Thursday, May 28, 2015

The Cat, The Boy, The Dream

Crinkled paper, with words that the white cat chews into pieces. She's my editor, my recycler. There's a shadow of a pen on the bedroom wall. There's a little flashlight I use to write poetry, It was a present from my mother for Christmas because she knows I like to write poetry in bed. Anything can happen, in the imagination, under the covers of a writer.

My covers are chocolate brown, with a hit of rose. They cover my shoulders and my feet. If I put them over my head I don't see the lights of the cars that drive by on the street outside. I can form pictures under the lids of my closed eyes. They begin a lullaby of sight, and I lose control of the night. It's this loss of control that terrifies me some nights. I'm too terrified of my dreams to sleep and yet I am too tired not to close my eyes.

I close my eyes and toss and turn

All of a sudden a little boy is before me, his hands held out palms up asking only for the love a child asks for weeks before his love goes sour. He is begging for his parents back. I am a counsellor in his half-way house of dreams.

I watch as one mother comes back feeling guilty about what she left behind, although with no idea of how to fix it, without the means or will to take him back. I watch as they stare each other down too afraid too love, too afraid to hate, this is the moment the little boys eyes turn black and he starts writing a future of torture and pain.

The mothers tea she finished in the car, she finished to give her strength, her pregnant belly not allowing her to have coffee. Her tea still on her breath, the tea he says he can smell for weeks, though we do not keep tea or coffee in this house... Where is the tea? he would ask who is drinking the teas? Is my mother here? did she bring the baby? My brother, my sister?

I wake up at 4 am. I lift the cat up by the stomach, four feet hanging down facing the ground like a toy, a toy I hold so carefully. She too is half asleep. I take her to my bed and insist she stay with me; keep my safe from the night, as if I have any say in where my cat stays or goes inside these walls.

Sunday, May 24, 2015

The Rising Sun When the Soul is a Moon

I learned very soon that I can't be who I want to be all the time, I need to follow the rules. I need to behave myself and fit in. That when I talk and get excited people don't always understand me and when I get depressed, I start to cry, and I get scared that it's going to go "too far". I medicate myself so I don't cry at all, so that I hear the minimal amount of speaking in my head (so I don't run off into traffic, etc) I have to shut myself down. I have to say "You don't want to go any where alone that you can't get to by walking." Because I know that biking and driving are dangerous for me, I just know it. I feel that being too far away from home is dangerous, it's a fear I have.

Going outside when I don't have to is uncomfortable for me because I have to be a person, and people think I'm like everyone else, and if they want to know why I'm not, then I have to explain that I'm dealing with depression and they all have different opinons about it, that I can't anticipate. I can hide it for a little while and then I think I just start to confuse people.

I am happy, within the limits that I have. The person that I a right now, in this very moment, is happy, when I hear the saddness of other people living with depression and how unahppy they are at their situation it reminds me how much I have sacrificed to be happy. How much I'm not angry at or sad about depression, all that's left is the depression, I'm not depressed because I have depression.

I'm not like other people. I can get in trouble when I'm over the top if I'm really silly, If I'm in a sad place, I'll make a joke, if i'm in a good place I'll make a joke. How I see the world so differently, how quickly I am to point something out or make a joke, so that I fit in, or that people say I'm strange or weird which is better than people telling me I'm sad.

There are things I keep inside so that people don't look at me like "You have to deal with that?" I've had to deal with that twice this week. That I was concious about. I remarked" it hurts but I keep going." I have  quick wit so I'll throw a joke out, or gave a performance of the banana boat song, or Uptown Funk so people don't have to know that I'm ready to curl up in bed and just stare at a wall.

I can do that, my Body will shut down. I'll have had plenty of sleep and I know that I'll need a pot of coffee to even do my morning pages. I can put my head on my Hello Kitty pillow and stare for hours into nothing, strange voices going through my head talking about "12 sandwiches" and "A smokey mountian"; both which have no relevence to anything else around me.

I can tell you I'm an introvert, but I can also tell you my insides suck at being around people, because what I do and what goes through my mind is very different than everyone else.

Living with depression means that a lot of people can't help me. It's so abstract and so selective to how each person deals with it. I tell people dealing to follow their intution but I work on my intuation for hours at a time writing and meditating.

 My mom asked me today why I had so many witch craft books and it's because if I meditate with a spell (prayer) or a potion I'm stronger. Take a day in the week with a certian candle a goddnesss,and a certian point in the compass and some sort of mythical creature and magic happens in my mind. That puts me different places than other people as well.

For me magic is real, maybe that's why I have good days too, because my mind makes things magic. It doesn't see the logic behind many things only the imagination and the imagination is usually way cool.  Dreams are dark but the imagination lifts me up. I'm virtually tone deaf so each note sung or played is different, when I sing, I get to be magic. It also makes it harder because I can sing a song over and over again and still not realize it's the same note I sang three bars ago.

So there you go, that's what I shared about myself today.  I know that some of the stories need greater explanations, characters, people dreams and feelings, but that is me, and why I do weird things, write weird, sing weird and why I can be happy, even though my deepest souls core is very black.

Friday, May 22, 2015

Laundry Is Hard

The clock says 11:11 that has to mean something other than it's past my bed time.  11:12 that's pretty cool too.

Ok so today I pulled a pair of oversized (for me) jeans out of the closet and wore them to work. I had a belt to keep them up and a shirt that I actually bought new, not second hand in any way. A) I didn't do laundry last week so I was pretty much down to the last pair of pants I had (I have to go to the laundry mat 15 minutes up the road and I don't drive so laundry is hard) B) I realized on the walk home that I really didn't care about how I looked.

When I was skinny there were so many interesting options for cloths that looked good. When I was skinny I could throw a dress over jeans and still look tini tiny.  But now I just want cloths that don't cut off circulation to my feet.

I began to wonder if I reached a new high: yay I'm comfortable and happy and my shirt is cool; the lady who has the same one says so.

Or a new low: my pants are three sizes two big and I don't care, it's the end of the world anyway.

I wondered how many woman dress up just for men and deduced that I've finally given up and just dress for myself. Which is ok if I have a sense of style and passion. Nope and Nope.

Is that sad that I don't care how I look because no ones going to be interested anyway. I guess that's the next thing I have to deal with my cloths and my compassion about what I wear.
I was a teenager once and loved buying new cloths and making sure they fit right and maybe just maybe I would fit in with the world around me. In the last little while I've really taken to not worrying about if I fit in or not, but maybe I need to care a little bit more. Or maybe this fashion faux pa is the real me.

I'm just happy when something fits. Even if it needs a belt.

Thursday, May 14, 2015


A watched candle burns memories into ashes and dirt
A flicker recites stories of the past finding the path into dreams
I gather the dreams as a peasant would gather flowers, caught in the embrace
In the dreams arms I risk completely losing myself into unconsciousness
I lay there in the bed, ruffling through the days, taking weeks to wake back up again

Tuesday, May 12, 2015


Listen, it's the sound of people bringing their friends down, most people don't raise up people, they put them down and talk about them behind their back. If any part of you is different they're only going to use that against you as well, they're just assholes rise above.

That's why the song "you raise me up" is so important it's not meant for a group of people it's meant for that one person who sticks out in a universe of people who want to be better than you. There are so many who want to beat you in a race and in get ahead of you in life and in a lot of cases they will use anything they can against you.

Don't "not care." Really, don't do it because everyone else is doing it. Don't sit quietly. Don't tattle everytime it happens. DO what makes you strong and lifts everyone else up around you even if they're hurting you prove to your soul that you can raise people up, and if they hurt you so much that you don't want to raise them up leave and find new people.

Monday, May 11, 2015

When Tomorrow

When tomorrow
wakes up and
knocks on the door
with the dreams of ghosts
and wild children
past curfew
take me into my dreams
when I'm wide awake
and cross the line
from bliss into this

When tonight
falls asleep
it will take my dreams
to a special place
of hibernation
and hold it
for when the sun sets
I cross the line
to a place where
anything can come true

When I get off work
It's my and a keyboard
and a little voice
alive with fire
soft skin
terrified eyes
and a need to take
one more step forward
to my love


Sunday, May 3, 2015


I have darkness asleep on my shoulders
a blanket of shadows
I am unable to live while living
unable to move while moving

my eyes see
A memory of me running
feeling the wind
between my fingers

Still in my pj's I make it
a mile down the road
from where I was and
want to be

A tunnel
A train
for miles and miles
no light
no forward
or back ward

I stop running
take a rest
some time to tie my laces
drink some water

I have run
unknowing where I was going
or how to get there
so I go home