Sunday, July 31, 2011


The place where I used to live is far away, 5 years ago I moved back home to be distant of who I was and be someone healthy. I now begin the search for closeness and am darkened by the distance.

I’ve spent so many years running for something better, trying to be someone my body just couldn’t support. I didn’t connect to a place, because it wasn’t good enough. I am learning to ground myself in the present even if it’s not perfect.

I keep myself distant from everyone except a selected few, my soul doesn’t make contact. I can’t always keep up with the stories that others tell, I write them down and keep them filed in a big box thinking someday they will be important and mean something. Someday is today.

I try to comprehend what to do around people, what I would ever do if I got lonely; a friend on a day that I just want to be myself would mean sitting in a corner and wishing I was distant.

There are dreams and there are passages built to get you there. All you need is a chance to get a push off, I thought dreams were all fluffy clouds, there’s a lot of down time and work and tears that creates distance.

The girl far on the other side of the room her tells a story, a gin and tonic in her hand sometimes the ice flies out of the cup and by some miracle it lands back in the liquid. Her voice takes away the distance and I need to explore it with a pen.

“This made her sad this made her happy how does she deal with this?” she asks her friends. I am envious because I can’t, won’t and don’t do that. I don’t want people to know what goes on inside my head, unless it is well edited and my version of right.

It wouldn’t be so difficult if I could drive, walk through the busy streets but it’s all so far away. Where theatre happens every night; magical lights and fantastic music choices that move your heart and make you believe in make believe. A place you can control actions and say something about your life.

But it is here that I am learning to bridge the distance.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Recognizable Parts

My depression means I don’t see myself as having a personality as having recognizable parts. I know I’m different but see myself as empty. Yesterday, at work, I took my kitty cat travel mug and made a mid morning lemon and ginger tea.

My boss walked by and asked “Oh Frosty, are you making me a tea?”

“I can.”

“A chocolate tea please,” and then she paused and said, “You probably have chocolate tea.”

Yes, at my desk I have chocolate tea.

Later, I was thanked for leaving a chocolate tea on her desk.

I sat back at my desk and thought ‘she knew something about me, a little quark that makes me a person.’

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Walk to Work Poetry

The rose

After the rain storm

When the clouds


Has only

One petal left

And she

Stands up tall

And tries

To be as pretty

As she once was

Monday, July 11, 2011

A Morning Message from "The Queen"

This morning I received and email with the queen beside 11 us presidents. The caption on the email read "long live the queen."

This morning I realized that people do things on calls I would never do, and it's ok, I set huge standards for myself. Would I work at that standard if I went back on the phone, yes, it served me well, but there's room to breathe, explore.

This morning on my walk to work these two ideas mixed and realized that I have a long life ahead of me and the past evolves into the future (that doesn't happen with depression there is no evolving just struggle after struggle to make it through the day.)

Long live Frosty Duncan!!! But still know what good comes from striving for the best; I can see the evolution.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

the convertable

Hey Mr. Keys in the ignition
Open air and gas on the street
Dreams of the world on fire
By the touch of skin in the heat

I glance at your face, time and shadows
There’s a gleam in your eyes
From glint that the sun
Hitting the chrome, it sighs

We pour like reaction down the road
Drawing tear drops from laughing clowns
The moment you gave me the control
And let me drive your convertible around

I heard you say you were scared
As the accident took shape
But I want to remain the victim here
And still wear the victor’s cape

I shouldn’t have drove
Like I knew this road
There should have been a map
And truth should have been told

We were both lonely
Looking to impress
We will both turn around
And hurt a little less

With the smell of new car I fight to be allowed to be alone
If love is only for the lucky and the strong
Am I the one with broken yellow bones

Friday, July 8, 2011

Universal vs Personal

SACHAL VASANDANI mentions the searching for the universal truth vs his personal truth. As a child I didn’t fit in. I am a consumer of self help books and this universal truth. I always thought this would draw people to me, they would think “she’s doing it, she understands, this is what we’re all going for.”

I also scoff at fitting in so I shouldn’t sell myself short, I have a lot of personal truth, but I’m frightened of it, afraid that if I’m different I’ll be wrong. I’ll regret it. I worry I’ll get to a place and realize, everyone said to do this and I went my own way, now look at the mess I'm in.

This week, I made some decisions that were my own, I was the one who had to make them, I talked to my friends, but in the end it was my decision. I realized my truth about relationships and what I do on my own time are a personal truth. I have to look within me, not a pop song or a romance movie.

Monday, July 4, 2011

True Colours

Today was a pajama day. Yesterday I took two walks and sat at my writing spot by the river for an hour. I could accomplish anything. I started a poem in a manner that I’ve never started a poem, in fact I’ve never thought about a poem like this, I hung out with the best friend and in the evening I watched the rainbow form on the man-made water fountain at the center of the town river.

Today I ate yogurt and read. Today I swear I will never step out of my apartment again. All I want to do it curl up on my couch, which I’ve covered in a brown blanket to hide the disintegrating cushions, and read poetry and books about poetry and wonder if in the next five minutes I’ll finally be moved to take a shower and get some fresh air. Fresh air? I’ve had the window open all day; does that count?

Today makes me want to be one of those people who can stay up into the night and read exotic books, who can debate the great authors and write poetry with great meanings. And then, I tell myself I’ve spent 14 years dealing with emotions and depression and mental illness and that will be the place in which I get ideas for random poetry that might not come as often as those people who stay up late into the night.

Yesterday I realized I will not feel as pumped and alive as I did all day. Today I realize I will not feel as laid back as I do today, every day. Realizing that, yesterday, I did not make plans for today, I waited until I woke up to see how I felt. Today I am not upset that I didn’t go for a run or that I didn’t go to the store to pick up carrots for the curry. Today I am happy to live as my soul moved me. I like this summer vacation thing.

I can do curry tomorrow.