I believe that there are some souls
born into this existence tormented
A truth that will never falter.
Branded into their beings is the truth
that without love,
we are nothing.
We are meant to love and be loved.
Our sole purpose is to fall in love.
These troubled souls are faced with
the realization that once love has left you..
nothing else remains.
Life loses its color. Suddenly,
everything is dull
and the fire within you extinguished.
Life is filled with emptiness.
Empty words, empty promises,
empty lies, empty cycles,
empty sorrow that engulfs you and
we strive to fill the bottomless
pit of our souls. But,
it will perpetually amount to nothing.
We are nothing.
We are mindless creatures searching in all
the wrong places.
We are hopeless.
And the only way to live fully is
So, where do we go when love is lost?
We become sorrow at it’s best.
In between (a poem)
my mind struggles against its own illusion
nightmare tumbles out into still morning
light is heavy,
a fog of echoes...
and I am caught
day dreams the sunlight
dreams light the day
and I am caught in between
like a stillborn ghost
who can't take a breath in the present
I live on a tropical island and just want to go surfing with my husband, but the nausea in the early morning as I try to eat breakfast and drive with him to the beach is so uncomfortable. Day after day it makes even surfing a chore, and I consider not going anymore. Background anxiety and unreasonable irritation interferes with our marriage, frustrates him enough to want me out.
For me, a trip to the grocery store or meeting a group of people awakens the same dreadful fear as rockclimbing a cliff. Perspective has been lost in the extremes. I try to gain some control over this hindering nuisance, seeking situations that bring the same surges of adrenaline so I can learn to master it. If I can just push past the avoidance that would keep me inside doing nothing, if I can just ignore the feeling I want to throw up, if I can just get out there, I am rewarded with life’s potential beauty eventually. Many days I do enjoy the thrill of mountain biking or connection with nature when surfing, but there are too many days that reduce fun to a relentless chore of wrestling inner demons.
The VA offers a few sessions of marriage counseling, and the doctor begins to explain PTSD. WTF, I’ve learned to cope with an unreliable brain, but now there’s this? The website for the National center for PTSD says. “After a trauma or life-threatening event, it is common to have reactions such as upsetting memories of the event, increased jumpiness, or trouble sleeping. If these reactions do not go away or if they get worse, you may have Posttraumatic Stress Disorder.”
“Common reactions to trauma are:
• Fear or anxiety: In moments of danger, our bodies prepare to fight our enemy, flee the situation, or freeze in the hope that the danger will move past us. But those feelings of alertness may stay even after the danger has passed. You may:feel tense or afraid, be agitated and jumpy, feel on alert.
• Sadness or depression: Sadness after a trauma may come from a sense of loss---of a loved one, of trust in the world, faith, or a previous way of life. You may:have crying spells, lose interest in things you used to enjoy, want to be alone all the time, feel tired, empty, and numb.
• Guilt and shame: You may feel guilty that you did not do more to prevent the trauma. You may feel ashamed because during the trauma you acted in ways that you would not otherwise have done. You may:feel responsible for what happened, feel guilty because others were injured or killed and you survived.
• Anger and irritability: Anger may result from feeling you have been unfairly treated. Anger can make you feel irritated and cause you to be easily set off. You may:lash out at your partner or spouse, have less patience with your children, overreact to small misunderstandings.
• Behavior changes: You may act in unhealthy ways. You may:drink, use drugs, or smoke too much, drive aggressively, neglect your health, avoid certain people or situations.” It lists four main symptoms: reliving the event, avoiding situations that remind of the event, feeling numb, and feeling keyed up (also called hyperarousal)”
Four words strung together: Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. They’ve become a tired cliché, exhausted from the endless threat of random cruelty camouflaged in banality, weary of the weight shouldering back the wall that separates death and gore from the living. Living was a reflex beyond willpower and devoid of choice. Control was self-deception. The mind was so preoccupied with A: survival, B: sanity, in that order. Rest was a cruel illusion. The tank was drained, no room for emotions ditched. Empathy took too much effort, fear was greedy. Hopefully they can be remembered and found on the other side, if there is one. Sleep deprived cells were left hyper-alert from the imminent, shot up and addicted to adrenaline. Living was Fate and Chance, and meant leaving that time and place sealed in forgetfulness.
Now PTSD is a worn out acronym, a cold shadow of what it feels like. I try to think of something more personal that can describe the way it randomly visits me, now resigned to its familiar unwelcome influence. It steals through my brain, flying ahead of me with its own agenda of protecting sabotage. Its like the Guardian Trickster of Native American legend, an archetype but real enough to make mistakes: Chulyen, the black raven.
A decade after the ER, contentment is found in a garden of slow tranquility as a butterfly interrupts a sunbeam. My heart fills with bittersweet and just then Chulyen’s grasping black claws clamp it with painful arrhythmia. My heart fills to burst, tripping in panic trying to recover its pace. The sudden pain drops me to my knees, in the dirt between fragrant lavender and cherry tomatoes. Pain stops breath and time and makes me remember the ER, when my heart rebelled its ordained purpose for a week. I had tried to throw my bitter life back in God’s face but He didn’t take it. Now that I have peace and a life that I treasure, He’s taking it now. The price for my mistake is due. It was all just borrowed time and I’m still so young, my children just babies. God with a flick of cruelty reminds me not to put faith in the tangible, especially when its treasured. The sharp claws finally relent and I can breathe, looking up with a gasp and the Raven takes flight overhead leaving a shadow. Bright noon warmth, unusually heavy and foreboding, seems to say ‘there will come a time when you will not welcome the sun.’ Doctors run an EKG and diagnose ‘stress’.
The bird perches on my shoulder two more decades later, always seeing death just over there. So I sit on the porch just a little longer and check my list again, delaying the unavoidable racing heart and rush of tension when I fix the motorcycle helmet strap under my chin. I know all those stupid drivers have my life in their cell-phone distracted hands and hope my husband knows how much I love him, and my daughters too.
Chulyen wakes me at 3:00 am when autumn’s wind aggravates the trees. His rustle of black feathers outside unsettles the dark calm. An end-of-the-world portent hints that this peace is just temporary, borrowed. Tribulation will return.
The raven perches relaxed in the desert on the gatepost of a memory. A bullet-scarred paint-faded sign dangles by one corner from rusty barbed wire:
That Means You
A haunted idea what's behind the fence. Chulyen implies the memory with a simple sound:
a Harley in the distance is for a second the agitating echo of a helicopter...
or those were the very same words they said when...
or I hear a few jangling clinks of forks in our warm kitchen...
hinting a cold cafeteria at 5:00 am smelling of fake eggs and industrial maple flavored corn syrup,
and everything else that happened that day...
My cells recollect, brace with the addictive rush of adrenaline. But the raven denies access to the memory, distracting with nausea. I trip and I fall hard into the gritty dirt of irritation at the person who unknowingly reminded me. Anxiety floods in along with fatigue of the helplessness of it all, back then and still now. I can't go further. Chulyen’s tricking deception says Leave This Memory, you never wanted to come back.
But I already knew from just recognizing the bird patiently sitting there a sentinal,
recalling every other time he tricked me with nausea and depression.
I tried to tell myself again that behind that gate,
the past has dried up from neglect.
Disintegrated into dust,
After everything else, how to work through this? The VA gave me a manual, a crudely printed set of worksheets with a government-looking blue cover page: Cognitive Processing Therapy.
“In normal recovery from PTSD symptioms, intrusion, thoughts, and emotions decrease over time and no longer trigger each other. However, in those who don’t recover, the vivid images, negative thoughts, and strong emotions lead to escape and avoidance. Avoidance prevents the processing of the trauma that is needed for recovery and works only temporarily. The ultimate goal is acceptance.
There may be “stuck points”, conflicting beliefs or strong negative beliefs that create additional unpleasant emotions and unhealthy behavior. For example, a prior belief may have been “ I am able to protect myself in dangerous situations.” But after being harmed during military service, a conflicting belief surfaces, “I was harmed during service, and I am to blame.” If one is ‘stuck’ here, it may take some time until one is able to get feelings out about the trauma, because one is processing a number of rationales. “I deserved it because…” , or “I misinterpreted what happened, I acted inappropriately, I must be crazy…” The goal is to change the prior belief to one that does not hinder acceptance. For example, “I may not be able to protect myself in all situations.”
(chapter continues with recovery methods)
Snort snort snorting lines
Damn this feels good
Wonder when I'll get high
Snort snort snorting lines
Powdered lines of cocaine ink
Yes I'm addicted to it
So go fuck yourself
It's not the 12 grams of cocaine you see
It's the 12 pages of ink I'm sniffing
Yeah the blunt that's burning is mine
I have a fascination with its scent
And the feeling it gives me
After I sniffed a couple line
My new addiction almost killed me
So I picked up on this cocaine
Smoked three blunts
and damn did it feel good
Started to sing this song
Snort snort snorting lines
Life is always better
With three powdered lines
And a blunt in your hand
From a pavement bistro, enjoying an alcove espresso and jam scone
After fresh rains, scenic smiles yet the road is of red sand
Young children play ball in park adjacent, some teen skaters pass by
Skirt-tugger hangs on for dear life, while she perambulates the baby.
The little, old man places with care, two stones behind his back wheels
His car stuck on the muddy, wet road
A small, slow push by stranger passing; it rolls easily from soft, red ruts
A wave of thanks, a friendly smile and off he goes.
Anna steps in ruddy hope, septuagenarian in jaunty hat and Sunday best
Ready to meet the one of a lifetime, widow of a decade
Correspondence long-time with namaste-man, final reward
Ribcage busy, beat in mouth, eyes flit eagerly, hearty salutes.
But nobody knows that someone is being watched,
From across the distance of the park, a clutch of strangers
Their beady eyes, hooded expressions, they wait
Fate is sealed when car drives by; irrevocably red.
S T, 11 May 2013
There are other people in this tale too, but I can't remember too much of them.
Work of fiction.
my loose leaf like sway
situates in light, right in
leaves me loose
along the precipice of this
oh hoots and toots!
my boots cannot take me anywhere
lack distance to stretch
as string stretches all along
our stratified souls
they say, oh
give me a rest
be such an ending
to this terrible mess?
I guess not, i guess
it is not the correct thing to discuss
Let's discuss the
the dramatic tease of interest,
the emaciated conversations of puff,
please, please, situation
will tough the brave disguise
of this stuff
the life of this everything stuff
Robert Louis Guerrero Jr.
That's really all there is to say
Everything to be put on my headstone
To mark my final resting place
I can't be certain when it will be my time
I have lied many times over
I have cheated just o get where I am
I have stolen things that should of never been tampered with
I mocked the life I was given
Secrets hold bounty's of truths
That no man or woman should ever know
But here is one
I attempted suicide four times
Each time I failed
I cut my wrist almost every night
I recently stopped for the sake of my heart
I drink like alcohol is going out of style
I have stopped again for my heart
You may be wondering why I have 1996-????
As the title to this redundant poem
Well it's to say that even though I am 17 years old
I am too young to die
Even the good who have died young
Wish they lived to see tomorrow alive
I have been told that I'm too young to hate this world
Yet I have seen enough of it to know
This place isn't for me
I'm not going to kill myself
The world is
They're going to pull this trigger
They're going to carve rivers into my wrist
They're going to determine whether I live or die
That is the reason for the "????"
Because I don't know when
This world will surprise me
By introducing me to Death's cold bony hand
You are no one singular Unit;
you are the culmination
of Billions upon Trillions of units
we've come to call "Cells":
Neurons, Organ Tissue, Muscle.
You are no singular Persona;
you are the cumulative collection
of Personas which you chose to wear,
or which have chosen you:
The Teacher, the Student, the Victim, the Infallible.
You exist at no singular Time
for you are the collection of Nows
connected forward though Time
to create the line
you think of as your Life.
You are no small feat;
you are a miracle of Consciousness,
perhaps even an inevitability
but who am I to say?
I slip into a coma
Diagnosed to die
The angel of death is coming to visit
Dress you best tonight
My clothes are being ripped off
My will is being read
God is being tipped off
Prepare another bed
This life was full of miracles
Love, laughter, and wine
Why didn’t I smile more often?
Now I’m out of time
One of those things in life
you just have to ride and enjoy
in the long run, to me.
Love is one of the few,
if not the only thing in life,
that can be heaven and hell,
all in one.
i have realized
my life is nothing but drugs.
and without those
i am nothing more
i have realized
that when i am not
my mind becomes a hell
that dwell within my heart.
i want to be clean.
but my knees are bleeding,
and soap and water