Quiet

 

 

Hope is Gone

 

This pit of

All abandonment

Last long, I won’t; the gates of

Forward lock and close

 

Of grief and its sorry weight

I am dark and shapeless

Its leaving has swallowed my suns

I am lost,

Undone in chaos

 

Knotted flow of memory…

Tomorrow does not breathe

Hope is slight; and I am not okay

I won’t be getting up today

 

 

I’m working on new writing now. It sounds different from what I’ve done. There’s less rhyming, and some of it’s sounds even a little silly or strange, which can’t be too bad. This poem above was one I left months ago but have been slowly working on from time to time since. It’s about anything that has left you really, a feeling, a person you rely on or whatever it might be. The dark world depression can throw you into is what it means to me. It could all sound better, but I didn’t want it changed too much from the moment I was writing the idea down. That’s the whole point, to have it as a release, so I didn’t want to lose or change the initial thought behind it all too much. 

 

That photo above is one I took this morning of the ice dripping from some tree branches. The color is edited a little, btw. 

 

Another Extra

I was supposed to go see my new doctor today, but they called and cancelled because of the snow storm that’s coming through. I was hoping that wouldn’t happen but whatever. All I know is that I’m not getting very much done at all with the way my mind has been functioning lately. Maybe I should go outside and freeze in the snow for a while. The cold always seems to make my mind a little sharper.

 

It seems I’m throwing myself into a really big mess. Haven’t all my chances gone by already? And I was too anxious to move. That’s what happened with driving. At sixteen, I was not ready to learn it. It was not my priority. That was graduating from high school, alive and with decent grades, only to spend (to waste) more than a year at a local college. When the root of the problem has always been that I don’t know what I want in life. I know what I’m supposed to want, but I can’t go with those things.

 

I’m just another extra in a world full of them. I don’t need to be here. They say every life is precious or should be treasured, but I think it’s a lot of bullshit to talk about it that way. When there are more people out there like me, who are stuck because they are needed no where, because they have no skills and aren’t in the position to obtain any skills, I hardly see my existence as some kind of blessing or gift to the world. There are so many extras out there ready to be the replacement, so many more that hearing about a death or even several deaths only matters for what seem to be just moments. Then, as strangers, the people looking at a situation from the far outside, we all move on and know we feel nothing the next day. Or am I the only one so cold now….the only one who will admit she doesn’t care because there’s no personal gain in doing so anymore….There are plenty of other people out there to care. No one’s watching what the hell I’m doing anyway.

 

But yeah, it’s nobody’s fault that I’m still here except my own. My thoughts have been paused for a while, maybe because I know I must return to the doctor or because I’ll have to make more appointments soon with new strangers, but I haven’t been as low as I usually am. It’s just been overwhelming numbness and heartlessness. Everything I do to draw myself out of this feels uncomfortable, so I just sit and stare for hours. No writing, a lot of sloppy art (if I bother painting or drawing at all), not very much reading, no music to play. Just sitting and staring at the TV or through my window.

 

I’m tired of being a problem.   

                                                                  

I’ll wait to see

I went for the background check today. Paid almost $60; the last of the money I made from the craft show in November.

I’m actually relieved about my appointment with the doctor on Wednesday. I just feel I should be shoved away in a box somewhere. I don’t seem to care about the time here I was given. I don’t want anything. Not a marriage, not kids, I’m not a good worker, and I have no skills. When you want nothing, how strong do you have to be?

 

It’s hard to put together a point here, but one thing is for sure. I cannot have this year go by with nothing having been done. Something will happen. Everyday feels like the end, and as much as it hurts to wait and see about things, I have to. There’s nothing left but my life to lose now, so I’m going to go through the pain and try to be productive for the next six months.

 

 

 

This picture is one I was going to throw away, but instead I decided to paint it since I was bored. It reminds me of a tarot card in a way, black magic or someone sending evil things out into the night. But really, it’s random so it’s whatever anyone wants to make of it.

 

I’m closing out on my poems now, just a few more to edit. The first one below starts out about a particular death sign/symbol I read about in a book I have, of sighting a butterfly at night. The rest stems from that I guess, wanting the end to come, as usual. I worked closely with this one though- compared to the first draft, I’m very glad about how it turned out.

 

For A Sighting

 

Window I stare out, into night

Butter-fly wings I hope to sight

Flickering in moon’s beam light

       Flirting, the faces of my knife.

 

The late hours wafting mystique

Intense silence, I hardly breathe

Engrossed, in wait of memories,

       Daring them to speak,

 

For even one vision to peek, with

My torturous reality, as spread

In flecks of bloody dream, its

       Deluge of pain filled musings.

   

Ghostlike flames, lantern escape

In mind, here at the end phase

Of dark unshaken promises, I’m

       Safe and the utmost convinced.    

  

 

The second one below is one I’ve been working on for some time, but I’ve accepted that I may never capture the moment I’m trying to express as well as I would like. It’s about how I felt when the first therapist I ever had actually examined the first few, tiny scars on my left arm. I remember feeling completely violated (why I never went back to him), and so angry at myself mainly for allowing the conversation to get that far out of hand. I still hate myself for it, but I’ve learned. No one will ever have that much power over how I feel when it comes to anything on the outside again. People will judge anyway, sure, but that’s going to come back at them, not me. Judgment doesn’t erase what’s happened, and I truly don’t have time to even think about it anymore. Why not just be glad that I write more about my thoughts of hurting myself than I act on them. I have a feeling I’ll be back in therapy within the coming month, as I expect to be back on some kind of medication soon. But maybe this new physician will let me slide on going to therapy…that’s wishful thinking probably, but it would be nice…lol.     

 

His Closer Look

 

My answers were

Soaked in a frozen sweat

Of injuries, not innocent; my

Guilty eyes were swelling red; my

Breathless plea for sudden death

 

I’m studied closely from the start

And shiver from my quickened heart

As a filth-like feel derides my scars

When keen suggestions lean too far

 

Then- lost as the loss of a dear secret

Lies continued to pass my lips

Just deaf enough to get me through

My final words most resolute

 

All hopes of wellness fell in doubt

The sickness flared as I walked out

A ruined, angry quake, I felt

Far redrawn into myself

 

Release

   

      My mom has now left for the weekend. I am surprised at my mood right now, better than expected. Usually I’m very bitter about having to be left behind whenever trips come up like this with the rest of my family. More proof I am a part of nothing. I’ll see how the next three days go though.

Here are a few of the better poems I was talking about before. More imagery I think, and I really enjoyed writing them actually. Oh, and the painting above is one I did yesterday as a way of releasing some bad feelings I was experiencing. Since I can’t come up with any real ideas about what to paint, I think I’ll do more of these random paintings until things change.

Made Scars

 

Marked illicit

Their ashen blend

Carved out offenses

      In figures, grown sick

 

Remnants all over

Arms and back of legs

Shame lost, in the fury

      Of bled distress

 

Small and foolish

They were back then

How vertical and stark

      They’ve become since

 

Impulsive spits, still

My chosen breath….  

Licks for the conflict,

      Deterrents of death….

 

 —

 

Untitled (no good ideas yet)

 

Sharp suit of secrecy

My crime and chaos hide

In the quiet fall of mercy

Wounds screaming open wide

 

Rich in golden coated lies

The succulence of wasted time

Splattered angels, thief of wings

Vicious, bitter flavored dreams

 

Broken light of stone thick clouds

Illuminations sharply sound

Decisive piercing through the veil

Mirror of memory impaled

 

The leveling, distract of pain

Another clean and open bleed

Mists a quiet shame filled haze

The storm is settling.  

 

 

New, but old really

The appointment yesterday won’t keep me from moving forward with the training, but it did open up a lot of shame  that I thought was being let go. It was like the lady was trying to tell me I was not the kind of person for this program, let alone the actual job, based on everything I don’t have. I already know how sorry my life looks on the outside, that’s the whole damn reason I’m doing any of this at all.

Worrying about the training has not pulled me away from writing though. I have to finish these poems, just for a sense of closure. So that if and when I do start classes, I won’t feel so tempted to escape away from studying, or whatever else I’ll have to do.

These here are not the best of the newer ones (actually, none of the new ones are better. I think I’ve already written the best I can do…), but they all have some kind of little point.  I haven’t had a lot of confidence in what I’ve written lately, so even as these may be terrible, they took a while to edit. I can’t think very well right now…..

The Guise

 

You give more than take

Forced smiles for the other’s sake

All’s well; pretend a steady mind

Lose yourself within each lie

 

But clearly, something’s not alright

If they must ask a thousandth time

Are you okay? You say ‘just fine’

With heavy, cold and shadowed eyes

 

Giving so much, for this life you hate

Those guilt ridden wounds you create

Are more than screams, more than escape

More than moods you can’t explain

 

What’s false is broken willingly

For truth can breathe, beneath the bleed

From all distractions you may try

Remains, the rotting sick inside 

—

(Untitled still…)

Blood, ink quotes

Soaked envelope,

A deep, lifeless fold

 

Set in stone

And laid in show

Entries to be told

 

The moon’s glow

Of farewell low

A past is in close

 

Still and cold

The end is so; hushed

Departs the soul

—

 

Inflict

 

Shadow I’ve become, the

Worst is no longer enough

My patience, rope to string

In honest gestures of defeat

 

As good was small and clean

Harmless and hidden well

Yet, I favor the sweet gleam

Of great damage and depth

 

An open wrist for judgment

My numb and listless form

Restless with an expert edge, 

Smeared across the floor is the 

 

Gore of strengthened voices,

Of self destructive noises that

Emptied every lie; I’m soaked

In punishment and crime

 

            Same old ideas, I know. I can’t break myself away.  

Despondent

           I just came back from the appointment I set. This training program will be overwhelming, as she described it as being a college course cramped into twelve weeks. I will have to breathe every moment in what it’s all about. The professional side must be kept up and I’ve got to lie, if I want work.

Like I said, I just came back from hearing all about it and I know this job is not for me. She described it as “meeting different kinds of people all the time” as a way to shade it as an exciting aspect to the job. All that’s screaming in my head now is how big of a problem my anxiety has shown itself to be. I can’t do this course without taking medication, it is an absolute fact now that I’ve heard what I have. I kept listening to her talk on and on about the requirements and demands and felt myself detaching. I was not breathing or really appreciating anything she was saying at all.

I can’t do anything and have it work out. Not when it comes to getting my life together, having a career. I hate knowing that I’ve got to go through this course knowing it’s not right for me. Knowing my anxiety and depression will be a problem in the long run. Honestly, as I was being driven home by my father (who I willingly never speak to unless I need a ride somewhere), I fell into the usual place of dark comforting thoughts. The truth is what will literally end my life. She kept pushing me about my work experience until I blatantly said I have none, and I told her I don’t lie about it. So what’s my worth here? If I have no work experience and can’t get work experience and on top of it all I have social anxiety which makes me not want a job in the first place, why the hell am I here? Society has no place for the kind of spare I am.  

I must have a physical, like I thought, but also I have to pay for a background check and uniform scrubs. And what if the doctor fills out the portion on the medical certificate about there being any emotional problems that would prevent me from completing this course? They should fill that part out I guess, I hope, because it would show everyone that yeah, there is something wrong with me as I’ve always suspected. Something so wrong that I’ve made it to 19 without ever having had a job, without driving, without really living the way everyone would expect… and above all, that I have nothing but suicidal thoughts, no matter what I’m doing to improve things.  

But I will tell my mother I’ll do everything they ask, despite how I feel, but also without extending myself to pretend anymore than necessary. It’s a certain kind of misery, right. If only I could believe I am important enough, or if I could just snap my fingers and be happy and stop complaining and just live and do what others do so easily…. 

My mother leaves friday to visit her sister for the weekend. All the time in the world.

No choice but to try…

This poem is a few weeks old. It reminds me a lot of the way I used to write when I first started out (not in any good way). But I’m getting far on completing everything else finally. I’ll post one of the better ones (well, in my opinion) very soon. Anyway, this one may seem like a cluster of random thoughts that sort of reflect the present in my life-with becoming a part of things that I know won’t work out and feeling as if I am always passed over for something.  

 

Finished

 

A clear mind, ambition to prove

Bound to something sure to break through

The sane and shadow continue to fight

I lean toward the mercy of my

Dark side

 

My line of heart is short, unworn

The sewn illusions of any plan, torn

I’ve got those eyes and I’ve got that face

Good things present themselves

Too late

 

With a few fruitless relationships to sever

(As nothing deserves to live forever)

Their dead drenched wings, in final sacrifice

Extinguished suggestions; just

Take my life

 

Tomorrow at 10am I have the appointment for registration. I was told to take a free speed typing test online and print the results so the coordinator can see how far my skills are. I’m of course not as fast as I should probably be, but I am practicing now. 

 

I really want her to get straight to the point about the medical requirments though. But really, this whole thing is starting to look weaker to me. What if I am really just not good at this job I’ll be learning? It’ll be not only time wasted, but if I fail it’ll be a missed opportunity someone else could have had in my place. 

 

I’ve got no choice but to try though. I’m glad I left my community college when I did because it cut down on wasted time. I’m not going to be happy with anything I decide to go through with because I’m not too happy to even be alive, but even so, I want the things I do to make better sense. Going to that college for a degree I didn’t care about did not make sense. This job training program does. And if it falls through, I won’t know what to tell anyone anymore. 

    

More unpleasantness someone should hate me for.

 

I finally made the appointment I’ve been trying to make for three weeks now. I should be registered for the training program at the school on Tuesday.  

 

It’s getting harder to sit in silence. Thoughts are starting to creep around again. I am disappointed I’m not gone from here. Dead and gone from all of this. I will likely have to have a physical soon. It’ll be with a different doctor at an urgent care place where no one has ever seen me before. Maybe then (if I have the nerve, which I probably won’t) I will be able to ask for another prescription for anxiety. Mask it as anxiety being the primary problem, when really it’s the depression I’m having a hard time handling. But I don’t know what I’m really saying; this is not going to last very long. I already know nothing works, so why am I grasping for what has already failed? It’s insanity. So never mind.

 

Next week I’ll cut back on my eating and hopefully get all these medical requirements out of the way without any questions and just wait for classes to begin in March. This is probably the worst time so far in my life to have another physical. Knowing how much I worry and that it’s because of scars, from self-inflicted wounds. I’ve brought the distress to this situation and I hate myself more for it.

 

I don’t want to be triggered to do something terrible, but at the same time I do, so badly. I’m tired of feeling tears well up in my eyes. And there are too many people on the planet anyway. I’m just another spare who’ll never be needed. I only wonder when now. I’m using left over scraps to write with, finishing up what I started. Writing has been the one thing that’s really mattered, and now that I’m empty of emotion and experience, I’ve got to step back and accept how far I got, and move on, probably away from this life altogether.

 

Every moment feels a bit unreal now. Some say I am weak for wanting to give up. Maybe so. Maybe they know how to keep from getting so sick, and they truly are perfect. But can’t I just be tired of this? Why do I have to be weak? I don’t want this anymore. And as much as some people want to think they are better, and ‘stronger’, I’d love to remind them that they will die as well, no matter how strong they claim to be or how long they make it past in life. It just seems as if some people go to sleep feeling so good or proud that they weren’t that weak person that gave up and died from suicide. I’m not making sense at all, and I shouldn’t try to explain myself anymore but I keep wondering how many more ways can I be wrong and unfit to be here? So much of it cannot be fixed and none can be erased. I just feel hated and very unwanted, in the way, burdensome, and so tired of holding it all in or covered up. Tired of hanging around like a fool. Nothing new here, just more of my complaining….

“Red Tears for the Rising Sun”

  

This is the drawing I did for that line from my poem. It’s only one way of many to interpret it, and I’m really talking about something else from what the image literally is, but anyway. I needed something to work on, and I’m glad I didn’t mess it up while painting.

The Mid-Point

I’m not sure if I’ve ever posted this image here, but I named it Decay after the fact when writing one of my poems with the same name. The original painting looked nothing like this, and I don’t even have it anymore. There’s nothing left of it except this edited version.

 

 

The tighter rope is round my neck

The better I can breathe

Faster the heal and met wellness

The longer I must bleed

 

Yes, I blinded myself with light

The hopeful and all good

Yes, I tried and gave it time

As they say you always should

 

But tell me where the mid-point was

From peace to grievous screams

From living through my decisions

To feeling so deceased

 

Healthy ways did not feel right

And faith became my failure

To fight a desire to die

In pain, so long endured

 

I just wrote this a few days ago, so it sounds sort of like a journal entry probably, but anyway. It’s about wondering when exactly good feelings and hopes all started to seem like negative things in my eyes. When pain and darkness, and feeling low became something I’d preffer over the brighter parts of life. It may seem strange but I can’t explain it any other way. I just wonder sometimes when exactly everything started falling apart. I guess it gets lost when you’ve got one failure right after the other, disappointments all over the place. The beginning of it no longer even matters.