Trust =  faith, belief, hope, conviction, confidence, expectation, reliance

The sordid talk of “trust”…

A recent email communication has inspired me to research and clarify the word “TRUST”. What does trust mean to you? When you set your alarm at night, do you ‘trust’ that it will wake you up in the morning? What happens if one day, it doesn’t? Would you then ‘distrust’ your alarm clock? How many chances would the alarm clock have to fail you before you shopped for a new, more reliable one?

Do you ‘trust’ that someone received something you left for them, or do you follow up to ensure receipt?

The Doctor-Patient relationship is based on “TRUST”

I don't remember a time I 'trusted', truly trusted, anyone. That is until I began working with dear therapist. I was thinking about how it takes a lifetime to gain trust and only a moment to lose it....sadly.... And I was reviewing the times the word 'trust' has been written or spoken by DT in the past 5 years. I dare say he has written, or said, the "T" word more in the last five years than I've ever said in my entire life!

Examples: (as you can see, I'm all about the 'evidence' big grin)

DT said: it took you over a year to develop the  trust  to let me know some things directly from your words....
DT said: Give ME your hate - because I am not making the pain go away. I won't go anywhere if you do.  Trust  me.
DT said: I ask that you try to  trust  what I am saying here and continue to commit to this our work together.
DT said: I  trust  in you and the strength of our working relationship.
DT said: you can  trust  that I and others will be there to help and support.
DT said: You will continue to challenge my concern and trustworthiness because this is what you have needed to do to protect the fragile self that has over learned self-reliance.
DT said: I will not abandon you because you are only going to lean into "trust  and need" to the extent that you are not collapsing.
DT said: You are slowly growing in your capacity to tolerate these feelings in the presence of another  trusted  person - NOT AN EASY TASK!
DT said: I understand is a long process and  trust  /fear/shame is involved.
DT said: Building  trust  with others and within yourself takes a long time.....given your starting position.
DT said: I insist that we have the  trust  and honesty about how you are doing and what you need.
DT said: There is so much learning, relearning,  trusting,  questioning, testing that you are doing. I  trust  that you will give it your best and your best will be good enough
DT said: Rest your head and  trust  that you are safe in your space right now., no one is going to hurt you and you are wrapped in your blue blanket with my faith enclosed.
DT said: I accept your anger at me for this (not that I like it…) and I  trust  that we will continue to work through new challenges honestly.
DT said: As you learn to  trust  and open up with the shame and fears and we keep you fully in your body during these times
DT said: Fundamental  trust  in the therapy relationship can take years and you are getting there slowly and slowly is necessary…
DT said: make arrangements with 'best friend' or someone else you  trust  to take your meds and give you only enough for 2 days at a time.
DT said: I  trust  that you will bring your fears, needs and whatever else shows up.
DT said: you are in the middle of a giant, long term test of me and others on whom you might have some  trust.
DT said: If I gave that impression, then that was my own "stuff" getting in the way of  trusting  you in knowing what is best for you.
DT said: The nature of your  trust,  distrust, anger, perceived loss of me is a major "therapeutic" aspect of your healing and our work together.
DT said: you can  trust  that I and others will be there to help and support.

Wow! That's a WHOLE lotta "TRUST" to push and push and push....and then to shatter into a million pieces in only a moment....

Did DT teach me to "trust"? Yes, he did.

...but more importantly, he taught me that it isn't safe to trust anyone. Not even a therapist who extended a 'life-line' to you every single night for 2 years.

I "trust" that he isn't "here" tonight.

I trust that he discarded me and left me here alone to try to put back the shattered pieces of my life...by myself!!!

Just as he trusts I will make the best decision for myself. (that sounds to me like he has thrown the proverbial 'trust' ball back into my court)

Dear Therapist, I see your "trust" and I raise you a "discarded, shattered, afraid, little girl"...who, after 5 years and thousands of dollars working with you....is back to trusting no one. And more deeply wounded than ever. I trust that the knife in my back will hurt for years to come. And I trust that the bad taste in my mouth will remain after a few bottles of wine.

Trust....my new 'drinking' game...I will drink 1 glass of wine every time I hear, or read, the word 'trust'…I should be sufficiently drunk, or at least buzzed, the majority of the time!


**Trust....trust - no - one!

"You don't have to be okay, or perfect, you just have to get through the minute, hour, night..."* That's what DT said to me earlier when I called him. "Nita, you don't have to feel 'ok' you just have to get through the night."

But...DT, what about tomorrow? And the next night...and the night after that. I'm so tired of watching the clock and just "getting through the next minute".

"Nita, you know it comes in 'waves'...how you're feeling now. There are times when you will be better, and times when you are worse. You know that."

Yes, but what happens when I drown in the next wave, or the wave after that one?
DT was able to calm me down. I was full of fear, fear of the time each night when "logical" Nita disappears and the irrational angry and sad ones take control, put on the red boots and walk all over DT and me! And Nita had one boot on already earlier when she called DT.

"I don't want to die, DT, I don't want to die..." That's what I kept saying to him, on the phone... and I don't, I don't want to die...but I'm so scared that I'm going to die because the pain becomes so overwhelming that I will do anything to make it end. DT told me what to do, step by step, he told me: ”Nita, I want you to go and brush your teeth, take your medication and tuck yourself into bed. Then tomorrow morning, you will get up, shower, get dressed...and get to school. And then you will call my office at 3:30 and we will continue to talk."

But now, the headache that I have been battling all week has now pulled out the new arsenal which is immune to all medication. The lack of sleep has made my eyelids as heavy as bricks, my mind cloudy and my body weary. I am unable to focus. The nausea which subsided for a day is now back with a vengeance. I have thrown up multiple times tonight – and I although I continue to brush my teeth, I would pay the asking ransom for some stronger mouthwash and perhaps some diet sprite.

Although the nightmares abated for a few days, they have returned from the game of hide and seek – l am now hiding and they are now seeking. The ever present feelings of discontent will no longer allow me a moment of peace. This journey to “inner peace” seems to be an impossibility right now.

There is no party at the end of the rainbow – where my heart will sing and my soul will dance with joy. Instead, all I find is the hurt – and sometimes it is so painful, I want to cut out my own heart to keep from feeling it. I am an emotional baby in an adult body and I don’t know how to grow up. I am overwhelmed; there are not enough words in the dictionary to express how it is that I truly feel. Yes, there are times when I want to end it all, but really, I don’t want to die, I want to live, but I want to "live" and not just "survive" the day.

Why do I continue to try to fight a losing battle?

DT told me that he won’t ‘abandon’ me…he said that continuing therapy is my decision …but I often think that I’m way too demanding and unfair and I should ‘abandon’ him – so he can finally have relief from the border. He really is a nice caring person – I truly believe that – and he doesn’t deserve all the horrible **** I project onto him. He doesn’t. I do believe that he ******* up with the whole email/trust thing – but we all ***** up, right? Still, even with that, I’m like a walking time bomb and I have land mines hidden all over the place and he walks carefully because he never knows when he’s going to step on one.

I’m just so tired and frustrated. I feel like I’m in quicksand. My body aches so bad…my head always hurts, I constantly vacillate between sad/lonely girl, 5 year old, PAG…CONSTANTLY! I feel like I’m walking through a haunted house…I can turn a corner and something horrible can be there that will send me reeling – and then I’m terrified, curled up in a corner, wrapped in a blanket, trying to hide. And I can’t stop it. I can’t just throw it in a box and shut the lid. IT DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY! I can’t ‘ignore’ my body when it hurts, I can’t ignore the voices, I can’t stop “feeling”…IT DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY!

But DT doesn’t deserve it…no one does. I am way more trouble than I’m worth. It’s taking too long. I’m so tired and such a burden to everyone. Nothing works – there’s no “self-soothing” machine anywhere hidden away behind my heart, or deep inside my ****** up brain.
This whole process ***** BIG TIME! AND I’M TIRED AND I DON’T WANT TO DO IT ANYMORE! And I am such a selfish unfair ***** to DT. He doesn’t deserve my ‘wrath’. But I still get so angry at him and I CAN’T DO IT!

I only see one way out of this. And I know that DT needs the ‘relief’ just as much as I do. The whiny 5 year old will continue to ‘demand’ DT’s help and comfort…and DT doesn’t have the time, or desire, to deal with her anymore. I don’t blame him, truly, 5 year old is unbearable. But the fact remains that there is only 1 way to get her to shut up…only 1 way to provide relief and peace to DT and to me.

Earlier I was thinking that I’m losing me…but the reality is it’s already happened.
THERE IS NO ME LEFT...

“I am certain that I cannot fully understand the gravity and turmoil that you face when they consume your mind.”

Really, DT, I hadn’t noticed! All that wasted time I’ve spent trying to get you to UNDERSTAND. I have an idea how to make that happen, a plan to finally make it actually CLICK  in your PhD/MHP brain…so that you’ll finally say, WOW I get it now!

“I/we need to continue to work toward understanding these, even if no resolution is accessible at this time.”

See, here’s the deal…just as you have your limits, I also have limits. I’ve played beat the clock, and hang in there it will get better….guess what? It’s NOT better! And the bad place remains.

“I also want to acknowledge that what you experience and think each night is real for you and that the "choices" that you face are nearly always painful and feel hopeless.”

DT, that’s so sweet of you to say that. I also want to ACKNOWLEDGE  that you also did your best too – in this “process”. It’s just that I still haven’t found what I’m looking for – PEACE INSIDE MY F@%KED UP HEAD! – and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t exist. So forgive me if I give up the lifetime search for the Holy Grail!

“Nita will work it out, DT, I assure you she will work it out.” She will “deal with it”.

“My words "when and if" were heard and processed in such a manner as to feel rejection/abandonment and because this is your expectation, you will go to great lengths to prove this... at least to whatever extent you can with words/thoughts....which ultimately seem to make you feel worse...which I know you don't want. “

You’re RIGHT! I don’t want to FEEL worse! In fact, I no longer want to FEEL at all!!!!

And, DT, I ask for your “understanding” and “openness” to see my point of view and why I don’t want to do it anymore…no room for “judgment” DT …”we all have our reasons for doing what we do.”

**I’ll  work it out and it won’t be “perfect” DT, just “good enough”.

from the simple email, to now a pitch-perfect complication
of the internet - no performance poetry found here -
performance meaning singing, meaning cascade of rhymes
to help you memorise sentences and shake your hands
about - ekphrasis (εκφρασις) - performance stand-up
but not stand-out - i'm not complaining, i'm just feeling
the fear and loathing too - or according to M. Schmidt (
no, not Martin Schmitt, the ski-jumper, but then again
the two seem almost indistinguishable when said -
counter e.g. gnome - 'nome and schmi'dt'dt'dt'tt stutter
at the end of words rather than at the beginning before
the dam gates open for the word to flow out from).
besides the point, can you imagine Kant using the phrase
a fortiori in his work that uses only a priori and
a posteriori? i only came across it today - but given
the big *** systematic approaches, you'd find it hard
to squeeze in a fortiori into the complex narrative -
an entire blackboard of mathematical proof concerning
disallowing the end product to be ∞: in philosophy that means
explaining something on a universal basis, the entire human
concern for things said, things done, things owned -
inserting the term a fortiori where once came a priori
would be a disaster for the Kantian narrative, he'd
have to write another critique all on its own to insert that phrase
among a complete systematisation of that phrase -
well the funny thing is, this expression goes in line with that
i observed about left and right, hands eyes whatever -
indefinite a- and the definite -the articles and then an ism -
i sometimes feel funny or at least embarrassed that i keep
repeating this notice from time to time -
but you would expect me to include gravity too,
or how i used to be a flower thief in spring bordering
on winter, plucking the eager flowers in the frost around
the countryside - well, i revived that practice today,
plucked two stalks of lavender (they were pinching my
nose when i walked past with a beer) and something
resembling lavender... google-moment... if only they
created apps that could tell you what flower it is you're
trying to identify, search engine impromptu -
well... it's either a coin-toss between
summersweet (clethra alnifolia) or butterfly bush
(buddleia davidii) - but it could be something else -
cigarette, beer and sniffing lavender, just my kind of night -
i swear to god i once drank a lavender-flavoured beer,
or cider... i can't remember -
but by definition, when i look at philosophy books i feel
they're much too bound to something said earlier
and followed by something to support it -
or in the case of a fortiori the expanded-upon basics,
i.e.: from a / the stronger (thing) - which means
it's a dual-carriage way of saying what you want to say:
from a stronger thing - from the stronger thing -
in real life that's like: what we get from a telescope,
or? what we get from a microscope -
stars aplenty - G-Rex 5571 in the Zodiac constellation,
U80802Z from the constellation of Poseidon -
i mean, flimsy answers - sky's the limit - then
the azure cage hovers over us during the day and
we turn to daydreams packing apples into crates -
telescope: oh airy-fairy, somewhere far far away -
microscope: got that needle and thread with you?
well, whatever we have, we know that our minds are
not build for the omni- affix when affixed to anything,
esp. god. Jews never bothered with it - there are just
as many necessary limitations of a deity as there are
as many unnecessary limitations of our freedoms -
that's how you move away from big ideas and narratives
of a Kant, with his chequers of analytic / synthetic
a priori / a posteriori and concern yourself with
knives (indefinite) and scissors (definite) articulation of
language - hell, we can go down the road much further
and say something about indirect and direct articles -
pronouns are the prime subscribers -
you wouldn't talk to a Jihadi directly as you'd talk about
him indirectly - i shared that curiosity with a local
stranger-mate in a park once walking his dog,
an ex-banker - those boom-bomb boys are being prescribed
the same thing that the Lufftwaffe pilots were prescribed
(pervitin) - but i doubt they got their hands on the pure
medical stuff, they're probably on amphetamines...
oh the R.A.F.? yeah, drunk like skunks.
but just imagine rewriting the Critique with a fortiori
and a infirmiori - disobeying "correct" definition,
as already mentioned the pronouns composed from
articles, as in condensed to indistinguishable parameters -
a fortiori - from something stronger            -
             a infirmiori - from something weaker -
(as already stated, the original definition of
  a fortiori was - from a / the stronger [thing]) -
so the articles disappear and couple themselves to the word
thing (word meaning, no grammatical classification is
really necessary, because if grammatically classified it would
be too obstructive) - but because of this lack of
grammatical classification of the word thing,
we are already associating the definitions via only the
indefinite pronoun - rather than a definite pronoun (i.e. nothing),
it would be pointless to write definitions using a definite
pronoun - well, up to a point, i suppose that
suggesting both a fortiori and a infirmiori to be defined
as: from nothing stronger and / or weaker we can create
a self-mechanistic-propeller, a way of self-overcoming that
in the end arrives as self-knowledge, obviously the
ultimate purpose - and this goes against all solipsistic despair,
as it also goes against making too many comparisons
with others, some who are weaker than us, and some who
are stronger than us - for the stronger will make light
of one set of propositions as the weaker will make light
of another set of propositions to suit their demands -
this can only be seen in light of Kantian-Darwinism,
survival of the fittest and what not -
Kant had in mind something simply said historically in
a condensed sphere of reality, Darwinism kinda did away
with historical realism, soon after the English Renaissance
after the second world war, Darwinism picked up again,
as a way to shut off the murk of the Holocaust -
Elvis did his bit, the Beatles too, but once the imagination
dried up, people decided they wanted to travel back
in time to 10,000 B.C. - and you think artistic expression
will end up a concept prog rock album, or a cute 3 minute
synthesizer song while M.T.V. turns into a 16 year old's
******* of a baby? i'm going keep the acronym, and instead
call it MORAL TELEVISION, or? how to buy a ******
or pull out early - but obviously i'd get a wisecrack comeback
from Juno - see a preacher man anywhere around here?
Kantian algebraic (big words, small people, Belgian waffles
too):                                                    ­              a. / s. after
                                           (event) x.
a. / s. prior
                                     what qualifies?
                                    - historical hindsight -
                                    - the current historical catalyst(s),
        THE BIG BANG... or as i like to call our current history,
an interchange on the words: BIG BANG BLACK HOLE...
BANG A ******* HOLE... get a BIG CLOCK...
******* HOLE... which is what it looks like at night...
two catalysts overall - and boy we're speeding
to Groundhog day - the biggest changes in history were
some celebrity's haircut - that's relative to
what happened when the Treaty of Versailles was signed;
BIG HOLE BLACK BANG (and that's thanks to dark matter) -
but to be honest, if i'm given only these two historical
vectors to work with... i'm not surprised so many
Islamic youths are disfranchised, choosing a third,
Jannah - it seems like a natural thinking process that
will never make it into popular media -
just thinking about it probably warms the heart,
obviously to an extremely violent end -
but this is gone way beyond the heliocentric and
geocentric arguments - because up there, where you
can see the earth where the hell is Copernican East
or Copernican West? it's nice to know that the earth
isn't flat... but that won't help you reaching the Panama
Canal from Portugal... will it?!

You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.

Like it or lump it.

The only constant is change.

Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about!

Life isn’t fair!

If life gives you lemons…make lemonade.

I feel trapped. Trapped in this life I don’t want to be in, trapped inside my head, inside this messed up, used up body. Trapped by the conflicting voices that argue and debate constantly…never a minute of peace and quiet! Trapped!!!

I continue to live inside this chaotic crazy world of confusion and I don’t know which way is up anymore. I cancel appointments, I lash out at DT, tell him he isn't helping me and I hate him. I dissociate, to **** the pain, I abuse the drugs that have been prescribed, SI to try to get the bad out of me, I don’t sleep, most weekends I don’t even have the energy to go out of the house…but none of it matters….because “it’s all part of the process”…perhaps DT could provide me with a bullet point of the ‘process’ so I can see where I am now, and how many more bullet points there are to go…so I’ll have all the evidence and be able to make an ‘informed’ decision of whether I have the stamina to do it. Isn’t that part of the ‘discovery’ process?

Nothing gets processed, it never gets better. I don’t think I even understand the concept anymore. I mean I’ve read so much about it…treatment approaches; behavioral, psychodynamic, cognitive, eclectic, holistic, existential, person focused, CBT, DBT, and more! I’ve researched and studied trauma symptoms and what to expect, how to handle them. I’ve read about the long-term effects of childhood abuse…the fear of abandonment, inability to trust or feel safe, inability to self-soothe or regulate emotions, depression, anxiety, eating disorders, self injury, suicide ideation, the tendency to ‘repeat the trauma’.… oh, I “understand” it well, from an educational perspective. I have good insight. I can explain it to someone else…but emotionally, and physically…personally, I don’t comprehend it, I can’t apply it to me. It’s all just words, I have no personal connection to them. Just like the terms: mom, dad, safety, trust, intimacy…all words in a dictionary. I understand them, I know the ‘meaning’ of the words but I have no real human connection to them, they have no personal meaning to me. Like reading a physics book…all words and terms and models and notions and things…I sit and observe externally, but none of it is part of my internal world.

That’s my problem right now…(well, one of) is no one listens! *NO ONE HEARS ME!!! Everyone just shoves information at me – techniques, tools, lists, print outs, videos, cds, diary cards, words…and I see them, and hell, I’m pretty sure I could teach them all to anyone with an IQ over 50 – but how does it relate to me, to my life? The stupid exercises in DBT…”practice them” go to class, talk about them…
DBTC says, *“Don’t you feel better/happier/distracted/grounded/soothed now?” And I just pause and take an internal inventory and say, “NO!” I don’t because it doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do.
“Oh, well, then you must be doing something WRONG. You are a failure – you aren’t trying hard enough.” Yes, it’s my entire fault. I will try harder. And I try harder, and it doesn’t work, and then I become more frustrated, like a 1 year old trying to fit a round toy into a square hole. It doesn’t fit! And I try it over and over and over, and it still doesn’t fit. And I become more and more frustrated and feel more and more worthless and stupid…and no one listens because it’s my fault. I’m not trying hard enough! I should be able to do this! I should be able to ‘soothe’ myself and ‘ground’ myself and ‘feel safe’ and make him go away when he comes to me at night, and be happy when I’m sad…and pretend, pretend, pretend, fake it. Shut up and behave yourself, young lady, so everyone can see how much better you're doing...another DBT success story!

Nothing is shifting and I’m still stuck. Read it, live it, apply it, love it! I read the material like it’s a prerequisite class in college. I study it, I learn it, I recite it, I ace the exam, I can tutor others on the material…but like finite math – I’ll never use it, I don’t apply it in my own life. I don’t incorporate it on a personal level – it’s just a class I have to pass to graduate.

Nothing is stable, nothing is safe, there’s nowhere to turn, no one to turn too. There’s no one here – no one listens – no one cares about what I say is working or isn’t working. The echoes of my screams just resonate through the cavernous canyon. I look around for the Verizon network and there’s nothing – no one. No one HEARS ME! DT used to hear me, but not anymore because now you don’t have time. “Sure I do,” says Dear Therapist, “I have a whole hour.” And you can call me until 10pm each and every night, if you need too, and if I’m available and not (enter: in session,  at the hospital working, running…or just plain not wanting to answer the phone) I will listen. In other words, if everything else falls through, then 'maybe'. Gee, I should jump on that.

Truly, I should take it, run with it, put it in the blender with some water, and make lemonade for EVERYONE!

Yes, my world today is so much different now than it was then. The only difference is the scenery.

Everything is still there: the fear, the lack of trust, the lack of safety, the ED, the SI, SIB, the pieces of me, the unfamiliar woman in the mirror looking back at me.

There's no where to run to… no where to hide....from myself. That's what it comes down to in the end, I can't hide from myself, and I can't seem to help myself either.

The last few months have left me with a lot to ponder. I'm already an analytical person, but I've got so much going on in my head right now that I've written, erased and re-started this entry about 10 times already because I can't seem to organize my thoughts.

I am one really $%)! complicated person. I mean I know no one is simple, but I swear with every passing day I find out things about myself that are contradictory or frustrating. Only I can manage to **** myself off without even trying.

Fear is keeping me from progressing in therapy right now. I'm so afraid that any topic I approach or old wound I open up is going to result in the same reactions I had the last time I tried. Crippling panic attacks, constant fear, cutting, no hope. I allowed myself to think about and confront things I had never even come close before, and I end up a walking mess.

I haven't pushed myself to really talk about or feel anything difficult, because this fear in the back of my mind is slamming that door closed every time I approach it. The logical side of me is screaming "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING? DO YOU WANT TO FEEL THAT WAY AGAIN?!?!", yet I'm also battling with the undeniable fact that the only way I am going to be able to heal from and let go of these hurts I've been carrying around for so long is to talk about, process through and feel them.

I want to feel like I'm not wasting my time (and DT’s). I don't right now. I hate it.

I'm so frustrated with myself. I feel like I've lost faith in my entire existence. Like everything I do is futile. No matter how hard I work or how much I want something, I'm doomed. The world is going to spite me and give me the exact opposite.

I feel defeated.

And yet, to be even more contradictory, another part of me feels as though if I can eventually get to a place where I can let these walls down, that I will recover. It seems possible in every aspect of my life... except one.

Even though I sought out and have been going to therapy with the goal of recovering from my abuse, a big part of me doesn't believe it is possible. That no matter how hard I work or what I do, this will always be what defines me. I will never escape it. I will always be afraid. I will always be that 5 year old.

I mean, look at all I've been through over the past 12 months. I got to a point that I wanted to **** myself. I mean actually wanted to end my life. I had NO HOPE. And even going through all of that, I still feel like nothing has changed. I'm still just as afraid as I was then. Just as defined by my abuse as I was then. Why should I think it'll ever get better? I almost killed myself trying to make it better.

Then DT said something to me that seemed so painfully simple and obvious, yet brought me almost immediate hope.

"Your abuse speaks a different language."

Don't worry, I'm going to clarify (as you are probably thinking the same thing I was: uhhh, what does that mean?). The little things I've been able to improve upon with DT, like learning how to be in the moment, my relationships with my other, coping with stressors in life without cutting, etc speak one language. Certain methods and approaches work very well in confronting those things, all the while challenging me, pushing me and allowing me to see success.

The *"language" DT used for those things was obviously not the right "language" for my abuse.

Today I feel more hopeful than I have in a very long time. Maybe, just maybe, we can figure out what the right language is for my abuse. And maybe, just maybe, I can heal.

If you treat me like you were supposed to,
Maybe I wouldn’t have had to have hurt you.
You hurt me in more than one way,
So I have something important to say.

Cheat me, hit me, bite me, force me,
Spit on me, lie to me, can’t you see?
You hurt me more than any other,
To get back at you I kissed your brother.

Something I’ve managed to keep quiet for a while,
Just thinking about revenge makes me smile.
I really thought I was in love with you,
But honestly, being with you, anything could be true.

The amount of times I’d cried and cried,
I always returned when you apologised.
My excuse? It was being young and forced,
By someone who I thought loved me of course.

But you never loved me, not at all,
every time I thought I was standing tall.
When, in fact, I was looking like you,
A stupid, idiotic, childish fool.

So I’m glad I finished the relationship,
Happy I escaped and got away quick.
Imagine what’d happen if I’d stayed with you,
I’d be a selfish cow and extremely cruel.

I haven’t been sleeping well for over a week…Nightmares, tossing, turning – it comes in waves I can sleep for a few nights – then it starts again. The tossing and turning – I can’t lie on my side because my hips & chest hurt, so I try to lie on my back – but then I feel like something is crushing me and I can’t breathe…and I toss and turn back and forth – for hours.

Sometimes I cry and try to talk to myself, tell myself that it’s okay to cry, that it will pass, and I’ll be okay – I try to forget the pain in my hips and my chest- remind myself where I am, repeat my address...I’m a grown up now. This is my house, and I’m okay.

Sometimes I lie down in the guest room and open the window to feel the cool air on my body and listen to the sounds outside. Other times I lie on the floor in the bathroom, feel the cool tile on my face.

Sometimes I fall asleep but then I wake up, startled, from a dream…sometimes I can remember the dreams, sometimes not. But it’s been a really long week, and I’m really tired. I am sooooo tired. And nothing is working now. I’m so tired. And I can’t sleep.

And the lack of sleep exacerbates everything else. The anxiety, the anger, the panic and fear. And there’s no relief…no help. My problem, I get it – at night when everything happens it’s just me here – by myself. No one else. My problem. My issues…all mine – I own it. Me. No one else’s problem – why bother even talking anymore.

I don't even bother calling DT for help anymore - because really - it doesn't matter. It just "is" and nothing can be done about it. And maybe I'll get a "good" night soon - a night where I actually sleep...a night with no body memories or nightmares, no panic attacks or anxiety, no voices, no SI...and then maybe that will be enough to get through another few nights of hell. Maybe - Maybe not.

Just "riding the waves" as you say, DT - I won't call - I won't ask for an "extra" session or bother you on your weekend off. Because it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter anymore. I've ridden the waves for 40 years now! BY MYSELF! Has it gotten any less turbulent? Um, no - so again, I have to ask the question: Why ******* bother? I sure don't have an answer to that question, do you?

And I wish I had the courage to STOP all of it. But I don't today...and even if I had the courage - I don't have the energy.

I do not feel well. I called off of work today due to exhaustion. I have tried to relax today to attempt to reduce the blood pressure but I don’t feel well still. I recognize that it is mostly my fault. I haven’t taken care of myself this week – well let’s be honest…I never really take care of myself – even a heart attack at 40 is not enough of a wake-up call to change my behaviors.  I feel sort of shaky and weak and I really want  someone, anyone to tell me what to do…but there’s no one  anymore and so I will stay here within myself praying for something (?) sleep?  Dissociation to take me away so I can escape all of it for awhile.

I just cannot turn around and ask for help. I wouldn’t even know who to ask. Why? I don’t know exactly. Fear… Maybe… Stubbornness…Perhaps. I don’t know why. When you get hurt it’s difficult to put yourself out there again – for fear of being hurt again. And right now it’s just easier to pretend to the outside world that all is well and I am a-ok – even though that isn’t true. But honestly, I don’t think it matters...anyway…the “truth”.

Aren’t I being a good little NitaAnn by not facing any of it? I mean, I did take all my meds today, and I slept til noon, up for a bit then a nap now thinking it’s time for bed again. Being physically ill along with my other mental hang-ups is not a good combination. The unrelenting darkness…it’s still here – it’s just as strong as it was before, but I will do what others expect of me…throwing it all into a leaky bucket so it does not bother anyone else.

I have nowhere to go for help, really. I am no longer burdening DT with any of this…it’s not fair – it’s just too much for him to deal with. Anyone really. Too many things, too much trauma from childhood, from the teens…and any work done this far has felt like someone putting a band-aid on a gaping stab wound. And  I have perfected the art of pushing away from me anybody else who may want to care about me. I am so difficult to love. Ask my parents.

I don’t feel well now. And yet here they are – the overwhelming ‘feelings’…relentlessly returning to my front door, insisting they have their say and I remain their captive audience.

This won’t end well. There is no hope. There is only this. There is no hope. I want to wrap up in my blanket…into a quiet dark corner and cry and pray for something to make it all end. I need it to stop. It has to stop. Please, just stop.

I’m scared. 5 year old cries for DT, for his comfort, for the look of safety in his eyes. I want DT to help me but he isn’t here anymore…it was too much for him too. But I’m scared. Scared…miserable….frightened. No one to help. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t feel well. No help – but I don’t deserve help anyway. I deserve nothing. So I ask for nothing. I will never ask again. Never.

Stay away from me, everyone. I am no good. Not even my own mother would stand by me because she knew…she knew! DT knew! He knew too! I showed him all of me and he knew that I was bad. There’s no hope. There is nothing. I feel nothing. I will never feel. Nothing. I am nothing. Nothing.

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“My dear little one, what do you want? What do you need right now? Sweet little girl, what do you want?”* asks DT


I gently whisper my response, "I want to feel better."


“Okay, tell me more,” he softly inquires.


I take a deep breath and continue, “I want to be okay with all of my feelings and I don’t want to be afraid to share them. I want to believe that I am not my past, that my past is just a part of me. I want to be loved for who I am, and not what I have accomplished. I want to be authentic and real, and not be afraid to show the real me, all of me. I want to laugh more, that deep belly laugh, until tears of joy stream down my cheeks. And I want to cry less from that desperate, hopeless place I find myself in during the night. I want to be able to sleep without nightmares and no longer fear the darkness. I want to live without the voices in the shadows of my mind telling me I am bad, worthless, undeserving of care and love. I want to believe in myself, and I want to believe in others too. I want to trust. I want to understand, at the core of my being, that I am safe, and that I am going to be okay, no matter what happens.”


“Is there anything else?” DT asks me.


“I want to love myself for who I am. I want to recognize that I am working hard, that I will be okay. I want to love myself just because I am alive, and I am strong, and I deserve to find peace and happiness. I want to love all of me, even the parts I have not yet accepted and the parts that I do not like. I want to feel the love I have for myself every single day, even if only in some small way, even if only for a minute."


He answers my request in a soft confident voice,

*"You will have these things. I believe in you. You will be okay. You will live."

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The mind does not reel
It Clacks
At or near the frontal lobe
A temple eroding, I suppose
Destroying by the speed of the whir
A millisecond vertigo
Terrorizes for seemingly endless minutes
Wrought iron right neck muscle
Climaxing in a hypnagogic spasm
That levitates the body for an instant
A moment?

The truth is that life isn’t fair– it isn’t, but “you do the best you can” – at least that’s what I’ve been told.

The truth is I don’t even know which one of ‘me’ is real and I’m scared of the many times I leave my body and can no longer communicate, it makes me feel unsafe and the truth is it happens every single night.

The truth is I’m scared all the time because at any minute I could change into someone else and bad things can happen.

The truth is every single night my body aches with sharp and persistent pain, and I cannot rest, or find comfort. And the truth is I prefer not to be present when the pain becomes unbearable.

The truth is I feel overwhelmed with the chaos inside my head and the pain in my body – and the truth is I know that no one will be there, so why would I even ‘write’ how it feels anymore?

The truth is DT has no idea what happens now because the truth I don’t think he really wants to know and he wants to believe that because I don’t ‘email’ him or leave him a ‘voicemail’ that I must be doing better. Good Job, Nita, you are doing such a great job navigating through the pain, in a much “healthier” way. But the truth is he doesn’t know anything about my “nightly navigation”.

The truth is no one wanted to know the TRUTH then, and no one wants to know it now. No one wants to see, or hear, about a man fu@#ing a kid. Because the TRUTH is that it’s disgusting and revolting, and horrifying…and the thought really turns the stomach of anyone who hears it. And the truth is, if it makes you feel that way to hear it, then imagine how disgusting it feels to be a kid who was fu@#ed.

The truth is I scared as hell that one day I will seriously hurt or **** myself. Because the truth is that we do tend to hurt and **** ourselves, and if ‘one’ of us does it – the rest of us are scared as hell that it will happen to another survivor!

The truth – the truth is a journey into madness…and you can’t handle my ‘truth’. Because your truth and my truth are WAY to different…

The truth is I’m not that scarred when I’m covered up – and the truth is no one wants to see those scars because it’s uncomfortable and perhaps a reality check that the world really is fu@#ed up – and adults really do f@#k kids – and people like me really do hurt themselves and **** themselves.

The truth is everyone ignores what isn’t “spoken” and the truth is everyone is shocked as hell when the unspeakable happens.

The truth is “I” am not the one with the blinders on. And the truth is you don’t see me now because you don’t want to see me. Because you WANT to believe that I’m doing “better” as a result of your “boundaries” and “limits” (what a good doctor you are!- pure genius…she finally ‘accepts’ the limitations –and as a result huge sigh she’s doing so much better) – but the truth is you don’t know because you don’t ask, and you don’t ask because you don’t want to know- because it’s not pretty and it certainly isn’t something you see in a showroom window.

And the truth is you don’t know what my reality is because you don’t want to know, you don’t want to see. Because my reality is covered up with clothing, eyes that hide the truth, the ability to use humor to hide even the most painful feelings, and a bright smile.

And that’s okay – but really….your truth and my truth are as far apart as Earth and Venus.

Smile Pretty for the Camera, Nita ...that's "perfect."

anyhow
that was the day I gave up everything

one thousand hotel mirrors
well travelled.

train Milan, cheek-kissed Maria.

cognac. A man. Unconsumed.

Guylove dance, marketplace Castries.
Lord Jackson, Victor
Calypso kinging.

Anyhow
that was the day I gave up dancing

Jack lighthouse, broken glass,
spilled Guinness never forgiven.
Named my son for him.

Anyhow
that was the day I gave up talking

crew cut Poughkeepsie, émigré fashion
boarding cockle boat, Dunkirking
Queen Mary.
Nero sunsetting on piddling empire
wallmap fading red to wilted pink

scouring the bottom of titanic bucket,
glorious lido summer, dear Liza,
got a hole in it(torn piece of rubber
mnemonic for a mother)

anyhow
that was the day I gave up ***

now come the restoration of the king.

London shall rise again,
borne on tide of flying,
infinite darkness,
osmosis of light.

whisper saint Paulus,
de-clocked, unthroning,
myriad swimmers swarm
canal cut channel,
(furry animals cluster, cuddle
in unlikely couplings).

quavering timbers
blowing and swaying,
queen lay dying, long live the king.

anyhow
that was the day I gave up my mind

I hate myself. That's the short of it. I have struggled with this as long as I can remember. In talking with DT this week, he reminded me of some of the reasons that I am a good person. I hear it, my brain processes the words, my heart wants to believe it, but then the familiar words of "if he only knew" creep in and consume any hopes of believing it is true. Sad thing is, he does know. He knows more about me than any other person... he knows the nitty gritty details, the good, the bad and the dark & ugly. So if someone who does "know" can still find the good in me, then why the hell can't I believe it?

It's frustrating. I don't enjoy walking around feeling like this. Shame is my cloak and hatred follows me wherever I go. I envy the people who have good self-esteem because I am not one of those people. My husband is one of those who just looks comfortable in his own skin. My skin is too tight. So I cut.

I was taught to cut. By someone close to me who was hurting me. It is almost as if it was their calculated attempt to hide my feelings from the world and show me how to turn them inward. The sad thing is, cutting as I was taught did ease my feelings of guilt, shame, anger, etc. It was my release and my best means of controlling my feelings. A simple cut was a distraction to the larger pain. I believe this is where my self-destructive behavior took root.

Over the years my self-destruction has taken many forms. Alcohol, drugs, more cutting, binge eating, not eating, and pushing everyone away who even attempted to love or care for me. "I will make them leave before they can decide on their own to leave me", that was my constant thought. I've always thought it to be better anyways because anyone who got to know me surely would be repulsed by my secrets. I work hard to ruin my own success because I'm terrified of the good happening in my life. Good means that it can turn to bad. However, it sure is a lot of work to live my life like this and from the outside looking in, it must look strange to watch me ruin the good things going for me. I know my husband sees it as strange; a frequent argument between us is my resistance to let him love me. He knows me, maybe not all the dark and sordid details but he still knows me. And even then, I still resist the good that is him in my life.

All this leads me back to the silent treatment. I ignore my own feelings, thoughts, emotions, and dreams. In a sense, I give myself the silent treatment. And in return, that pain created by the silence, leaks out as self-destruction and hatred. When the good comes in my life I embrace it for a time and actually attempt to feel. But then, like clockwork, I shut down and the silence begins. An internal temper-tantrum eventually ensues, screaming to get my attention only to be met with more silence until I can no longer ignore it. By then I am so out of control that I resort to self-destruction which temporarily cures the larger pain in my life.

In writing this, I can see that I'm actually quite predictable. No wonder people close to me are maddened to watch this process happen time and time again. So here goes, I'm going to start listening to myself and hearing them out instead of screaming back to shut up. Hearing myself has to be easier in the long term than continuing to make a mess out of my life through self-destruction because now, for the first time, my own destruction is hurting those around me who love me and that is something I cannot continue to do.

I don’t want to focus on the feelings of those left behind…not now, not tonight.
I think that life leaves your lungs first and your eyes last...
How does that old saying go:
                                                        'The Eyes are the Windows to the Soul'
Maybe that’s why life leaves last through your eyes. The soul leaves your body and then there is no life left in your eyes. And after death, once the soul leaves the body, your eyes look glassy and vacant. I find myself wondering; in that moment, right before death, when you KNOW you’re going to die, and there’s no hope of turning back the clock, is there a feeling of peace and acceptance?

I sometimes think my eyes have been vacant and lifeless for years. And even though my heart still beats in my chest, that through the years of abuse, he did **** me – but, now disconnected from my brain, my body just hasn’t realized it yet. And when it finally does…my broken heart will stop beating.

What are you thinking right now, Nita?

I’m thinking I don’t want to die but I don’t want to live.

I’m thinking I should call DT and see if he has openings this week. But I can’t pick up the phone right now. Besides, it’s after 10, so the DT window is now “closed”. So it would only feel like “rejection” if I did call.

I’m not planning to do anything drastic tonight…well that might depend on your definition of drastic.  It’s scary inside my head right now. I don’t know how else to say it. Unusual… it isn’t often that I find myself unable to translate the words inside of my head and put them on paper, even if I’m unable to speak them aloud. I don’t find that to be the case tonight.

Or maybe some things are better left unwritten.

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Thank you Shaun,
for the pictures and flowers.
Thank you Lily,
for the ray of sunlight.
Thank you Bry,
for psychopathic measure.
Thank you D,
for the feeling of good pleasure.
Thank you Tay,
for tea and bears.
Thank you Meg,
for Sherlock and apples.
Thank you Zee,
for robots and twins.
Thank you Carrie,
for fangirling and friendship.
Thank you Liam,
for support and superheroes.
Thank you Paul,
for understanding and ingenious.
Thank you Ceryen,
for fake names and shared tears.
Thank you Chiara,
for Italian cheese and fanfics.
Thank you Rod,
for fish and evil.
Thank you Lia,
for kitties and souls.
Thank you Stephen,
for gravestones and vegetables.
Thank you Christine,
for mercurial and poetical love.
Thank you Caitlin,
for product design and Poundland.
Thank you Jordan,
for weddings and Brenda.
Thank you Conaill,
for DT and Courbet.
Thank you Brendan,
for axes and aunts.
Thank you Tom,
for form time and Brittany.
Thank you George,
for philosophies and pigeons.
Thank you Morgan,
for video games and hearing.
Thank you Alice,
for Pokemon and tumblr.
Thank you Aliyah,
for hearing aids and help.
Thank you all,
for reading and listening.
Thank you, me,
for absolutely nothing.

I often wonder if anxiety manifests in your body in a physical sense. I feel despondent today…I’ve been nauseous all day. I lack the enthusiasm and energy to do anything. I am fearful every evening of what will come in the night. I know I should just grit my teeth and push through this phase. ..but l currently lack the fervor and oomph.

Darkness has closed in. My body feels like it’s filled with lead. I am exhausted physically and mentally. I’m walking in the rain and the wind caught under my umbrella and pummeled me into a brick wall. I am constantly fighting against the winds. The winds of my fear, my anxiety, my hopelessness and shame…and the anger, holy smokes! The horrible anger that overwhelms me.

I don’t sleep, the darkness invades my dreams. When I do finally fall asleep, it’s only a half sleep. I toss and turn and wake up multiple times during the night.

So much of what I feel is irrational and the logical part of my brain tells me that – but Ms. Logic can’t win against Ms. Scared –Angry (she has a hyphenated last name). I need help – I know that. I know that I am not “me” and I am not in control of us, not anymore. I know that the strength and spirit and determination I had has been drained from me.

I have been thinking terrible thoughts at night. Thoughts like: what if I just take the entire bottle of ativan and chase it down with a chug of *****. It isn’t about suicide – I assure you, it’s about making it stop! It’s about stopping the crazy voices inside my head; it’s about killing the physical and mental pain in my body. I realize how twisted that sounds…like the mentality of an ‘addict’. Something I never want to be.

I never wanted to be ‘this’ woman. I used to be strong – a fighter! And I have been through worse! But I feel like a runner who hit the wall. I just don’t feel like I can push forward anymore, not now. Thinking about the darkness that overwhelms me at night is like looking down the barrel of a shot-gun. I just wait for the bullet to come…wait for the past to start ravaging my body and my mind once again. And I hate it! I hate it! I hate the voices, I hate the feeling that he’s here with me. I hate the way my body aches, the way my hips hurt and my chest feels tight. I hate the way my breathing gets shallow and I hate that I can’t seem to stop it. DT said I should be able to stop it. I don’t understand why I can’t do that. Why can’t I do it?

I feel so anxious so sad and scared. I am such a disappointment. I’m so ashamed of myself. People tell me how inspired they are by my courage and perseverance, and here I am…thinking of overdosing on anti-anxiety and sleeping meds. I need help. I’m so ashamed. This isn’t me – I don’t even know who this is. What do I need to do? I don’t know what the answer is. All I know is that I need something – something to hold on to. I’m overwhelmed by fear and darkness. Thunder and lightning are raging in my head ALL OF THE TIME! And I’m scared.

The SI is back, and I’m so utterly disgusted with myself for falling back into that! But like an alcoholic, I cannot stop after I make that first cut. The endless crying is back – it’s all back with a vengeance! The deep hole inside of me is growing like a cancerous tumor. It’s so hard to even stay alive and no one gets it. Each day is more and more difficult to get out of bed, there isn’t a better day now – and there isn’t another escape that I can think of. This is killing me anyway – a slow painful death, eating me from the inside out – what’s the difference? Why hang on for more pain, when I could just take a bottle of ativan and stop it myself. Take control of my own destiny. I just don’t know how much more I can take – I’m drained, worthless, helpless, sad, angry, disgusted, self-destructive…I hate it! I hate all of it! And I need it to STOP!

I am an evil, bad, mean, nasty girl! Father was right. I am terrible! I don’t deserve love or care. I am undeserving. Hopeless. It is hopeless. There’s nothing left. I’m too tired. I can’t bleed or puke the badness out of me. It won’t leave!

I sense that this compulsion to validate feelings will soon result in some ****** collision.

My fists are tightening and I begin dig my nails into the soft flesh of my palms. I feel desperate for instruction tonight and my brain is sending signals to my fingers to form the words to send to DT for help. SOS! Danger! But it will not be allowed. I am frightened and afraid I will hurt myself, I want to reach out but I do not know how. So there is no reason to reach out, express my fear of SI tonight. I am not angry. I feel only fear and despair of being uneducated in the ability to handle the screaming and anguish from the parts inside of me. But there is no choice but to do this alone. At this point in the evening, I am unable to say what the signed treaty will be in the end. I do know the deadly arsenal to be used in this fight, this internal war, tonight.

I have no reason to stay here and endure the endless pain that exists each night. DT says, “Nita, stay in your body.” Um, why? That’s the LAST place I want to be! That’s where the HELL is, does not he get that? Geez – this “body” is possessed, and since he would not agree to an exorcism – I am moving out each night when the ghosts from the past come calling. And if the place does not burn down or bleed out, I will return in the daylight.

I would much like to find the “Nita of old” ~ but the tide has swept her out to sea, leaving me, the new Nita, covered in seaweed. The fundamental stress is still here but now an ache edges into the limits of my consciousness. I do not feel armed to face the girl I am supposed to meet and accept.

I feel past my prime. My subconscious pulls at my arms, whispers in my ear memories…bits and pieces of that young girl who was also named Nita. I try to look away but I see her and I hear her. She tells me that she is too sick to be healed. She is emaciated, listless, naked and cold. Her eyes are glassy, she is bleeding and she speaks of vanishing. You cannot save her and I do not want too.

This is what I am reduced to each night. Screaming, fighting girls inside of me who are all vying for control. I do not care which one wins, I am not sticking around tonight to find out.

Sometimes I am scared of how much I do not want to be here.

Sometimes, I don't know what is the problem of my so called colleagues... There are so many issues worth tackling in the movie industry where as a movie maker u invest so much finance, time and energy and get back very little or nothing... Yet, what concerns our youths is celebrations, parties, function attendance and all... The so called movie ambassadors came up at the period of political campaign... Will this gathering still stand after they are bn used for political campaigns... That's a question that I'm sure can't b answered... D crazy aspect, s dt every name now goes first with Ambassador lagbaja or Ambassador tamedu... So crazy.... Rebranding starts from our selves... No group whatsoever, has d power to influence a corrupt, mis-managed, malfunctioning industry that needs urgent attention... I'm surprised to even find respected movie makers sleeping and putting heads in same direction... If we want to speak in one voice, I believe... There's an existing body, when d music sector got its branding and uplifted its current face to d very level its today, D's were not d measures and procedures takn.... Even in Hollywood, I have nvr heard of Ambassador Nicolas Cage, Ambassador Angelina Jolie etc... Neither in bollyhood have I heard of Ambassador Shakiru Khan or Ambassador John Abraham. What a pity..., even the newly experienced movie makers that doesn't even know what D's game is all about bear Ambassadors... I hear, there's fine for misbehaviour at events and all... Hmmmmmm, those that have sumfn upstairs, let them start thinking... Don't b used for sumfn that u will end up not benefitting and later b d glory of sum people that knows where this is going and the aim behind it.... However, if the motive is truly for d upliftment of D's great job that we all do with great passion... God help us all.... Tokunbo Awoga

My safety advisory system been elevated to RED

Please be aware of your surroundings at all times and do NOT leave your body unattended....but! I should capitalize that...BUT it is not always a choice. And lately, awareness and attendance to my body have not been a choice. I cannot stay in this body at night. It is uninhabitable. And I tell DT there is so much I can’t talk about. So many things that happened that I’m so ashamed of ~ things I cannot believe I did. And I don’t trust myself. I don’t like the huge blackness that surrounds me that continues to threaten me every night.

I don’t want to remember. I want to forget it all. All of it. Because at night, when the anguish and pain torment me to the point I consider taking a bottle of Vicodin, and slitting my wrists in the bathtub, it scares me. So many things that remind me of back then terrorize me now, in my present moment. And I know I need help with it ~ but at the rate I’m able to communicate about this stuff, I will surely be dead before the torment stops. DT tells me to be patient, be patient…but it just keeps getting worse and one night my patience is going to run out and I will do something irreversible.  But still he says, be patient, he says he has respect and patience and he will be here when I'm ready to talk.  But I'm afraid to speak because the truth is too scary.  I offered to draw him a picture instead.  His patience feels infinite and yet I still feel as though I am drowning and he is taking too much time blowing up the life raft.  

I feel sick. And I feel worried. The pain is torturing me and the pain meds barely touch it. It’s that bad right now.  I want to cut...it’s been a struggle.

And I feel worried. And not just for me. I have two good friends whom are also struggling and I don’t know how to help them because I feel so lost too right now. I want to help them but I don’t know what to do. Just be right here, I guess. I wish I could tell them that it’s going to be okay ~ and I could say that, but I don’t know how long it will be before we make it to okay ~ and I don’t know if I have the energy make it that far.

My Security threat level has now been raised to RED. I am safe right this minute, but I don’t know how long I can stay that way…there is no way to tell.

Eliminate
All the hate
The rich, the powerful--
They use it as bait
To disunify us,
The common workin' men
Last time I checked
We're all Americans!

These next four years
What will they bring?
Are you sittin' on your hands
Are you lettin' 'em wring--
Are you letting the fear
Seep into your soul
Remember friend that
God is in control
His throne
His tone
Recompense I see
Maybe not now,
But eventually!

We work in the fight
We fight 'til we win
Guthtrie's sayin' this
All those years back when
We were weatherin' a storm
Called the Great Depression
Now it's 2017 and there's
Another'n 'round the bend.

It's Hurricane Donald
And he's made landfall
Category 5 with a
Promise, a call
To take America back
Make it great once again
All for the sake of
The common labor men.

Don't know bout you
But my back's still sore
I'm always wonderin'
What the rhetoric is for--
For the more things change
The more they stay the same
So we switched up the boss
Is it not the same game?

Uncle Sam's not quick to
Relinquish his grip
His wallet's gotten fat
And he's become used to it.
But I digress, I must conclude
I must look forward
To shift my attiude
And recognize the growing
Pains of this nation young
Work the fight with calloused hand
Rather than cringe with hand wrung.

Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is ask for help. I need help…gawd…I need help. And I desperately want to throw up my arms and have someone to make all of the decisions for me. I feel like I have lost so much already. I want someone to save me because I cannot save myself. Which sounds ridiculous and obviously is not possible since I am an adult and have to save myself.

The past few weeks, heck be honest this whole year has been dreadful. I am so depressed and dissociative that I barely know what to do with myself, on the rare occasions when I am myself. I am just drifting...

There is not much anyone can do for me. This morning when I become conscious of just how bad it had been last night I realized I should probably make a safety plan. And so I did. I reached out to a friend of mine and asked her to check on me at night. And that if I did not respond to wait 15 minutes and try again – and then if no response…well, that is where I get lost. Then what? Call DT? Call 911? Then what? I do not want to go to the hospital.

And I did not even call DT to tell him just how bad it is right now. Cause right now, at least in my crazy brain….he does not care, or will tell me to call someone else, or “grow up”…or anything of the sort – it will surely make things worse now….so I did not call him. Bad decision? Maybe – but I am famous for those lately.

I want to write….however I do not want to worry people who care about me. I know I have people who love me, who care about me greatly…and I love them in return. I do not know what is wrong with me – why cannot I FEEL it? Why is it not enough?  I surely do not know.  All I do know is that I am filled with depression and thoughts of death are being knocked around my head like a game of pool.  I am just waiting for the 8-ball to hit the corner pocket...and that will be it.

Where is the anchor that is supposed to tie me to this world?

That crude-spoken Sovereign commands a big stick,
runs the world into ruins, once our bailiwick.
Questioned why, He grins grimly, pale lips slightly pursed:
"Vindication? Straightforward: It's Me and Me First".

(To mesmerise people He’s conjured His spells
with the pride and the power that Lucifer sells –
using tricks of the trade, evil voodoos well-versed
well engendered His mojo: "It's Me and Me First").

His friends (not His foes) form the skeletal men
along trails of dead ends (for they're armed once again)
and they're counting the bones of the bodies dispersed
by His bombastic lyrics: "It's Me and Me First".

The crater walls crumble, the dust drapes and smothers,
as drummers drown screams in the dreams of the others –
while beating and throbbing, like red veins aburst,
bleating echoes redouble: "It's Me and Me First".

A warrior departed to fight for His flag
and returned as a body brought back in a bag;
alas, such are the stories of soldiers coerced
by the Devil's damnation: "It's Me and Me First".

Beneath His thick thumb, the deprived do and die,
when subjected to whims, promised pie in the sky –
yes, His heavy hand rules, and the weaklings be cursed
for accepting His sermon: "It's Me and Me First".

He's minding our business by forging fake fears
and He'll serve and protect as the bogeyman nears
by ensuring our fantasies' phantoms are nursed,
smirking: "why should you worry, It's Me and Me First".

The media moguls flash news so fantastic –
their hearsay on Honcho's forever elastic
with doctrine and hogwash and hype interspersed
'twixt the dictums of hell and of "Me and Me First".

The masses partake in His royal cavalcades
giving chase to the hearses in midnight parades
through the catacomb caves where we're falling headfirst
down the bottomless pit of "It's Me and Me First".

The children in ghettos, like slave mutineers,
vainly venture to flee before youth disappears
but their ship's on an ocean that can't be traversed
for their sails line the abyss of "Me and Me First".

While His Highness drives oxen, He's sipping champagne
thinking "each shares a trough so that none need complain",
but the water hole's drying, we're dying of thirst,
so says "sorry you guys but It's Me and Me First".

A drifter once hinted behind weary tears
"overall the world's dying or so it appears";
He replied with a flash and a sudden outburst:
"yes, but who really cares when It’s Me and Me First"?

In Great Again moments we get the DT's
from His paranoid penchants, quite like a disease,
one which spots us, then rots us, then worse comes to worst
when He utters "just Trust Me: It's Me and Me First".

When profits are plunging (approaching the pits)
He won't give up the ghost or start calling it quits,
instead purges our pockets; again reimbursed,
says (re-groping His kitty): "It's Me and Me First".

The King condescends to a sharing charade
by dispensing desserts at the penny arcade –    
yet while crawling for crumpets, the crowds are dispersed
being slogged by the slogan: "It's Me and Me First".

When faced with the facts, He's the Greatest denier
that global abuse means all life may expire –
He scoffs at the thought that it can't be reversed,
says "it's not about you, no: It's Me and Me First".

With profits performing, He smiles, misinforming  
- of weather that's warming (whilst whirlwinds twist, storming),
- of jungles conforming to nature deforming,
- of bees no more swarming, thawed glaciers transforming
bold mountains to molehills on sand bars submersed –
can the earth persevere when: "It's Me and Me First"?

                        EPILOG
If you're feeling unsettled, there's no need to fret
for it's all a delusion, and lest we forget
He repeats His old mojo (a line well-rehearsed):
"just like almighty Yahweh: It's Me and Me First".

                      EPITAPH
The remains of the deserts and wasteland lie here
where the vacuum implodes and the silence is sere
when retelling the tales of the sagas immersed
in the mythos and legends of "Me and Me First".

The stone statuettes (swapping vain epithets)
consigned rational threats (those that wisdom begets)
to their nothingness nets spread in dank oubliettes,
losing aberrant bets with no real regrets
(scorning pale silhouettes that the conscience besets).

Nonetheless, when the cosmos and chaos conversed
they but hee-hawed the hubris of "Me and Me First”.

I've been staggering
for as long
as I can remember,
crawling through the mire
of heartbreak & troubles,
****** up on living,
intoxicated by the sun,
I binge on the moon,
get hung up on galaxies & stars.

I've driven fast cars & junkers,
hungered for ***,
received texts from
the heads of state
& poor white trash.
I get my fixes from bullfrogs
& leprechauns,
these shivers come
from delivered pizza,
I sweat bullets
watching flowers grow.
When I stare at ant piles
my mind goes blank,
get dt's
when I can't wish,
dream upon a star
or two or three.

If you really knew me,
you'd say I was a ******,
a ******* lover of life,
addicted to the world,
a bohemian flunkie,
rejected by the status quo,
but you don't know me,
so shush up.

I have chosen to write about my journey of healing, maybe through this it will bring more healing as I write out my thoughts and my feelings, and also bring insight and healing to those who have or may not have walked a similar journey that I am now just beginning.

Today as I walked out of my appointment, DT gives me a hug and tells me to protect my heart...

The thought that runs through my mind is how do I protect my heart??? If you ask me, that's what I have been doing for the last 30+ years of my life, protecting my heart, building walls so that no one would be able to hurt me again....

You see I grew up in what most people would call, a HIGHLY DYSFUNCTIONAL family. And I had to learn to protect myself at all costs...to survive no matter what happened....and along the way I built walls, and locked a lot of doors in my heart, and I threw away the key....I didn't just lock people out, I locked the little girl inside me in....

I didn't want people to hear or see that broken, wounded, bleeding little girl inside me....

And for many, many years I have hid her behind the title of being the Sweet Young Lady everyone wanted me to be...
                        At home I am the Mommy and doting Wife,
                        At work I am the dedicated Pharmacy Intern,
                        At School I am the overachieving Student....
but underneath those titles I am just a woman who loves the Lord,
but has never allowed Him into the locked rooms in her heart, never allowed Him to heal the broken little girl who still hides in the corner and cries at night.


So this is my journey...of taking off the masks and allowing God to walk me in a journey of healing. Some posts may be encouraging while others may be full of pain and raw truth....but I am taking a step to show the world the truth, the pain, the joy, and the journey of healing that I am only beginning...

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She's crazy

She was a student
a scholar, a biology major
she excelled at being smart
hated her life
left college and followed her
passion for art
"She went crazy."

She was a mother
a wife
trapped in her life
a life she chose, but didn't want to
so she left, ran away
started over.
"She went crazy."

She was wanted by men
beautiful, charming, adored
dated many
could have gotten married
but didn't. She chose happiness...
by leaving men behind, for a woman
"She went crazy."

She was an alcoholic
and went through the DT's
Ran through the street
In her nightgown
Yelling about spiders
and fear
"She went crazy."

Crazy

She's

Crazy

Aren't we all?