Broken

 

 

This image goes with the ‘Broken’ poem I posted here recently (thanks for the suggestion lucienlachance). I’ve been working on this on and off the last week trying to get the lighting right as I took photos of this drawing. The silver paint I used for the mirror fragments was metallic, so the light outside was kind of thrown all over the place. Anyway, I might make another version. This one isn’t as bloody as I had in mind, but I was afraid to go too far with the red paint this time (I usually ruin the whole picture when I try to splatter color) so next time I’ll change some things around.

What’s so funny is I was afraid to have anyone in my family see me working on this one. Too much to explain as far as what it means. Pain and other unpleasant things nobody wants to really hear about…

  

Overcome

The name of this image I drew….

I’ve been pretty depressed lately. If this lasts until the end of the week, I’m going to have to figure out what I’m going to do next. It’s getting unbearable.

This would have been the last

 

Long sleeves for today

And we all know she’s sick

In distance, in loneliness, one

Empty locket round her neck

 

But what is our silence

Expect saying it’s alright?  

Except saying she is mindless

With no choice but to survive

 

I saw her soul in a mirror once

Its light never renewed

Gray, in what she’s never done

And all she’ll never do 

 

A few days ago I was thinking about having this be my last poem, at least the last one to close out the collection I’ve got right now, had I not gotten some new ideas a few days ago. They’re coming together slowly, but that’s good. Maybe they’ll actually be worth the time I spend putting them together. Anyway, this one is basically about, you know, people being oblivious to things or just being cold to what they do see, not knowing what to do about it, never expecting how things can get worse.

Maybe I’m incomplete, but I was trying to sum up what I see my life has become. Never taking risks, avoiding at every chance I get because it’s how I survive…And fully believing no one should care how sick I get or about what I do and don’t do, because I disappear from their lives so well anyway. It’s as if they think I was born knowing what next moves to make in life. But I think in extremes a lot more than I should. It’s always either I can do something or I can’t, I can live or die. The inbetween is too painful. Thoughts like that.

There’s nothing important going on. I’ve got to wait until the middle of January at least before I can get  anything else done with the training program I’m after. It doesn’t start until march, and I’ve been told I am too early to register basically. Not a good feeling. Makes me think the whole think will fall apart soon after all.

Btw, just to complain, since it’s all I’ve got right now, I think I’m beginning to hate the holiday season. Before, I was mostly indifferent, having never grown up with the tradition that everyone else has. And I’ve long stopped envying others for having a tradition for the season at all. But my neighbors have once again tortured the whole street with the sight of their bad display of lights (I mean, if your going to bother putting them up, at least make it look like you put some effort into it, right?). They blink , and it drives me nuts. Think of it being the middle of the night, and as I try to sleep all I see is this on and off blink of lights coming through my window. Light pollution already gets me mad enough, but when Chistmas comes around all I can do is laugh really. Either I let my annoyance drive me across the street to rip those damn lights down, or I put extra sheets up to my window and laugh it off. People pretend all of this means so much. I guess I just don’t see.

Pieces of thought, so much still undone…

 

Broken

 

Shattered, aggression for no one to hear

Found in fragments,

 My ruin is mirrored

The air, hissing surprise and fear

A red impurity appears

 

My shards have all rained down on me

My limits left their injury

Discomfort,

Be my company

I leave these wounds to bleed

  

 This was written so long ago, it had a third set of lines but they seemed out of place, so I waited and edited a few times, then decided to scrap the third set completely. I think I get the point across, or some kind of point across. Anyway, I’m still working on some poems, pieces of thoughts and all. My confidence is pretty gone though.  

 

These numbers

Leave us broke

Too many people

Without hope

 

Watch it change,

A future slum

Seven shootings,

One grieving gun

 

Remember, pass

Around the blame

It’s our failure,

Our tragedy

 

This one is new, only a few weeks old. There was a news story in my city about seven shootings in one day. The cops thought it may have been a retaliation type thing after another shooting happened. Maybe it was drug related or gang related, or both. When I say it’s everyone’s failure and everyone is to blame I mean the entire frame and order of our society is part of the problem and partly to blame for the crime that goes on. Nothing and no one is completely clean, in my opinion.

 

In ruin, I lay

My hours pass in pain

I’ve live to see another day

      In wait, to die away

 

The red spill and dying will

Of every disgraced dream

All rests, in midnight’s secrecy

      All meant to die away

 

Only dark moods, one hopeless hue

It’s wrong that I still breathe

Holding on for nothing

      In wait, to die away

 

 And this one was originally meant to be a song, and I may still put music to it (I had a melody ready and everything, but I lost interest in it, as usual with songs I try to write). But anyway, yeah, my writing is struggling. Maybe I’ll have a breakthrough soon, hopefully. I want to write something shocking you know?…lol. I’ll see what happens.

 

 

Three Lines

Disturbing thoughts to sift

Lonely, driven off a cliff

And in one dream, I hit the ground

A dive thirteen stories down

 

Three deep lines and I was saved

Envisioned suicide, all drained

Still, persistent whispers loom

Musing eventual doom

 

The known sigh and lifeless eyes

I am ready, dim the light

The same old question fills my ear

What am I still doing here?

Ignore the poem. I know I’ve lost my mind. And this drawing was the only one out of four or five I’ve done that I was excited about finishing. It’s a simply symbol that covers the image from this poem of ‘Three deep lines and I was saved”. And I might be the only one who knows what it means, but that’s alright. I know I’m depressed again. Everything is heavier and more pointless than usual. I went to see a movie Saturday with my mother (Australia-great film, btw) It was almost three hours long, a great distraction, but soon after I felt as if I’d sunk even deeper. The things I’ve been ignoring in my life came and slapped me in the face at the worst moment.

Next week I have to convince some stranger that I am a good candidate to allow training. My mother said today that she hopes I like what I’ll be doing. I can’t care about liking it, I have to go through and get the job no matter how I feel. That’s what life is right? Doing some things you don’t want to do, except I’ve got the extra weight of having just about everything being something I don’t want to do, and that I don’t want anything from life anymore, and am trying to convince myself I never did. I’m trying to make my decisions easier. If I live and have been led by how things should be, shouldn’t that apply to the end as well? I shouldn’t be here, I should get rid of myself. Or I should shut up and just live for nothing, because it’ll make everyone else more comfortable. They won’t have to explain what happened.

Whatever.  Some would call me selfish for not considering the feelings of others when it comes to this. But who lives my life again? Who else is in my place and knows better than me about me? They can’t talk. And I don’t care if I’m selfish. From where I’m at, living is pretty selfish, having kids is selfish, everything we do and don’t do. I don’t care anymore what the limit is.

This is all connected, the social anxiety leads me to avoid people and isolate myself. And while the solitude is fine for long periods of time for me, I’m left alone to think about the point of my life, the meaning it does not have. I’m left by myself  for so long it feels as if I’m just supposed to kill myself. One less burden; one less person who can’t or just refuses to be fixed.

I don’t deserve anything. Nothing is better. And one of these days, what I’ve written here, explaining what’s wrong and what I’ve done to keep myself sane, it won’t even matter anymore.

 

In Memory

I wrote this after looking at a photo in a book I have, written as something to break writers block some months ago. It probably makes no sense, but anyway, the book was a signs and symbols book.

In Memory

 

Risen celebrations

A hope created, candle sea

Even as the flames blow out

We still believe, most faithfully

 

Death and its many meanings

Cold seconds, all sanded time

The final breath or lifeless eyes

Our said and sent goodbyes

 

Placed well, this red wreath of poppies

The rose and written elegy

With sincere prayers, upon your stone

In loving memory.

 

I’ve been very agitated lately (and without enough sleep). Monday I have to wait around to answer the phone all day for the lady who needs me to sign final papers for my training program. I might have to set up an appointment with her, or I’ll ask if she can just mail me the papers and I can mail them back. I’m tired of all these strangers I’m supposed to contact. All of this feels….odd to me. I don’t think it’s going to work out. Every major thing I’ve done so far has not worked out. Going to the community college is turning out to be the worst decision I’ve ever made because now I have loans to repay. Therapy was a huge mistake because now that I’ve stopped going I feel pushed even further in the direction I wanted to be helped away from.

It feels inevitable now, you know? If not soon, it will be later, and either way, I just know how it’s going to end.

I have more than twenty left over Zoloft pills I’ve left still sitting on my desk. Why haven’t I thrown them away yet? Sometimes I think of taking one or half of a pill a day again, until they’re all gone and see if I feel better in that time, but I would not be able to get the prescription refilled, and I wouldn’t want to go through the withdrawal again. And still, other times I think of taking all of them at once, but that surely wouldn’t have any worthwhile out come.

I’m alright. What else can I do but wait, for something to finally work out right and actually last.

Lately…

Grief

 

For you, I will keep myself

Tightly chained, with ever

Sharpening self-hate

Held close, in ready blades

  

I am simply too sorry, to

Allow the shame to hide

Killed, is every single thought

Of warm, forgiving light

 

The clear path I walked upon

Dissolves in tears of grief

And I don’t want to heal and

Reemerge so changed or free

 

 

A poem about losing something/someone and not wanting to come back from the despair. I’ve been reading mythology lately, so maybe I can think of some better metaphors and add more color to my words again. With whatever nonsense I might have to say. I’m not feeling too well. Very much at the end of the line, again. By myself for too long, again and again. It’s all real. All terrible and stupid in it’s own way. I should be gone by now.

 

 

 

Just fine…

  

I arose from sleep

Just fine

I stood, and saw through

Healthy eyes

Ready, once again, to try

At living the

Rest of my life

 

A good idea from which to start

With gathered flame,

A steady heart

Express and act the soul

I claim

Through words, paint,

A brush, some clay

 

But today’s shades did not last

By night the sullen numb

Returned

Crazy, stupid

Angels laughed.

Visions,

And faith, burned.

 

I wrote this a few weeks ago, trying to make up different forms and shapes with the words. It’s a poem about waking up with inspiration, openness, willingness, and a decent amount of faith in one’s abilities and creativity, then having all of that die at the end of the day, when things don’t turn out right. When discouragement gets in the way and every idea starts to seem silly and a waste of time. I deal with this a lot. Starting things I at first think are great, then never finishing them because of a gray numb and empty feeling that takes over, and leaves me uninterested.

 

Next week I have one more appointment with my job coach to sign some new required forms, then I have to make an appointment to have an interview with the lady who’ll register me for the training. I don’t know why they want an interview, it has me a little nervous, but what’s the worst that could happen? They can reject me, and I can die saying I tried. I won’t beg for this. I took their little test, passed, signed their papers, and I’ll even make a pledge to fully complete the program if that’s what they want (I already know I will follow through if I’m accepted), but I am not going to get on my knees and beg them for this. Sure, it’s my last real opportunity to make a life for myself, but if it falls through I have another option, and I will certainly take myself up on it. I don’t like to take life as a game, but I know that’s exactly what it is. I can lose so many times, and remain tired and sick for so long before I refuse to take part anymore.

 

For a second there I thought it a good idea to start back up on Zoloft again. But that went out as soon as I remembered that I can’t be prescribed the medication without therapy along side. And I’m not making that mistake again. Therapy fixed nothing for my social anxiety. A doctor can suggest things to me, but I’m not good at applying it all. No one idea or approach is the single best thing anyway. It’s a condition I’ve just got to manage, by any means. I can do it. I haven’t killed myself yet, so something’s working out alright.