Life is but a dream, or is it?

Where did you go, she asks herself night after night as the darkness engulfs her every thought with delight.

She reached for him, pulling back an empty sheet. Are you coming home soon, she wonders inside her private, deepest desire. She was sure he’d be here when she woke in the daylight hour.

The sun streamed across her face, kissing her gently and for a moment she smiled thinking it was him, feeling the warmth on her bare skin.

She peeked out of the corner from one eye. A sleepy smile emerging from her lips, it was all but a dream, such a beautiful cry.

He reached over to her side of the bed, wanting desperately to pull her in as he’d done every day for so long, yet when he felt over to the edge pulling back his own empty arm, he awoke more to realize her form truly gone.

He flicked the light on as he’d so often do, read for awhile just to get him through.

Off goes the light with a toss of the tablet and glasses too, sighing a deep groan from his chest, pounding so slow, he lies there and wonders why, trying to rest.

Now separated by his very own hand, she’s nowhere near, lying there without her, both left trying to understand.

Could he have opened himself up to her? Would she have welcomed his heart, he isn’t sure.

So much time has passed them by. Somehow they let it all fade away or wouldn’t continue to try.

Her balance was wobbly, but she didn’t know how to shake it all out. His forceful ways made her afraid, kept her living in fear with so much doubt.

She wouldn’t talk, living in the darkest room, not telling him any truths how deep the loneliness loomed.

Where had he gone, so far out of reach, she imagined he’d grown weary of his baby girl that he’d wanted to teach.

She was so good, exquisite and bright, she knows what the magic 8 ball said in all her glory that night.

He loves her more than he knows. He told her now and then. She sparkles and shines and is light on her toes.

She weeps not for him while she sleeps anymore, but dreams of him nightly, his breath on her neck as he gently grazes her lightly.

His love for her grows a little each day as he figures out what makes him happy and choosing to stay.

The words come freely and rhyme now and then. Love doesn’t cost a thing just to remember when. An easier time has arrived to be who she is. Closing his eyes until he feels her again.

They deserved a better ending after such an epic tale, so she raised her white flag and began to set sail…

🧖🏼‍♀️✍🏻

self abandonment ~ self acceptance

Losing sight of that thing that made me smile. Forgetting what it feels like to laugh without explaining the punchline. Stopping to remember how the littlest of things brought a smile to my lips. Quitting on myself when everything I wanted out of life became out of my reach.

Defeated…

Ignoring the words that cut deep inside
my heart. Dismissing the aggressive passivity when actions hurt my flesh. Denying the truth when it flashed directly passed my eyes. Lying to myself when I said I wasn’t hurting.

Destruction…

Picking myself back up after the seventh time. Learning that I cannot love too much. Deciding to stop going back to something that remains broken. Choosing me over all else for the very first time.

Selfless…

Mattering more than anything
Being exceptional
Never being perfect
Being exactly who I am

Freedom…

🧖🏼‍♀️✍🏻

I miss you

There’s this thing I do when I feel afraid or alone and I can’t or won’t cope with what’s happening all around. I disappear. Not in the physical sense of the word, but into a place of secret hiding where I feel safe. It’s simplistic and calm, but especially it’s quiet. So quiet that I really can hear myself think and there isn’t anyone else there to rearrange those thoughts or disregard them. It’s just me and me.

I guess I started visiting this magical place when I was a young girl. I could walk along the cement pathway Grampa poured to connect my front door to theirs, walk through the front door and make myself at home. This became the space where I could just be. Where everything was in its place and everything had a place. You know, that sense of belonging? I was always welcome anytime I wanted. I knew I didn’t have to ask, but I did just to be polite. Once inside the only rule was, if Mama said no, just ask Gramma.

Their home was always a comfort of warmth, like a big cozy blanket I could cuddle up with. There were cookies in the Oreo cookie jar, usually sugar ones, but sometimes actual Oreos. The gum was double mint and waited for me on the second shelf of the pantry cupboard. Then my favorite and always just for me, was vanilla ice cream in the kitchen freezer with a backup in the deep freeze, with my own can of Hershey’s chocolate syrup waiting for me in the fridge. I’d grab my lap tray from behind the back porch door where it lived and settled in next to Grampa’s chair in the living room to watch whatever it was he had on tv. It didn’t matter to me, so long as I was next to him.

Some nights Gramma and I had our own special “shows” we liked to watch together and we’d spend time on the back porch laughing and having a snack together. Me with my ice cream and her with some popcorn and a pop. I cherished these times and often dreaded having to walk back across that long, cement pathway to the other house, but I got to keep this ritual until I was about 10 years old.

Midway through 5th grade, I was uprooted and moved clear to the other side of town. It may have well been in another state. Grampa couldn’t pour a path that big. My heart was crushed. My safe haven was out of my reach. This is when I learned to retreat inside of my own world where nothing bad could reach me or touch me. It became my new escape. My fantasy world.

I became a different girl when I’d visit there. That girl was fearless. She said what she wanted to say and sang at the top of her lungs. She was bold. She spoke words no one had heard leave her lips and she was loud enough to be heard. She was courageous. She tried things that frightened her out there, but in here, she conquered it all. She was confident. She walked with her head up high and carried herself tall and proud. She was fierce. She was strong. Then one day, she just slipped away. She didn’t know where she had gone or how to get back and she was alone.

Her safety net was shredded. Her life was unstable. She felt uncertain for the first time in this life and she stumbled and fell, forgetting how to get back up, she stayed down. Her light had begun to dim. Her tenacity had slipped through her fingertips. She was becoming invisible and slowly, she disappeared. Where had she gone? This bright light, exuberant young lady, with sparks in her eyes and fire in her soul, what happened to her she had asked, but she had no answer. She had become a shell of herself, the kind that’s kept upon a shelf.

Years passed by and she grew weaker in her heart that once was explosive with desire and hunger for love and for life. She evolved into some version of someone else to keep peace and harmony for others. She realized that the world told her she couldn’t, so she didn’t. She believed them when they struck her down, leveling her to their limitations of her. They put her in a box that they designed and there she would remain, unable to grow and be that little girl who once had everything in her possession.

Gramma and Grampa never knew of her disappearance or maybe they would’ve come looking for her. Rescuing her and brought her back to where she first knew of her capabilities, her worth and her sense of belonging. How she longed for the safety of her home with them. The smells of comfort of joy of connection of acceptance of love and that familiar sense of knowing where she belongs.

I miss her
she’s not gone
she just got lost…

🧖🏼‍♀️✍🏻

Deep thinker

He got it in his mind that women are to be more than submissive, but subservient and assuringly beneath him. The desperate need of his that they worship him as if he were a God. We are easily used, regularly dismissed and always ridiculed as if we possess no value or worth to dane to be in his presence without his permission. The perversity and depravity in that statement feels like a knife twisting in my heart as I groveled to be that worthy girl in his deemed place of honor.
Fuck that…

When I was 10, he showed me that same worthlessness and stole my youth with his control by devaluing me just as a professional manipulator behaves. I was being trained up to expect to be treated this way when I got older. The woman I was becoming didn’t matter and I deserved nothing more than what he gave and did for me or to me.
Fuck that…

He drilled it into my brain that my thoughts were insignificant, my needs were as well. No one wanted to hear about what I wanted or how I felt about anything at all. Being objectified began when I started to “develop” into that blossoming young teenager. How does a grown man become this way? I couldn’t think in terms such as this when I was a mere teen. From those days forward my attitude was only,
Fuck that…

I’ve learned to escape my body. To float up to the ceiling where I feel safely detached from whatever takes place in the moment happening below. I practice wading in the air as if I were swimming along a soothing stretch of the lake. From here I watch and wait and when everything begins to fade away and it’s safe to return to my body, I snuggle back in. Relieved once again, I can work to get myself to drift off to sleep where I can dream of a life that is calm and beautiful, free of the anxiety that wakes me most nights and even keeps me from that night’s sleep.
I pray for freedom…

After years of this way of existence, I’ve been coming back to my body, slowly allowing myself to feel things I never permitted myself to when it was a dangerous place to be. Never had I imagined the destruction of detaching from my very own self. It was all I knew. It’s what I practiced for survival. It’s what kept me going.
I prayed harder for freedom…

By retreating inside my own mind and hiding behind my fears of these monstrous sized men, I had developed a case of dissociation for my self protection. It became my only source of a coping mechanism that gave me the illusion of being bigger than those who were hell bent on creating my inferior self in order to feed their self created superior selves. When I could detach so completely from the situation, I became invincible as I checked out of the world for the terrifying moment I needed to escape from to be safe.
Freedom was what I craved…

The demons are as real as the dragons I battle. Maybe things will be better in another life, as if I have more than one. What am I doing, still and again? Why am intent to suffer so? I am on a treasure hunt to find the glory in my story.
It’s time…

There came a day when I awoke after a decent night’s sleep. One where anxiety didn’t shoot me out of bed and my skin. This same night I hadn’t dreamed of my body floating up to the street light that sent a glow on the picture below as I often do. Instead, I was lying there, the light trickling in, listening to the hummingbirds feeding outside my window as Mr. Squirrel was playing like a monkey jumping from branch to branch and Mr. Monty the Rooster began his morning wake up call and it occurred to me… today is the day I believe I became sick of trying to make sense out of nonsense, so I just stopped. I truly felt more free. Suddenly, smiling to myself, I was reminded of the fable…

“The Scorpion and the Frog”
A scorpion, which cannot swim, asks a frog to carry it across a river on the frog’s back. The frog hesitates, afraid of being stung by the scorpion, but the scorpion argues that if it did that, they would both drown. The frog considers this argument sensible and agrees to transport the scorpion. Midway across the river, the scorpion stings the frog anyway, dooming them both. The dying frog asks the scorpion why it stung him despite knowing the consequence, to which the scorpion replies: “I couldn’t help it, it’s in my nature”.

🧖🏼‍♀️✍🏻

The jury’s out on you… hu-mans

🙊🙈🙉

When did I let cynicism invade my heart? When the emotional upheaval is in full force, does the bottom need to fall out or do I crawl up from the ashes? There’s a heaviness that accompanies heartache. My head and heart are in this non amicable long distance relationship where neither can agree upon things very often. My head can be like, “yeah, you Dbag, I’m done being hurt by you. I’m glad you’re gone. You did nothing more than suck me dry of everything from my soul, leaving my flesh raw, my heart shredded and my spirit trampled. So fuck you and fuck your… everything, asshole. You don’t want me? Fine, I’ll find someone who does”, screams my broken little girl from deep inside. Really I know I’m shouting out to my bio dad, where the core root of my hurts and hang ups live, but I have to start from my now and move my way backwards and you, present time folks, are the lucky recipients who will suffer my wrath.

I’m learning…

Then my soft, forgiving heart chimes in louder with empathy, “but he’s sick and damaged, we can love him through it, all of it, wait and see. Wait some more, keep being patient, he’ll see, his heart will engage with ours,” but it never does. “Be more for him, he needs more from you girl. I know he isn’t capable of being what you need, but it’ll be alright, stick with him, it’ll fall into place. I know it’s been years of accepting his small crumbs, but you can live off of those.” That’s the part of my bleeding heart that yearns to connect with that someone who will fill that void. I’m an empty vessel by now. One that’s been giving all and receiving very little in return. I have a God sized hole in my breaking heart that truly only God can fill, not another human and certainly not some man.


I’m learning…

It’s the unfinished business that stings the most. The loose ends if you will. The unspoken, unresolved, looming questions that desire and deserve to be answered to my satisfaction. I suppose this all began when my bio dad “left me” at the age of 2. His departure would later set the stage for my behavior in all my interactions with every male who walked into my life and then out again, leaving me to feel the sting of his absence all over again. I’ve asked him the questions and silence was on the other end of the answer as he turned and stayed away. We call this feeling, abandonment. The emotions that surround it can range from unworthy, unwanted, undesirable, unimportant, unloveable, discarded, disposable, dissatisfying, disobedient, disdain. I’ve experienced waves of all of these negative thoughts about myself. Of course, they would be reinforced for my lifetime by the partners chosen to bring me more of the same and the familiar. Like a magnet, I drew them in. I’ve created this habitual recognition.

I’m learning…

Abandonment has convinced me that, “everyone I love leaves”. As my bio dad was replaced one day by a narcissistic asshole to say the least, slowly over time, mom began abandoning me, emotionally. His hideous displays of abuse over her began spilling over onto me. I wished he would leave, but that was never granted. I was trapped, listening to the lies spouting from his vulgar mouth while I was getting crafty at sidestepping his creepy advances. I blamed her for not protecting me. I drew mentally closer to a dad who was gone. I chased after him for the love, attention and time I craved, but he never rescued me from the hell I was trying to survive. I didn’t blame him. I loved him. Needed him. I silently pleaded. I waited. I hoped. He proved me right about leaving.

I’m learning…

I’m such a copy cat and a fraud. I ignored the symptoms for years. In the beginning he lured me in with his sweet talk, his stories of feeling unloved by his own mother, the alcoholic abuse from his own father and the betrayals from his 2 significant relationships. Being the sought after empath I am, I bought every word. My heart cried for him and I would show him how lovable he is. He didn’t just need my understanding and support, he required it to breathe. Fuck. I wasn’t just repeating the same patterns I witnessed between mom and the step monster, I was living them and I was engaging in them, with him. It sickens me to have claimed “I would never live life like her!” and yet, there I was duplicating her life, abused, ridiculed, belittled, objectified and convinced I would never survive on my own as he discarded me like last night’s leftovers time over time.

Abandoned again.

I will heal.

You will always be a narcissist.

I’m learning…

🧖🏼‍♀️✍🏻

The ties that bound me

She caught her breath, every time he spoke to her. Like a predator after his prey, he’d hover around for a few moments, closer he’d move near where she was before he made his way to exit the door. This became his dance he perfected over time. Toss a hook out and see if she’d bite. He set the stage and she was his clueless, leading actress. Innocent and demure, she wasn’t used to this sort of attention, not really. She deflected it at first. Falling back into her old style of safety, she tried to be invisible. Why was he paying any mind to her? She’s long since downplayed her outer beauty to match her painful insides. What could he want with her now, ordinary self she was portraying? She told her friend she wished he’d look at her, give her those enticing words, those stolen glances, that masculine energy that seemed to be pulling her into his vortex. Jokingly she said to her friend once again, come on… but instead she wanted to believe his words and so began what would be her misery of life.

She was so raw and vulnerable from her existence that was always in session and recently turned upside down, that some of the nuances were refreshing and pulling her. in. It was as if he was attuned to her inner most thoughts, could smell her fear, was feeding off her sadness and was going to fix her. Like a lion ready to pounce, he set it up perfectly, calculating his every move. She never saw it coming.

But he was clever. He knew exactly when to throw her a bone and say the right things to make her trust and believe that he was interested in her, even cared about her well being. He gave her glimmers of hope. He showed her a man she had never known before. He quickly learned how to maneuver around her feelings and navigate the ways around her heart. He’d spout out promises and things to make her light up just to keep her on a leash. He was very smart when it came to manipulation, control and getting what he wanted, no matter the cost. Once he had her in his clutches, his plan to devour her whole was put into motion. The confusion invaded her so precisely as he anticipated it would, that she was oblivious to what was happening. It was so insidious and her life as she knew it was forever changing.

Her heart still races as she desperately tries to drift off to sleep, but instead her mind wants to retrace all her steps that she had walked into every trap. How blind she must’ve been to trust him as he dangled a piece of sweet nectar just slightly out reach, but low enough to keep her grasping for it over and over again. His savage, beastly desires drove him to those torturous, mind fuck games that only he had the rule book for.

He silently laughed as he watched her squirm for relief while she begged for an ounce of affection or a morsel of love. She tosses and turns as the nights turn into months. She feverishly works to reconcile in her own twisted mind, how such a human could exist and worse, keep her under his spell for so many years.

She writes another sad story of her victim role. The one of lies and deception where she was the star attraction and he, the daemonic villain. At last, exhaustion overtakes her and she passes out long enough to wake up and start the cruel cycle over again.

Determined to uncover the answers to questions she’ll never have, but that haunt her still. She searches for more clues, educating herself further, depriving herself of her basic needs. She has become a detective in her own murder case. The one where she is the missing person and the key suspect is at large, living as if, all the while, searching out his next unsuspecting victim for his endless need of fuel supply.

One day she’ll come out of the dense fog and will rise above it all. One day she’ll find the forgiveness to unshackle herself from her own death sentence. One day the sweet taste of freedom will replace the bitterness that swells up her throat. One day the obsession will dissipate and her breath will resume to its normal rhythm. One day this nightmare will come to an end and she will awaken to find herself returned safely to the ground where her feet have been replanted and there is beauty all around…

The only way to get through it is to go through it

https://instagram.com/x.human._x_err0r.x?igshid=n1l09pwrffzx

The daylight woke her and she jolted straight up in the strange bed. For a second she wondered where she was. She began recalling the night before, replaying the script in her scattered mind, the silent argument, an uprooting of the life she knew and a what seemed like an endless night of collecting her belongings. She needed coffee. She needed explanations, but most of all, she needed him. Why?

Anger began washing over her, wanting to make friends with her now. It was more like a pact really. How else can we assure one another to never go through this ever again. We couldn’t. She knew the game. Hell, she was one of the star players and she was an expert in it. She couldn’t comprehend the situation, but had to do something to distract herself. Her resolution, get her ass to the gym. There she can pick up some heavy shit and drop it back down, just to keep her sanity. Kind of an irony now. This would become her routine, working out alongside her friend. Her friend whom became her trainer, then became her therapist while her therapist became obsolete.

Days passed and for two straight weeks, he showed up there in her personal space. Coincidentally, knowing she would be there, lifting, clearing her mind, she didn’t think so. He said not a word to her, only taunting her, desperately trying to rattle her with his presence as if to remind her of their sacred, cyclical dance. It took all her strength to maintain control of her power. She fought back the internal force. He’d hurt her for the last time. Fuck him.

God had been showing up in her life a lot more, revealing Himself to her, giving her clarity with every passing day. He promised her salvation and protection like she never felt before. As days turned into weeks and eventually months, she began talking, revealing the secrets she had kept hidden. She was speaking out loud for the first time in 8 1/2 years to her friend, the trainer and the therapist. At first she was ashamed and timid, but she was feeling safe with her. The more she shared, the lighter her heart was becoming. To her surprise, what was coming back to her was a similar story as her friend also spoke about her private life she’d been leading too. Their bond strengthened and they were inseparable for the months that followed.

For all those years she was crumbling while he whittled away at her sweet, once light hearted spirit, she couldn’t leave. There had been glimmers of hope, small doses. Signs that maybe he did love her, enough to keep her there. She had to stay with her broken pieces, no matter how depleted, confused, abandoned and abused she was.

Just admitting the truth was a huge first step. With the support of her dear old friend, she had a new found hope. Now was her chance. She had to begin collecting her scattered, broken parts she had left along the way, but how? She began to pray, everyday and for the second time in her life, she didn’t feel so all alone.

There’s a reason we sink before we rise up.
An anchor only works when it hits the bottom…

🧖🏼‍♀️✍🏻 photo/art credit 📸 👇🏼

The Whole Cookie…

I’ve suffered for you beautifully and yet, I don’t know how to be your friend any longer. When I’ve stepped into the roles of friend, companion, lover, partner, even acquaintance, I’m not me, but rather a version of what you need and now I have to be stronger.

A box has been created that can no longer contain this mind, body and soul. I don’t feel right in my skin, but you try and pull me back in, stunting my growth with the smoke you exhale as I push harder against you, the more I derail.

He wasn’t the first, she won’t be the last, those pushing to conform me from deep in my past. I’ve lived my whole life afraid of what won’t be if I become who I am, the most authentic me. She looks at me with sadness in her eyes as he pushes hard for what he sees inside.

Don’t pity me for who I am, where I’ve been and how I got here. I have a story to tell from this life I’ve been living. I’m proud of my strength and the courage I’ve been given.

At times I disappear, overwhelmed by what I feel in my heart. So much focus is put on what I don’t bring instead of what I do and that is what keeps us so far apart.

The vampire was the one who depleted me from every emotion that was found. Reciprocation wasn’t in the game and that defeated me beneath the ground

Time spent together for so very many years dependent upon how much I would give. Stretched beyond my very own limits finding this was no way to live

Breaking free of those who no longer serve or hold that depth in my very soul
Releasing you all as I begin to let go, time for these wings to spread finally allowing me to grow.

No longer accepting your crumbs. I deserve, The Whole Cookie…

🧖🏼‍♀️✍🏻