Connection disconnected. For most parts of the day, he had tried to connect with people. No one had seen him. No one had made time for him. His mind was tired. Exhausted. Was there even any need to be there when he was invisible. He felt disconnected. Connection disconnected.
My mother has been ill ever since I can remember. Multiple sclerosis. Seeing her in a wheelchair was normalcy for me. I have never seen her walking at all. Helping her with her daily chores was hard, but I did it. After all, I wanted her to love me. And I wanted to please her.
When I was young, we (my sister and me) lived with my mother at our grandparent’s house. (Although my parents divorced when I was 9, they never lived together, at least not since I was born.) An aunt and two uncles lived there too. Primary caregivers of my mom have always been my grandma and me. I don’t know why my older sister never had to help around the house, but I had too. And if I didn’t, I was humiliated, yelled at, and ignored.
That was my childhood. I suffered a lot, but no one ever seemed to care. Whenever I dared to bring it up, I was told that I was ungrateful and that I had everything I needed. I had clothes and a roof above my head. What I needed though, was affection. Some days, I was told to go to my father’s if I had it that bad at home. The truth was though; my father was a stranger. A stranger named dad. When I visited him, he never tired of telling everyone that I was a real mommy’s girl. At home, everyone said that I was a daddy’s girl. Both didn’t show any affection. No pride, no praise, no cuddling, no bedtime stories. Nothing.
All that left deep wounds on my soul. I am still searching, always searching, for affection. I want to be loved. And I am not sure if there is a lot to love about me. All I ever heard was that I was nothing and that they wished I wasn’t born at all. But I was good enough to wipe my mother’s butt, cut her meals and feed her. I helped her to dress and brush her teeth… I washed her and put her to bed. I was a child… Someone should have done these things for me. But they didn’t do it. I learnt swimming from a neighbour. I was taught how to ride a bike by my aunts then boyfriend.
I feel rootless. I don’t have a deep bond with my family. My grandma died in 2016. I have never been as sad as I was then. Even though she was very cruel to me. My mother lives in a care facility. I have a hard time visiting her. And truth be told, I have only visited once this year. (Award for the worst daughter of the year is mine.) Her declining health and the memories of my childhood prevent me from seeing her. Whenever I visit her, I am a bawling mess for days afterwards. It’s really hard on me, and I am not trying to be a drama queen. I just can’t cope. I wish I was strong but I am not.
I was a child when I broke into pieces. My oddities come from that time. And sometimes it is a miracle that I am who I am. There has never been any support coming from my family. Not emotionally and certainly not financially. Everything I am, everything I achieved, I did it on my own.
There is a reason why this is flowing out of me. My aunt called and told me in a harsh tone that I am supposed to be there for my mother and that I should visit. Today or tomorrow. I have a busy schedule though. And I can’t drop everything right now. My own children and their needs are always first. She told me things that I didn’t know because my mother never told me, yet I am accused of being selfish and not caring. I care. But I also need to do what is best for me. At least I think so.
I am aware that people cannot relate to this. They love their parents and have a deep bond. I don’t. I envy you.
I was a child when I had to be an adult. I was lost, and it took until I was in my early thirties to work through the traumas. Usually, I am quick to forgive and to forget. But not that. I can’t forgive that they stole my childhood. And I can’t forget how they treated me. I didn’t ask for a lot. I knew better than to ask for anything. I just wanted to be loved. I was only a child…
It is scary to fall apart publicly. It is even scarier to fall apart all alone. But you are not alone. And the darkness and apathy is understood and lived by many. Me included. There are these high highs and the low lows. And all I want is this: if you look at me, please see me. If you see me for the damaged person that I am, please love me. I felt from you words that you feel the same. The outside world can be perfect, but if the inside feels like a storm, the most perfect life becomes dull and blunt. Sometimes, life is overwhelming. Sometimes, all we can do is cry and let the tears wet our cheeks for seemingly no reason. And maybe, maybe it looks as if you aren’t doing anything, as if you aren’t moving. But you are doing a whole lot. You are not giving up. You are light, Nathan. You don’t see it because you are in the dark, but believe me, you are light.
On top of that, you are not missing from your life. This may not be how media or friends or whoever suggests life to be, but sometimes it is like that. Sometimes we fall apart. You are there. I can see you! And I like this vulnerable side of you. There is nothing wrong with it. Fall, Nate… we are there to catch you.
Thank you for your honesty.
I remember reading Nate’s post and falling apart too. November 2017 should have been amazing. It should have been the most precious and extraordinary month of my life. But for reasons that were not in my control, it wasn.’t. And I fell. For months I had been struggling and I had been trying to keep moving. But then came the time and I fell. And no one seemed to see it. Or maybe they did and it didn’t matter? I didn’t matter.
I was giving up. I was ready to give up my life. My poetry book “Quiet Minds” was supposed to be my final mistake and my final goodbye. But when I published that book, I felt something. I felt proud of myself. I loved that side of me – the creative/writing side. And through all the muddled thoughts, I began to see myself. Many days I am still my own worst enemy, but there are also the days when I am my biggest fan.
I am a fan of the comment I wrote and shared above. I am sure that I wasn’t sober when I wrote it, but I can assure you, my words are my truth.
Fear. I don’t know fear. I never have. I am not able to feel fear. Well, maybe I am, but I am not allowed to feel it. Fear lets one make mistakes and mistakes are deadly. Fear. I am afraid to feel it. To be paralyzed by it. To let it rule me. But here I am and I feel it creeping up my spine and spreading on my neck. Sweat is forming on my forehead, my view becomes blurry. I cannot afford to lose my senses, but here I am; blind, deaf, mute. I cannot see because sweat is continually dripping into my eyes and I can’t wipe it away or make it stop. I cannot hear because the pounding of my own pulse is the only noise in my head. My blood and my thoughts. White noise. The rest of the world is silent. I am silent too. I am silent. Deaf. Mute. Wordless. Barely existing. Nobody knows that I am alive. If I die, nobody knows that I ever existed. Fear. I was never able to feel fear. Now I do. I made mistakes. They paralyzed me. Fear. I don’t know fear. I am fear. I am ruled by it. Fuck fear. Fuck anxiety. I just want to hear, to breathe, to speak. I want to be me. Fuck fear…
Tossing and turning
The past and the future
No lessons I am learning.
Hands on my skin
I cannot push them away
Taken against my will
“Stop” I whisper and pray.
But you didn’t stop
And you never will
I move on
I am standing still.
Twenty years later
You are still in me
You made me who I am
I will never be free.
Forced inside my body
Tattooed where you have been
I was fifteen when you had
your hands on my skin.
Vulnerable and emotional
Most days I grace you with silence
I don’t want to remember
You and your violence.
But today a friend told his story
And I feel brave this very instant too
It is not easy to speak;
To validate you.
I never forgot you and your smell,
I never will
Haunted in my dreams
Feeling the old chill.
You will never leave my soul
And no matter how far I run
You are already there
Declaring “this was fun”.
I was a victim of your lust
Not strong enough to kick you off
But a lot of time has passed
Is my forgiveness me being soft?
I don’t think it is
But I deserve more than the past
I own my present and the future too;
A future that will last.
When I want to give up
Your voice is part of the reason
It is hard not to give in
It is a battle to live to see another season.
Tossing and turning
These are old memories
Yet they are still burning.
Too many men and women survived the same ordeal
Superheroes in their own right
Broken but strong enough to see
Life is not made of darkness, it is made of light.
All around me are hands
Taking what I have to offer
All around me are voices
Making me believe untruths
Making me believe
All around me are souls
Trying to find their way home
Trying to find
All around me are liars
Burning with their words
Burning the city
All around me are versions of myself
Versions of who I could be
Too self-conscious to be who I am
All around me are reasons to stay alive
Reasons to exist
Making me resist those crippling thoughts
Making me persist.
All around me…
… But I should find everything inside my self.
It’s actually quite amazing. It’s mid 2018 and the blog has seen more views and visitors and likes than ever before.
You did this. And I thank you for that. From the bottom of my heart.
I am aware that I am a complex woman who is often writing about her hardships. It is easier to write about those than it is to write about the good.
Right now, after a couple of weeks that were really bad, things are starting to look up. Slowly. Steady. Without trying to overdo it, but since I am working even more hours now, it is not as easy as it seems.
Either way… Thank you, to the readers from all around the world, for your support. It means the world to me.
Top ten this year so far:
Even if it doesn’t seem like a lot to some, it is a lot to me.
… and nothing happened. Well stuff did happen. Like colleagues at work ranting against me again for asking to use an hour of overtime. Or me just letting it slip. Or me buying an inflatable swimming pool for our garden. Or taking care of a little rabbit for a week. Or my sister being in hospital. Or my kids’ summer break starting today.
I still feel disconnected and sometimes when I take my phone, I don’t know what to do with it. There is no need to check statuses and posts… There is a lot less scrolling.
I did not work on the new book today, but I finally folded my son’s, my daughters’ and my own laundry. Took me several hours. I also cleaned the house. Things I just couldn’t do for weeks now.
I want to be a good mother to my children, but some days I wonder about it all. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t. I have a hard time talking about my self. We took pictures at work and I was taken aback with how much it shows that I am not well. My eyes, my mouth. I look sad.
There are moments when I don’t feel sad. There are moments when I feel like a million bucks. I am feeling all sorts of emotions washing over me, I am carefree and me. In that moment I am happy. And I live without regrets. But, what I am struggling with is giving most of what I have to offer and not having anything in return. Sometimes it only feels like nothing, but that feeling of nothing or rejection makes me doubt myself. I hate it when I am like this, because I know exactly how I am feeling, but I have no clue how to change it. I was looking into therapists. Truthfully? I can’t afford it. It is too expensive. Being healthy is one damn expensive thing.
Since I am not active on any other platform anymore, I am wondering if I should borrow Satursongday from Nate Maingard. I would post a song every Saturday. I am not sure if I will do that. Having the ideas and acting them out are two different things. And I often have ideas that will never see the light of day.
Light of day… It’s night and there is a chance of sleeping in tomorrow.
This post is uncoordinated. This is how I think. I think about one thing and somehow it is linked to another thing that I don’t mention and that thought that I am not expressing leads me to the one I am writing. It is hard to follow me to times. But to me, it makes perfect sense.
Either I am entering a manic phase or my onyx beads that I have been wearing on my wrist for two days straight are helping.
Floating miles away
No words to save me
Or to keep me awake.
It is killing me
To see myself this way
I want to scream at my reflection
Please, don’t hide. There are reasons to stay.
Floating, Drowning. Flying.
It all feels the same.
“Do you ever think about suicide? About ending it all? Just vanishing? Being gone? Not existing at all?” he asked, avoiding making eye-contact. He took a sip of his coffee and looked at the people on the other side of the street. She didn’t answer. She didn’t know how. “I do,” he continued. “I think about it. All the time. Not about death itself, but how to make it easier for those around. And I wonder what they will say and who will miss me.” Their eyes briefly met, before he averted his gaze and looked at the clouds in his coffee. “I would miss you,” she croaked, cleared her throat and repeated the same words in a steadier voice. “Why?” he whispered. “Why” was a question that often made his life unnecessarily hard. That three-letter word made him dread and anticipate answers, all at once. “Because the thought of not having you close to me breaks me inside. The void you would leave would swallow me.” Tears welled up in his eyes. He didn’t want to make a scene, but she had a thing with words; always finding the words that forced his emotions to explode. “If you were gone, I would probably follow you. There is nothing keeping me here. If it wasn’t for you, I would not be here,” she whispered sadly. He didn’t know how to react and how to respond. He just covered her hand with his trembling one. She looked at their hands, then she lifted her head to look into his face – into his eyes. “Please don’t leave me behind,” she begged. “Never,” he replied. “I love you too much.” She nodded, wiping the corner of her eye. A tear was threatening to ruin her makeup. Lately, she had thought about taking her own life a lot. She led a happy life, but something dark was clawing at her thoughts. Something devastating was fraying the edges of her fragile soul. Holding on was much more exhausting than she would have ever thought. Why was living and staying alive so easy for most people? Why was it so hard for her? And him too. “Let’s promise each other to stay alive together for as long as we can. There are reasons to stay alive, right? If I remind you of them, and you me, we will be okay.” On the other side of the street, a toddler was crying in his stroller. From her point of view, it looked as if he didn’t like being strapped tightly in the stroller without any means to break free. “Freedom is just an illusion. A creation of the mind. The emotional cage we are living in is a creation of the mind too. It either helps us to stay sane, or we will break and grow insane.” He tilted his head to the side and took a sip of his coffee. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time. He had been too busy with his own thoughts, missing that she was not alright either. “Depression is a selfish bastard,” he thought out loud, taking his hand back. “We should go,” she ignored his statement, got up from her chair and put her bag over her shoulder. He stood next to her, kissed her forehead and let his hand find hers. She looked up at him. The affection in her eyes made his heart race. “I love you,” he blurted out. He had never said the words before, but they had never been this true and important to share either. A genuine beaming smile appeared on her face. She didn’t reciprocate his words. She didn’t have to; he felt her love wafting off her skin. Being alive wasn’t so bad, if he was allowed to do it with her.