, like the starving artist ideal, the poet who sees themselves as less always felt right. My self esteem has gotten better over the last few years, but not so much that I could easily stop the self depreciation. I think that the word change may be coming into play. Time to stop beating myself up for not being able to do what I feel like I should. Time to stop beating myself up if I don’t see my writing or my art the way others do.
I told my friend that I am hard on myself because that is how I keep going. There is and is not truth in that. I am forty four. I have spent the majority of that time having only myself to depend on. Making poor choices, mostly because I saw no other choices to make. Well why did I take the hard path? Because that was the only path I saw. Now, I have people in my life that have proven that they will be there. That form a layer of protection in case I fall. It’s something many don’t think about, but having someone who cares helps.
I have not been suicidal in the traditional sense in years…One of the meds that I was put on as a teen caused suicidal thoughts in me…but other than that I never wanted to die…I only wished that I had never been born. Now I have so much that I am responsible for in this world that is good…well I am past that thought even…and it is not something that I just woke up one day and didn’t wish that I didn’t exist…It was just gone. I look at my life and think that if something happens and I don’t wake tomorrow…I will be remembered as more than the emo brat that I end up being most of the time.
So let’s change together. Let us stop using negative thoughts to beat ourselves up. Together let us remember what we are doing that is good in this world. Spread Kindness for no reason. And together we make the world a better place.
Pattimouse 