New Postings

Sorry, last time I got the address wrong. If you’d like to go to my other site which has weird and fun facts and is a lighter side of this world then come find me at http://www.symplicities.wordpress.com!

It’s Personal

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.

Clammy Hands

50

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.

Unborn

49

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.

Oh Brother!

48

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.

Breezy

44

If I could feel the coolest breeze on the warmest days i’d be sitting in the shade wondering how the two intersect on a day like today. If we take all of the problems and hardships of life out of the equation all we are left with are the simple things…which is all we need anyway, to be quite honest. If we focus on the simplicity, we lose sight of all the complexities which is where most of the problems started. People may look at simple as being feeble minded but I think it’s the most thought provoking of all. Thinking basic thoughts and living simple ways leaves our minds more open to the necessary breathing room life has to offer. I wish someone could take out the complexities of my mind and throw it right back up like puke in an attempt to detoxify myself. My mind needs to breathe in a way that’s suffocating all in it’s own right. Please take me away. Take me to the never ending time when the simplest things can be relished in the simplest ways all so we can walk with no despair. I found the home of a certain simplicity once and like the wheel, went bankrupt all the same. Does simplicity occur in despair? Or is despair the simplest form of misery in hiding? I just want answers. Answers to the questions and the right questions for unforseen answers before hand. I feel the warmest of the coolest breezes. Now in the night, I look for warm gusts within the cold. Waiting for life to once again intersect.

Green Eyed Girl

43

Liking myself was never the plan. Hating myself wasn’t either. I actually have stopped looking at mirrors because I don’t recognize the person at it’s surface. Everything looks familiar, but it’s not home. It’s not what I have always known, not what I’ve been known to be and is surely the thing I’ve never prepared for. What would you do if you looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the person before you? It’s like meeting a friend’s twin for the first time. It’s like you can’t put your finger on it, but something’s just not quite right. I stand in my room looking forward to the reflection bestowed. I search within my  eyes to find some familiarity. “You’re green eyes,” I tell myself. “You’ve always loved your green eyes. Hold onto that.” I find I talk to myself much more these days. No one could ever understand the havoc breached within my mind frame, so I let my voice be the one that interrupts it. It’s like an intruder whose come inside to throw off my mind recounting each and everything I do, always to repeat the last failure, or the failure’s I looked to earn. In my mind I deserved each and every bad thing and that was what I was here to own, the faults.
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Showing Signs

40

Getting an abortion was never something I planned on doing. It’s not like you live your life with that kind of thing on your bucket list. But I did get pregnant, I was 19 and I was scared to death.

I’m such a lover of kids you’d think it natural when I would eventually get pregnant, I’d be so excited and not be able to wait to have a baby. And yes, albeit babies are adorable, you don’t really look that deep into the picture beyond the cuteness until you really get pregnant. In staring at those lines that appeared on the pregnancy test, I remember staring at it for so long you would of thought I was trying some sort of magical mind trick or something. Hell, maybe I was. Maybe in staring at it longer I thought that faded second line would disappear just as fast, or slowly, as it appeared in the first place. What am I going to do? All of the sudden I’m thinking about how much money it’s going to cost, how much time I’d be able to spend with it being I’d have to get another job, and how much would I really be able to give to a child at the age that I’m at. All of the sudden at 19, I felt so aged.

The morning I of the Doctor’s appointment, I went to throw something away in my garbage and noticed it had been rustled through. “Oh, shit,” I thought. What now? I couldn’t imagine why anyone would ever want to rustle through garbage. Geez, I was feeling so low that if anyone needed garbage in their life they could just come and talk to me. In being pregnant I knew I needed to have the abortion early, if I was going to have it. Not that it makes it any better or easier I just couldn’t imagine doing it later in the term. I still can’t believe these words that I write knowing what I was about to do. I’ve always wanted to be a mom, it’s what I thought I was put on this Earth to do. What WAS I put on this Earth to do? Man, I have no idea why anymore. I thought there would be no evidence that I was pregnant to anyone. I thought that it would be my story to tell, if I ever chose to tell it. Well, I wasn’t off to a very good start. For instance, leaving the pregnancy test in the garbage probably wasn’t a good idea if I didn’t want to get caught. But like I said, who rustles through garbage anyway? It turns out, I’d started giving my mom evidence of her own. The reason I thought I might be pregnant was when I lit up a smoke one day. I wasn’t a consistent smoker but liked them from time to time, and all of the sudden when I went to inhale I felt so nauseated I couldn’t believe it. “This isn’t right,” I’d tell myself. “I’m not even feeling sick.” I thought about it for a minute and realized It’d be perfect timing for me to be pregnant. But that was also a distant thought at best. Then I became nauseated all of the time, and my boobs got really sensitive. I never knew what women meant when they’d say they’re boobs got sensitive until mine did. It was like my awful aha moment. Then I was constantly on the verge of puking. And thinking my mother would just think I was sick, was never a second thought. But I didn’t realize she’d put two and two together when I was craving a pickle one day and was vocal about it. You think you have cravings, then realize you never had a craving until you crave something while pregnant. I had to have that pickle, the thoughts of it were all consuming. I never thought she’d put those moments together. To think women before me had been showing these signs all along! Geez, I really didn’t get it. Of course, I was too young to.

Hi, My Name Is…

3

My name is Andrea and this is my attempt at finding some solace in my life because therapy’s been, well, a joke to be quite honest. So, I’m trying to therapitize myself with writing it all out. In the hopes it won’t come back again, but if it does at least there’s more paper to write along with it. People say that words lose power, when you talk about things so here goes…my attempt at my OWN therapy. So, “HA,” bad therapists. If I ever get better I want my money back.

Eminem says to “Lose Yourself,” but when you’re lost all you can think of is how desperately you need to be found. I am lost within myself, outside of myself and everything in between. And I’ve walked the 8 mile up the road and don’t like what I have to see. Where did it all the time go? And how in a world where everyday is so long did I get through so many of the years? I still feel like a teenager. All of the sudden I begin questioning everything I learned in school wondering if there should’ve been life lessons taught as part of the curriculum. We learned addition but all that I use that for is to add up all of these bad days…..multiplied by my negative feelings equals out to be the probability of a girl in the danger zone all of the time. My ADD is something you’d recognize when you really get to know me. But all in all, it’s the damn truth that I have it. With ADD you go from one subject to the next within a metaphorical minute. One minute I want to work out in the gym, then drop that just as fast, then I want a different job, then a different arraignment for my room. And let’s say that happens every day. Cleaning the house I’ll mush up all the cleaning chores instead of doing one, then the next and finishing each, I do some of one, then some of two and so on and so forth. ADD is about distracting the mind because it can only have a certain amount of time in an attention span’s mirth. I see it as a blessing and a curse. If I get down about something then I could be distracted so easily and quickly I’m off to the next subject. The curse however, is when it works backwards from being in a good mood switched to a bad one. Some days I’m in limbo all day long, I just hide at home. Moreover, I just try to sleep all day. My brains on combustion mode in each of the thousands of thought that come through with death underlying in each. I don’t think I want to die but I sure as shit don’t want to live. Not like this. Not in the grips of a life I can’t seem to understand. It feels like everyone else knows the secret. Like there was a turn in the 8 mile that I missed when I went the other way. Then something distracts me enough to not focus on it too badly. At least for now.

Snowstorm

4

The days get longer within every night I conquer. “Where am I headed?” “Always a place of dread.” I’d think. I feel like I’m battling all natural disasters combined into one mind which will always take it to the Nth degree within. If I move left or I move right, “I can’t see. I just can’t see what to do!” The brain fed snowstorm is always there to heed my confusion. My impulsivity rises as I can’t make clear-headed decisions because, as no one realizes yet, my head is not clear anymore. I looked to the mirror today and couldn’t see myself. I felt my face as I stared the long stare into the big black hole of each eye. Not an easy feat as my OCD is hooking it’s reins hard these days. As I look to the mirror I can ONLY look at my pupils. That’s one of my rituals. If I don’t do it perfectly and look at the exact center of the pupil then I don’t allow myself to look away. And if I look somewhere else, I “have to get the rituals back on track”…I look, left eye, right eye, left eye, right eye. Over and over again until I’ve done it 24 times. Then, only if it “feels” right, can I look away. Otherwise, I have to start all over. “If I don’t,” I’d tell myself. “Then something bad will happen to someone I care about, even death.” That’s the toll of OCD…you can charge at it’s bridge and try to do otherwise, but the bridge always collapses when you’ve been doing rituals since you were four years old. You don’t need to go to jail if you suffer from OCD, it’s conformity will keep you behind bars in such a suffocating way, you’re already there.