It would be much too cute to say I’m not sure to how to feel about “Ambivalence”
Listen up, dudes of patriarchy. Stephanie has a few thigs to say, wonderfully.
Picture Credit: Midge Belickis©2012
Thank you, Sir,
can I have another?
I wasn’t quite clear
the first dozen times
you called me a bitch,
a whiny female,
Tell me again
how I’m dramatic,
overreacting, just in the way.
Tell me how
I’m ruining everything for you
just by talking.
Somehow my voice
got a firm grip on your balls
and the more I talk,
the more they shrivel away.
You’re losing your power,
to my truth, my fight, my words…
you are weak and scared.
I don’t even care about you
or your twisted opinion
about the kitchen I should be
standing in, but you are terrified.
My voice is scaring the shit
out of you, and I gotta tell you
it’s funny.. yes, I’m laughing..
at you. I am everything
you want to be, I am everything
you thought you were,
I am everything you’re not,
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Here, there are triggers (suicide) for some, but straight forward clarity about that decision survived.
There was a time in my life when the land was covered in darkness. It did not matter what time of the day it was there was simply no light. I walked the world a ghost and prayed to any god that would listen that he or she would simply end it for me. I wanted to die. I wrote the below poem in remembrance of that time of weakness.
And there they lay. The tools of the day. A razor, a pile of pills, and a bottle of Tanqueray.
I have stared in the mirror for hours. All have gone to bed. With each tear has come resolve. We may as well end it all. I hate you. With a hand I gulp the pills, the bottle is already near. I gulp death’s companion. And to the left are the backup dancers.
A letter to someone… I hope… anyone?
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“Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice Through the Looking Glass
Or, you have to stop running.
When I told my dad I signed another lease he laughed at me. “You don’t have a real great track record of staying in one spot,” he said, grinning. “I always told your mom we’d have to nail your feet to the floor if we ever wanted you to stay anywhere.”
At the time I was frustrated, but now I wonder if he knew exactly what he was doing. Igniting my stubborn “I’ll show you” side. Knowing it is the only thing that can overturn my propensity for flight.
In the hospital it took two different nurses to find a vein. Years of shooting dope into any source you could find collapsed all your arterial walls while you worked hard to build impenetrable ones around yourself. Your face pale, bones protruding, you looked like the promise of my old friend undeliverable. But there was still paint on your hands and…
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No politics – no issues – just one of the ultimate comfort foods
The aroma of fresh, roasted or baked peaches fills my spaces with warmth and pleasure. Can you think of anything else that smells like a peach? Oranges, lemons, and limes smell citrusy. Apples carry the scent of clean green or crisp honey. The bouquet of strawberries and blueberries melt together into a sweet nosegay of light essence and sugar.
How do you describe the fragrance of a peach? If you have one, grab it and put it under your nose. Do you recognize that scent?
I call it Eau de nostalgia.
~~Peach butter bubbling on grandma’s stove after another successful harvest–a mixture of sugar, cinnamon and juicy golden orange and yellow flesh.
~~Plump butts lined in rows of a crate boasting the graphics Colorado Peaches that mama bought from the grocery store–she had to order them weeks ahead of time.
~~Peeling the fuzzy from the juicy and seeing…
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Sam deals with being “complicated”.
How many is too many? This is what I asked myself when a psychiatrist – who I was seeing temporarily while my usual was on paternity leave – looked up from a stack of books and a database on his computer and said to me, “This is really complicated.”
When I asked him what he meant, he seemed a little worried when he said, “Your diagnoses and your medications are very… complex.”
I knew that. Every clinician that opened up my file knew that. Every pharmacist that ever filled my prescriptions. Every friend that finally realized how much energy goes into being a mostly-assembled Sam Dylan Finch.
With my bipolar diagnosis reinstated after a hypomanic episode triggered by Zoloft, it could now rejoin my growing list of neuroses: borderline personality disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, agoraphobia, substance use disorder, and generalized anxiety and/or ADHD depending on which clinician you ask.
This doesn’t even capture the psychotic…
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Veronike wages the mental war.
Part of this blog serves to write my guts out and today I am in a place where I feel I need to pour my entire heart out on this page. So here goes.
I have been fighting this monster of depressive illness all my life and yesterday I knew that I needed to come to the realization that this will be a chronic illness I’d have to fight all my life. If I had a mild clinical depression my chances of cure would be so much greater. But I don’t. I will not be cured. I will only have chances and periods of remission. I fall in the 90% that are at risk of another relapse in their life after complete remission. And I need to accept that, because it is only in acceptance that you stop resisting relief from all kinds of help out there. Acceptance of chronic…
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Dark time beautifully rendered
I dug up a notebook, and blew off the ashes.
With my hands in my pockets, and my chin tucked to my chest,
I took a stroll through the pages of opiate abuse,
and lusting a harlot. Walking this gravel lane of memories,
no wonder I ended up dangling from an extension cord.
The world could have stopped spinning,
and as far as I was concerned…it had.
With my heart in chunks, hanging from my ribs,
and prison in my future, the heart-broken-record
on the spinner, played around the clock.
Autumn death had coated the walls,
and frost, covered the floors.
Just me and this damn dog, whose nails click-clack
the hardwood, raising the hair on my neck and
boiling the blood flowing the sewers of my body.
“Someone has to die”…Well, someone had….
Doors nailed shut, and the windows boarded up.
I was haunting my own home…
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Good and funny reminders
2. Life is hard. I didn’t spend a year stripping to pay for that boob job, but I helped sell Timeshare to the elderly.
3. I have done things I’m not proud of. I didn’t get my child hooked on cocaine so they lost custody of my grandson, but I sold my freezer to buy weed.
4. Life is short. I didn’t go into debt to travel all over the world, see everything and actually live my life, I went into debt drinking in the bar with my friends.
5. I have made mistakes. I didn’t sleep with eight out of the fifteen guys in this bar, but I slept with that guy.
As much as I’d love to think less of some people because of the way they…
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