Hate on me… i lied

Bittersweet: Seen the Light

What am i doing here this morning? Did i not say i was gone from WP? Well a thought entered my head after reading a post in a closed group i belong to on FB… and decided to share here as well.

So, what is the group? Survivors of Suicide. A group i did not sign up for but was rather pushed into. And i reside there eternally.

I am healthier today. Actually quite happy. It hurts to say i am happy. I wear my brother’s pain… my grays and blues. Back in black on sunny days. No hat can hide or sunglasses conceal my tears.

Regardless i have survived two suicides and countless hopes to die myself. What follows is my posting to the group this morning…

“At some point life becomes unbearable… my mother was miserable and trudged through life. Her desire to die was known growing up and affected us children, as much as if she had died. I started to desire death at 8 years old. Then my grandfather did die by suicide… gunshot to the head, two months before my wedding. My desire to die increased and my happy day was miserable… it rained as my dad drove me to the church. Then, a rainbow appeared as i got out of the car. A tinge of hope engulfed me. That sparkle flickered for years. Fast track to March 1 2008 and my brother died by suicide. I was still a broken girl with dashed dreams (moments of hope sprinkled in) and felt compelled to leave this earth too! I spent days staring out the kitchen window while holding a knife to my neck, ever gently scraping… singing a lullaby to myself. Oh! and the knotted ropes in my mind would magically turn into snakes, dance in my head while telling me peace came with death.

“Lies!!!” i screamed back.

Today? Ten years later and 51, I have never felt so alive!!! I do not think about the past… my environment has changed. I live in a new house, a new town/state, surrounded by beauty and inner peace… everything before today was all a nightmare.

(To everyone in the FB closed group i told them ‘So glad you all are here. Talking. Suicidal thoughts are a disease. A product of overgrown emotions that do not know to express themselves outward. I went to therapy for ten years… my escape was to pack my bags and get the hell out of hell… i stay in this group because i cannot leave my brother. I so wish he was here. He would be happy to know i made it out alive.

Hope this isnt too harsh. It was my reality for 50 years.’)

I am always available to listen to you too. promisegardens@att.net

phoenix street

braver roads

wrote it
now own
the words
“stinging nettles”

popcorn, chips
no escape
writhing grapes
glowing flames

pardon me
hold on
wash away
this grin

funny spill
easy swipe
to wipe
pain away

hoping still
you catch
a wave
to ride

reach high
brave sky
then crash…
burn hotter

smoke longer
grow stronger
pardon me
i must

move on
edit words
i cringe
then binge

ego “POP”
then flop
down…
down, down, down…

halfway there
then stop!
stop, stop
stop stop stop!!

sToP!
i drop
roll away
the fear

(since i cannot concentrate, i might as well write… something needs to get done around here. 9/19/2018)

storm to safety

winding up
to blow over
everyone
and everything
that stands in my way…
i sense no path -forward
or backward
isolated in a forest
with overgrown fears
closing in
surrounding my feet

i change my mind -escape
and morph into another
hiding once more
an invisible ticket
expired and worn
barely readable
the conductor puts on his glasses
and hangs his head…
the fog thickens

expands

and -poof
persistence
fades as quickly
as memory
is no path
to walk
or hold hands.

(tough morning… so i wrote in hopes peace could ensue… 9/19/2018)

personal musings unleashed…

I see far too many people who are not thinking… and well i have to turn away and protect my thoughts. composting logic
reality forced anger
paths burdened with tears

My religious views are Work-in-Progress and my political views are Independent. I am a free thinker who will listen and either agree or disagree with you. My main philosophy is that life is precious regardless of your worldview. So act like life matters and we will get along just fine.

Side note: Most people, family included, have or had no idea I struggled with suicidal ideation since age 8 until 50. My brother acted on his depression. I wanted to but was fearful of the consequences. We wonder if people who die by their own hands go to heaven. I wonder if we will ever learn to listen and hear people. Even in their silence there are clues… i saw my brother’s anger mixed in with his smile. I was too caught up in raising my daughter that I chose only to see his love for me and Anna and Jeff. I walked past his anger and should have called him to talk. 💔 I play that look over and over in my mind. Like today. I dislike what i see in so many eyes and feel helpless. Daily. How do we fix the pain that surrounds us? How? 💔🌏

Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others.

A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction. –V Woolf “A Room of One’s Own”

Well… i am off to assemble a “Room of My Own” and enjoy what are the last few weeks of a gorgeous summer. Life is different in Massachusetts. It is a good change for my mental health. A much needed change and very few sour notes exist in my song book. Grateful for the positive energy surrounding me.

Foo Fighters (just making sense)

“It’s YOUR VOICE. Cherish it. Respect it. Nurture it. Challenge it. Stretch it and scream until it’s fucking gone because everyone is blessed with at least that, and who knows how long it will last.” –David Groh

personal musings unleashed

We really do not know each other, do we?

Years were spent cultivating all these hateful thoughts. Up until today, all that is wrong with life, seemed to be my fault. I easily accepted blame and never fought the day my mom banished me from their life. I was not the daughter she wanted and I constantly told myself it was my fault. I really believed awful things, that ruminated in my inner conversations. I tortured myself with thoughts of hangings, driving over bridges and splashing into rivers, jumping from a third floor apartment window while pregnant with my first daughter. Or recently, recklessly scraping a knife across my neck and wrists, aimlessly staring out the kitchen window above the sink, while I witnessed a small trickle of blood seep out. The drops slid down and pooled near the drain. Blue dreams turned red. Hot and bothered, I quickly fed myself more lies.  I truly believed I did not deserve life. Lies I recognize now. Lies taught to me. Lies I easily fall back into when I am not staying present in the day.

I am not looking to place blame. Oh, well I will blame myself for getting caught up in a web of lies. Lies that told me I am no good…

I  believed that I was no good for the longest time. Therapy has done wonders for my soul. My heart and head no longer bleed needlessly. Only when I forget who I am.  I have learned to fight back. I am not cut by my own hands or any one else’s for that matter. Not anymore.

During this personal awakening, I have ventured to places I should not have. I became too brave and traipsed where I did not see the wrongdoing on my part or the wrongdoing of another. I enticed it to go on longer than it should because of feeling alone. Sometimes I want to indulge myself more. Whisper sweet things to strangers. They do not mind. Neither do I. But I am hurting people, including myself. It just has this turn on not easily turned off. Then realize I am not truly alone.

I live in a self-enclosed loneliness because I am afraid of true love. I begged for love during childhood and I simply do not understand real love. When it showed up, I fought and fight against it. Trying to convince others I am no good. They should kill me too. Surely make it easier to die, than by my own hands. I even had a cop ready to take his gun from his holster. I pushed just enough. But really not enough. I retreated from the edge. The dryness I remember. The trying to swallow while the heat rose from my feet. What was I asking for? Was this fight really worth anyone causing harm to another?

All these words sprout from somewhere deep… some words remain shallow and swim close to the edge of my skin. Others are dying for air and I happily let them out. Luckily for me, the words mostly die the minute they hit the atmosphere. Nothing survives without oxygen and these thoughts greedily suck up all the oxygen my body consumes. Often I am left with little but carbon dioxide. I am not a plant. Not even a humble clover or Venus Flytrap, as some men like to portray me. I need oxygen. I need to breathe.

——–

I know what would have happened to me had my past plans come true. But do you? Or would you even care?

Heck! You do not know me. Why do I think you do? Or want to.

How much do we want to know about others? Or others to know of us? It is easy to write. Well, not always. I struggle and then I struggle again, with posting. But I do write. And I do post. It is all here to read. Until it is no longer.

I think and rethink myself over. Over and over I turn the bells in my head and they always ring twice and I still never hear them. Do you?

death wish (suicide lies)

guilt drives staggered bones
the edge becomes
a point to ponder

what matters beyond
his farewell
unannounced -death arrived

luring me closer
take the plunge
you can thank me later

A quality insight from Mrs. Fish

— Read on danielpaulmarshall.com/2018/06/10/a-quality-insight-from-mrs-fish/

There are always as many layers in each piece written by Daniel Paul Marshall as there are to our individual psyches. I have learned, from past experience, we decide to dig when all of life fails. Most assuredly when we struggle in amazement, “How did we end up here?”

This struggle’s search means we roam our own minds along with perusing other’s insights, to answer personal questions. Daniel Paul Marshall always becomes a mountain to scale. I am not afraid to climb and quite often like to feel small. The idea of being intellectually swallowed hole is not frightening. At such a time, i tend to be lazy and will shift into making the ascent easy as possible. I have found in order to be a PhD candidate poet, i would need to tap reserves that currently are kept safe for rainy days. I never venture far from the comfortable. (Enough of that tangent… back on the original road!)

This particular post drug me up from a pit i am well accustomed. I routinely, lazily graze in my despair but in a rare collision, this post brought a flurry of thought.

Please consider bringing yourself to the discussion at the original post. I would love to read your thoughts. Does this post enlighten or further blur your perception of you, your children and the space between? Or perhaps your relationship with a parent?

I am considering note-taking and producing a futures map, dealing with my daughter. She tells me i am her best friend, which makes me feel wonderful. But below the surface smile i sprout for her benefit, i fear her future. Where are people to love her as much as i?

wayward be

Who the hell knows if i will be here… today, tomorrow or any other day. If i am, hope your near by. If not, i will find my way… forward.

Always have… been a survivor. Even of my own thoughts to die. Withholding food to starve my heartache. Suffocation, in moments, while i prayed for death. A child. Yes, i was a child who believed there was a God who heard my prayers for sweet, sweet death. Until He never answered. Turned His back on His daughter… wished her to suffer more. Then whispered “Peace.” at her half-opened door. Caught her peeking, looking for answers. Cold.

Wouldn’t tell my whole story. Who cares anyhow? Well meaning people spout sugary words to the despairing child but their words always spoil once swallowed.

I have been poisoned by this world. The cream in my coffee swirls me down enough…

White Mountains New Hampshire