I have lived many lifetimes of
Multiple identities,
None of them representing me
Truthfully.
And now I am trying to dig through
These piles of dirt
And find the bones I have
Hidden underneath.
Ive buried every person
I thought I should have become;
The seeds other people have planted
But forgot to water.
They poked holes and
Pushed that life inside of me
Without even asking me if
My soil was ready to nurture
Anything but myself
And the life I was born with.

I want to start caring and encouraging myself as vigorously as I try to **** what is inside, hurting me.

I am not this dark room.
I am not the person to continue this cycle of neglect and abandonment.
Quiet closed doors and feeling like
A stranger, creeping into my kids rooms to stare at their faces while they sleep.
I am not getting swallowed up by
My mental illness.
I am not alone.
I am not hopeless.
I am not my father.

Reliving trauma through my muscles and bones and mouth means my brain knows I am strong enough to handle it now.
I can hold her through this,
In my safe home with my safe people.

Ive been learning to love myself for a year, so why is she deciding to fight back now? We had relief, some calm.
Now the bones are rattling and the screams are crawling up my veins.

She keeps telling me that Im alone
And that its over.

No one hugs me as warmly as that powder did. He never said no, or that he was too busy, or didnt feel like being touched. He asked for nothing in return.
Those lines were my yellow brick road
Leading to the fantasy of Oz,
A city where I could sing and sparkle
And take long journeys with a natural courage that I never had to steal from someone else.
It was mine, and it was all color.

Its taken me 13 months to shed this skin that has kept me prisoner for
29 years.
She died last night and
Im dedicating this entire day to planning her funeral.
I love you, little girl.
But it's time for me to be free.