My Pen Is My Sword

There's something about suffering in silence. The more you endure, the more it becomes obvious that you don't need certain people in your life. They say that it's important to talk to someone. I think that's true, but only with those people who genuinely care about you. Anyone else? It all falls on deaf ears. I'm convinced no one cares. If I had accepted this one truth many years ago, I'd be so much better off now. 

Better off, how? I'd have less expectations now. Yet, it feels paradoxical, too. Because I don't want people - family, included, except for my mother - in my business. I didn't realize how private I really am. 

I also didn't realize how much people actually don't care and that includes, certain family members, too. It becomes crystal clear who accepts you - flaws and all. It's obvious who understands you. Blood is not always thicker than water. 

There are times when a rage fills me up that I convince myself my words can pierce and maim, that my mighty pen can wound. That no action in all the world can affect the outcome than my pen, my words, my word. Because my pen is my sword and some deserve to be deeply cut. Some deserve to bleed.

I thank them all - the inconsiderate, the petty, the fake, the superficial, the arrogant and the stupid. What did they say about blessings in disguise? About wolves in sheeps clothing? How good can come from bad? I always think the understanding is going to come to me like a punch in the face. It doesn't. 

It comes over time. It's a slow, persistent and consistent growth that turns out to look like resilience. One builds resilience over time. Despite all the chaos, despite the hurt, despite the feeling of invisibility, there's an inner strength that grows larger and wider. And it roots and anchors itself in what's true and real and always alive, that cannot be extinguished easily, if at all. So that it no longer matters that you feel unloved by those you thought 'should' love you. It no longer matters.

I let that realization sink, good and hard, until it resembles a faint pang from the past. Until nothing you do or don't do, can hurt me anymore, at least, not in the same way. How can it hurt you, anyway? When you're no longer the person you used to be...

Ignore Me

You hurt me. I hate that I let you. I read over your last text and now I see it with new eyes...more pessimistic ones. You're so wishy-washy. Why did you think it was okay to leave me in the dark? Is it because I'm a woman? Is it that you'll only deal with boys?

You must have been annoyed to hear from me then. It's not like you to give me the last word. It made me feel empty and unimportant. I knew something had changed. No more Mr. Nice Guy or something? I don't think you'll ever understand how sweet this taste from the gods in my mouth is now that you've shown me who you are. Your machismo has made it so that I can sit quietly right here in my corner of the earth. I don't think you get how comfortable this spot is for me. I'm not like other women. I don't need you.

It feels like a burden's been lifted, now that the ball is definitely in your court. I'll never walk over to your side for some attention. I'm still right here tending to my flowers and growing a soul. I like knowing my place. You didn't have to put me in it... You don't deserve to hear from me, or for me to accommodate you. I don't deserve to be lathered in your ego. I don't care. I have my own money. I'm a classy lady. I lather myself up just fine with my bubbles. You can't imagine all the places I can go to all by myself.

I've been ignored by those people who claim to care about me the most. I've been overlooked. I've been an after thought. I've been second choice. I've been too short. Not pretty enough. It's all helped bring me to this place of realization, the realization that I'm too good for them. I'm definitely too good for you.

I'll be sure to remain quiet and silent. After all, it's in my nature to wait. But it's not in yours. So you'll wait...and wait forever. I'll give you a taste of your own medicine without ever giving you a taste...

Never To Return

I shouldn't be feeling this way. When you feel like you don't have the support from the one parent you thought would never let you down with their pettiness and unreasonable demands.

I'm trying my best. You'd never know I was hurting. You'd never know I feel like I'm falling apart. You would never know it unless I shared it with you.

As I sit here, I'm ready to let it all flow. I'm just afraid, it wouldn't be a peaceful stream but a gushing waterfall ...reaching for places I've never touched. I know it could be worse. It could all be worse. I'm just so unhappy. Ironically, I feel so dried up. 

I'm going to have my say. In this life. These moments are zipping by. If only I could slow it all down. I don't mean to be a party pooper. Please tell me though, where IS this party ? 

I screwed up somewhere. I took a wrong turn...a wrong turn I keep trying to make right. I've adorned the street with pretty flowers and lush greens. I managed to make ugly, beautiful. Do you know how much energy it took? I don't know if I have it in me anymore. I just don't know.

Get me out of here. Make it the last time I go and never to return. 

Hope Is Leaving

I'm going to change this trajectory before the universe figures out I'm taking too long and decides to create some havoc in order to make this change happen. 

I had a horrifying thought this morning or was it in the middle of the night? I broke down in tears thinking about all the ways I can't be my parents daughter. I know I'm their daughter but this feeling that envelops me every time I'm around them projects a kind of other worldly reality. Not fantasy. I feel big. Large. Wide. Tall. Expansive. 

I don't require their comfort in times of sorrow. I don't require their acceptance when I'm feeling rejected. It feels like I'm operating from two places simultaneously - here on earth and from the ether. 

It's not that I don't belong. It's that they don't 'fit' with me. I don't fit with them. I have to shift spaces around inside me to have a relationship with them that I can feel proud to say they're my parents and I, their daughter. But then I ask, "Who am I"?

Oh God, I see all the ways my mother suffers. I have it, too, a kind of suffering that never leaves, embedded in my very being. I need to transform it. She's resigned to it. But there are times, like me, I see how badly she wants to break free except unlike her, I know what it looks like...to be free. 

My father is so small now. He keeps comparing himself to the pope - how he's the kindest person, how he envies and despises no one. He keeps insisting he's a good person. He yells it in the hopes we hear him. I just cry a little cry from within because it's obvious he's dealing with a sadness he doesn't know how to express...maybe even one he doesn't fully recognize is dictating his reactions. 

It kills me, as it strengthens me. How can that be? How did it come to this? I hate having to admit that's all there is, all there'll ever be. Do you get that? There is no more growing upward and forward. It's moving forward only to head backwards, downwards, into the grave. Hope is leaving this place.

The Cafeteria

I had a dream of you this morning. I was sitting in a large cafeteria. I couldn't tell you where I was. I know I've never been there in my waking life. All the tables were white with grey tinted walls. 

I saw you coming towards my table. Suddenly, I felt nervous. You sat in front of me. I felt awkward because you weren't your usual self. You were quiet and the gods know, you can talk! 

I had a pamphlet in my hands about sleep apnea. You caught wind of that and asked me why I had that pamphlet. I smiled at you, folded the pamphlet and put it in my purse. I was embarrassed about the fact that I use a sleep apnea device and wanted to conceal that from you. 

You turned your back to me and started talking to three women at the table behind you. I felt so alone. I don't know how this happened next but you had some subs with you and you offered them to the women and I wondered why you hadn't offered one to me. I was heart broken.

Then you got up from the table and I believe you mentioned you were going to the men's room. I wasn't sure whether to wait for you or not. You hadn't said good-bye. 

So I waited but during the chaos of people passing through after lunch was over, I may have missed you coming out of the washroom. I waited near the door but you never appeared. I wondered why you hadn't said good-bye. 

I thought about how wrong I was about you, how you weren't the person I thought you were. I recalled wanting that person back - the kind, generous and thoughtful one.

Is this a premonition ? Is this what you're doing now? Making an exit when no one's looking in the hopes no one notices?

That's okay, you know. I've been told I've grown a solid pair of balls over the years compared to the fragile men in my life. 

From the ether, I'll say a little prayer to remove this burden from me. Because I'm good, you know? I'm really good. You don't know how good I am.

If this dream is a premonition, may you feel real bad, real soon. Because that's what you'd deserve.

Pretending

I think you're going to bail like a scared little boy. You'll tell yourself you're being honourable. But, you're not. You're not honourable. Only vulnerable. 

You'll make up some excuse about how busy you are, how something came up, how you can't get out of it. I know who you are. It's okay. Really. It's all okay. You are who you are. And I just have to accept that I was right, that I called it right from the start. You're just a guy. A guy who pretends to say something important. None of it is actually important.

How many benefits of the doubt can you give a person? 

The love of my life is in physical pain and it's only my heart that hurts. So, let it hurt, Oh Lord. I can handle it. I'll take it all in. I'll let it transform me into a beautiful person, into a more dedicated and loyal servant. 

I'll shift my focus to what's right here in front of me - my hands on compression stockings over my husband's leg, the ointment on his healing wound, the towel over his body as I help him out of the shower. Because the Lord knows that when it's all said and done, these will be the precious moments I remember with an ache in my heart, despite the fatigue and lethargy right now as I write this. I'll recall myself in a moment of joy and laughter with my beloved. The rest of it won't matter. The rest of it is history.

Like this memory of you right now. You won't matter. You'll be a fleeting thought, someone who was just passing through. Like so many others who touch our lives as they're busy making other plans. Some of us talk so much and say nothing. 

You must be one of those people..

Sorry

I'm sorry I failed you. I'm sorry it's come to this, like this, in this pathetic way, under these sheets I want nothing more than to swallow me whole.

I'm sorry I'm not like Lee. Or Jeanne. Not like Young or Ben.

I'm just me dreaming of love and romance. I know it's old and worn out. But what can I do but keep dreaming about the only thing that ever made me feel closer to...you?

I'm sorry I don't know how to row this boat. I'm sorry I feel the need to force a smile or pretend I'm happy.

I'm sorry I can't seem to find my way out. It's a labrynth of unfathomable proportions. You know how far and wide a thought can go until it finds a place to call home.

I'm sorry I'm so weak. I'm sorry that what's here with me now is not enough. It's not enough. I'm sorry I don't know how to live, to think, to be. There must be a flaw in the design. I ask you often, "Why did you make me this way?"

In the land of forgetfulness, it must be a kind of mercy. Otherwise, even the slightest twinge of remembrance might give way to hysteria. 

The way I was wrapped in a white cloth, spinning in the air, seeing the flash of light as my picture of sadness was taken, it will all forever be imprinted on the very fabric of my being.

I can't escape this knowing in what can only be described as...futility. I don't know how to transform this, how to make it more bearable. I don't how to play in a body that's slowly wasting away. I don't know how to unsee. I don't know how to live with what I've seen. I don't know how to appreciate this moment knowing what waits for me at the other side of this second, minute, hour, day, month...countdown.

Forgive me.