I wish I was a bear
Wrapped and warm in fur
Hidden away from winter wear
In sleep I would confer
I find that I am bare
Naked without my faith
Exposed and retreating where
Sleep becomes a wraith
I wish I had a bear
Stuffed full of love and hope
With button eyes so fair
Stable against this tightrope
I have all these wishes
And the warmth of friends that care
Full of love their dishes
My heart beats as the bear
I got the kind of news on thanksgiving day that you keep thinking you’re going to wake up to find it was just a bad dream. Mostly. I knew the possibility of it all. It shouldn’t come as a shock, but when it happens to someone you love very dearly, someone who affects so much of your life, it’s hard to get out of that denial.
Now it colors every aspect of my thoughts and I’m not sure what to write about.
If this was just a diary I would write any drivel that seeps across my addled brain. I’m kind of glad I have an audience…however small. It discourages me from wallowing in my own self pity. It still makes interesting topics difficult however.
So the answer is…write. That’s always the answer. No matter what. Write.
I remember a little way into my first year at college in 1996 I wanted to go home so I pack my shit up and I went. I want to now so bad today, but there isn’t one to go to. I don’t think there was back then either, but at least I didn’t have to worry about bills and grades. Life as a teen wasn’t so bad, but there was always an underlying dark yuck that followed me everywhere I was. Seems it still follows me. Everything is an almost…well almost everything. What do I have now?
- A wonderful healthy daughter
- A full belly
- A full tank of gas
- Rent will be paid next month at least
- A Car I love
- A man I love even if I haven’t told him that full out yet
- Friends that I love and love me
Life is good even if it isn’t perfect. One thing someone with a rough past can almost always say is that things have been worse. And if you are sitting where I’m sitting now you can say they tend to get better.
Home isn’t where the heart is or where you fall back to when you have no place to left fall. It may be for some people, and I guess home is something a little different for everyone, but for me home is where you make it. Just some days it’s a little harder to make than others, but that’s why I’m the Battle Raven.
I’m sitting here listening to comedians. I cry 2 or 3 times a day…for no reason really. My heart feels like a vice grip is wrapped around it. My stomach has stones resting inside. I shake occasionally. The knot in my throat never quite goes away even when give in and cry.
There’s no point.
I want to give myself a gold star when I get out of bed, but really that is something I should be doing. I’m so much more than this.
And I’m nothing.
Depression sucks. I don’t have it because I’m still functioning right? But shit I don’t want to. No wait…I don’t think I can. I am side lined in my own fucking life screaming….STOP IT! Why am I even trying? It’s all going to happen again. It doesn’t matter what you do ultimately you will fail. The world will become numb to you or you to it….you’ll fade away. Stop.
Or is that the voice that lies?
When you’re depressed you can’t tell. All the rational, logical, factual sentences in the world can’t make what you feel seem less real. At first it does. Right now I can tell myself it’s going to end. It’s going to get better. If I cry and throw a fit it will be a five year old child acting out for absolutely nothing. It’s the nothing that sticks. No wonder I’m scared of things I can’t control: black holes, tidal waves, massive earth quakes. I know what’s coming and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. But I should be able to because it’s my own fucking head. I don’t get it. I wonder if this will be the one that ends me. I wonder when I’m supposed to call uncle. When am I supposed to admit I’m actually a weak useless person?
Which one is the lie?
I’m sure you can answer that question, but take a gander through my head and see just how sure you are on the other side.
She held her pieces in her hands
The way that only broken can
Looking up with pleading eyes
“Help me make it through the night”
When the last one broke her tether
She put herself back together
Looking in with beauty bold
She painted in the cracks with gold
Learning not to be afraid
Understanding what life has made
She holds herself in her hands
And no one needs to understand
This won’t work. I can’t open up to you
But then I don’t really want to
I’m so tired of being afraid they’ll see
All the dark inky parts of me
Bats fly out through unzipped skin
Never to fly back in again
Squeaky clean becomes the closet
Now what shall we deposit?
But then again what’s left of me?
All the things I still can’t see
So just for a while I’ll try to pretend
For soon enough we come to the end…
The more broken the pieces
The smaller the moments
In which you live
It will one day end
Won’t remember when I’m dead
Things the lost girl says
The empty pieces
Memories lost yet they are
The heaviest part