If I were a wishing girl I’d wish for never ending happiness. For all to be well on each and every day, and polite beauty around every corner. Dread wouldn’t be found in such beauty of a wish, made upon a star one night so full of starlights.
In the nighttime skies of wishes not lies, I ask for this broadening spectrum of hope to keep ensuing. “I will be better,” I’d say to myself. “If I could just have a chance at it.” And low and behold the chance of the starlight mixed with the dark of night keeps upon me. All the while knowing it might be my only shot.
I haven’t felt mentally healthy in fifteen years. What do I even do with the chance I’ve been given, as I lay among the stars and the moon. I’ll have to try this forbidden thing called happiness, which is mostly shunned or dismissed too soon. It usually plays a game with my mind, this happiness. Giving me a peek a boo once in awhile. Just long enough to know that’s this is what I’m fighting for, yet, not long enough for me to say it’s been worth it. Life, without happiness feels worthless. Only to breathe is what I have ingrained in me. I will keep the dread of depression and mental illness at bay, but also as my coat of arms to protect me from all things unfamiliar. When the earth’s moons change, so will my new life. I hope, as I realize the darkness of the eclipse above the horizon. I don’t know what to do with happiness. I don’t know what to do with life, in fact, I just don’t know what to do. Do I ask for forgiveness once again and wish to go back to the normalcy I seek? No, I won’t do that now. I won’t bother the starlight tonight. I’ll just go on my windy road with fingers crossed, that, like the changing of the seasons or temperatures of the day, I’ll settle in to my new abode of a silenced “happiness,” peeking out in the moonlight. I’ll accept it without recall and know that the starlight is watching….always to know what goes on into the night.
I don’t wish out loud anymore but I’m always silently pleading for my secret desires to come true. Please sweep me away wind. Take me wherever it is you go just not into the eye of the tornado. I put my hand up in the wind and let the gusts push it into a curve going up and down. Where is everyone? It feels like the story, It, without the storm and no scary clowns.
Ah, but maybe I am the storm. The walking disaster you shouldn’t come close to unless you know what is is you are dealing with. Keeping company with the echoes in the street at night…reminding you that you are alive. For the people that do come close, know that I warned you. I sounded the alarm and instead of hiding, some of you danced. Something I wish I could do again. Dance in the street while taking a walk around the neighborhood. Letting the insides of myself fly out as music notes fill the streets, and suddenly I am lost. Who cares? No need to ask for directions being I didn’t like the place I’d come from to begin with. The dark streets have no more echoes.
There are still no cars as I try to enjoy the peace surrounding me but can’t. I’m so lonely. Depression makes sure you’ll find out that it’s suffering is a one way ticket and a one person ride for a one way kill to my genocide. The lights go out. I wonder whats in the woods I come across. I’m terrified a spider will walk in front of me and I wont know. Yuck. Luckily I’m wearing a necklace that lights up. Ok, I can faintly can see my house. I wish the wind would act like an escalator and escort me back. I also wish I could stop wishing things were different. That maybe if I hadn’t done this or that, then maybe I could seize the damn day instead of waiting for it to be over with. I stand alone, still in the night and waiting for the crisp air to bite and wake me up. I always want to sleep and make time go by faster but its turned me into some pile of a nightmares with no safe house to run into, away from the tornado. And damnit it’s getting too close to home. It’s just getting too personal.
Within a moment of strength, I am weak. From the powers that be, I let love lie. Knowing I have loved, is fortune in itself. But where is the love among a world so unkind? I find it in those most unsuspecting, unbeknownst souls that stand here before me waiting to be unveiled. I’ve told every boyfriend that I’ve loved them. But the truth is that only a few did I really go to that place. I confused love with a love lost in my own soul. Finding it underneath my piles of debris from an unsettled heart. And so far there has been nothing like that of your first love. And that’s what I’m looking for. To feel the pitter patter of heart. The clammy hands in an anxiety of wonderment. We’re always told that we can only know love if we know love within. But then how can we truly love if we are ever evolving, ever growing and ever understanding ourselves? It must mean that love is more powerful. That to find it is beyond all other gifts bestowed upon. I may love easily because I look at people with their gas tank on full and it’s up to them to burn it dry. Maybe it’s not a good way to look at people by giving them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe that’s giving them too much credit. But I don’t look at love as too much credit, I look at it as an overload of fulfillment. I yearn to be whisked away. Not to be stood up as I once was, not to be abused, but to find an everpowerful thing in an even more powerful being. Did I go the wrong way in love? Of course I did, as we all do. Because when you mix love with life it can add up to an equation any atlas would find lost to. To be someone’s everything may in fact be the greatest gift one could ever know. And some of us will even walk around for a lifetime not knowing they were someone’s end all in the wonderment at the fair. Broken hearts are undoubted. But the lessons in each are as well, so why does it hurt so much? Even when we know the loss is upon us. Even when I left my ex-husband it felt like cutting my arm off. I didn’t know what to do anymore. But that’s because he confused love for control and was always out for the conquering. I had to give him my paychecks. If I needed money he’d want me to find it out of the piggy bank we had kept. He took my car to work as I took three buses to mine. I’d shatter like glass each time he’d take off. Leaving for entire weekends as I’d sit alone to worry. Always going back to Seattle where my true home was. Where I’d secretly wanted to be the entire time. Getting out of that relationship was hell to because I never knew what he was capable of when I would break up with him. If we can live with loss and love in life why can’t we let love die when we need to? Is it the lessons it’ll bring because all mine did from my relationship with him was to always err on the side of caution in every way. I can’t trust men. I’m so afraid they’ll take my control once more, that I will get out of relationships if I see control in flight. Now I fight to the death for myself, at least in that regard. I will not be taken advantage of in that way again. I will be raped no more. From the powers that be, in this weakened moment I stand strong. I will find who I am one day. But it won’t stop me from wondering what true love is, because that is forgotten by me. But unforgotten is the yearn for it. Yearning for all else to fall by the wayside and to stop running in place waiting for things to happen. And get these feet to move around the neighborhood. Maybe only to stop and watch as love walks too.
At first it was the nightmares that would come because dreams were something only a positive world could bring. I never thought I’d get a visit. A little boy would stand staring at me with those big brown eyes longing for something. I assume now what it was but I could just be adding to my selfish layer that it could be me. The way he stared so intently like he was waiting for someone or something to come get him. Then he reached his hand out to me squinting his eyes to get a closer look. I awoke right after. Crying to realize my baby would have been born this month, I chalk it up to being just another dream. Like the recurring one I have about my ex husband standing me up at the alter. It wasn’t until a year later would I stop thinking it was just another dream because it happened again. Only this time he was a little older. Still he reached out. Still those brown eyes I knew it was the same little boy. You wonder where we manifest our dreams from. Whether we manifest our thoughts in transformation or our thoughts are manifested by ourselves transforming. I never knew a dream like this and when it happened for a third year he, again looking just a bit older. I’d weep.
People don’t tell you that abortions are painful. You think there might be some emotional trauma expected but even that they don’t prepare you for. I never knew an aftermath more deadly than that of the world of death I then created. This whole time I’d felt such a weird connection with the child I’d never know that I also never realized how much I’d miss it. Miss being pregnant and miss the possibilities of the world that could ensue. I didn’t feel okay with bringing a child into a world where the world was something I could not give. To this day I haven’t forgiven myself. I can’t believe what a stupid decision I made. It’s aftermath was unforseen, forlorn and so unforgotten. I also didn’t want to pass down who I was because I hated myself so much. So in all the pain inflicted it would never compare to the pain I’d inflict now. I was determined to punish myself but instead I just punished an innocent child. For doing nothing but come to visit even after I took away all visiting rights. Today I doubt I’ll have children. Because nothing could compare to the little boy who reached out to me those three nights in a world unknown. I need to be with my child and not have my child come back to be with me. All in the matter of more than a daydream. In a world I’d never know. Where manifestations grow.
When I was young my brother would come into my room before my school alarm needed to wake me up. I’d still have about a half hour left to sleep when my light would turn on, then off, on, then off, and on and off…again and again. “What are you doing?!” I’d scream. I still see him at my doorway with a big smirk on his face turning to laughter then to exclaim, “Reh! Time to wake up!” And he’d run off leaving my light on. Reh had been our inside joke as kids. A way to jab you and yelp out a, “Gotcha!” I’ve never been a morning person so he knew right where to hit my soft spot. There’s nothing better than growing up with a good sibling. Someone to make you laugh at your most down moments, someone to turn to at times and someone who can be your best friend and worst enemy all the same. I’ve always looked up to him. I needed him to be able to roll my eyes with at random things, I needed him when mom and dad fought and I needed him so badly when I found out I got pregnant. He’s my reality check in so much that I do because your sibling won’t sugar coat anything for you. If it’s bullshit, he’ll say it’s bullshit and if it’s funny he’ll usually be the one that told the joke. It’s amazing how your told to find your role model growing up but no one tells you you may one day realize it’s the one you grew up with. Some days I don’t need anything but a good dose of my sibling. We aren’t close right now because of the changes I’ve made, some of the decisions I’ve made and some of the selfishness depression can desire. All of the sudden I became the sick family member and a lot became about me. Maybe I’ve made it that way. I wish I could scream so loud he’d know this isn’t me. I wasn’t that girl with the bruises from the guy she’d married. I wasn’t the girl who changed from herself so much even she can’t recognize. I wasn’t the girl who pulled away, not even during the times he may have needed me. I wasn’t the one who’d made those bad decisions. I wasn’t that girl. But I was. I had to be. I have to face the person I became and confront the person I want to be everyday, always the withering tale of the sad sap taking over. I didn’t mean to scare him during my suicide attempts and I didn’t mean to sit idly by as he was out busting his ass off at life and winning with everyday because he’s the fighter I need to train to be like. I want him to meet his match in me and make him proud just like I’d like to do with everyone. But his match he did meet in his girlfriend. My brother found what is the end all be all of life in love, his soulmate. He doesn’t realize he has everything I’d always wanted because he worked and waited so long to get there. I remember his first love coming over for the first time. She sat in my seat next to him and I wanted to sit there still. “Bitch,” I childlessly thought. What if she takes him away from me? Her pretty black coat over her pretty white shirt with her pretty face and pretty personality. It was then that I realized I did have a jealous bone in my body. I remember thinking, what would happen if we grew farther apart? I didn’t see then that I was predicting my future. I should’ve gotten paid to be a fortune teller of bad things. If only I’d worked harder. Listened to him when he told me I needed to grow up. But I tried everyday to. I just kept sinking farther into my comfort zoned hell. So tumultuously afraid to come out. But now it feels like he’s dead. Like I need to mourn him the way I did three of my friends who passed after high school. Every year one would go. Do I mourn him? The way I had to mourn my old best friend who warned me she was going to pull away because I kept standing her up? I won’t. He’s just too worth it. I wish I could put the worth I see in others onto myself now. To be able to hold my head high knowing I’m the person I want to be. Knowing I am walking around with well worth. Knowing I can walk tall, just like my brother.