The Ripple of Kindness

In far too many ways, life has suppressed me as of late. The world has left me strung out and tired, exhausted of all the things that I used to define myself by. I traded in writing words of meaning, to scribbling flawed equations. I hung up my guitar and picked up shifts at a part time job. I put my mental health on the line for academics. I feel so conflicted as I write this, because I’m doing just that – writing. It feels void and null and fruitless. As boney as my fingers that ache with starvation, for the wonderful words they used to spin. I used to be a writer, I think. Now, I’m not so sure.

But I did have a moment of enlightenment today, inside the dark confines of my dead-end-part-time job. I was serving a lady and her son, he couldn’t have been more than four. Having a child is already exhausting enough, back to school shopping is even worse I am sure. I noticed the tiredness in her eyes, but of course I didn’t mention it. Her son was cute. Really cute actually. Very quiet and almost seldom. I forgot to ring in one of the items (one of those weird, long erasers that don’t actually do anything) before proceeding to check her out (I’m not incompetent at my job, I’m just tired). The lady quickly returned and mentioned I forgot to ring it in, however, the customer behind her jumped it.

“Just add it to my bill.”

“Oh no, really it’s fine. I can do it.”

“No, just let me pay for it. It’s only an eraser.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you so much, really. Thank you.”

“No problem, dear.”

Where I’ve Been, Where I Am, Where I Want to Be

It’s three completely different things. I am not where I once was, nor is where I am where I want to be. I suppose thats the way of journey and self discovery is trying to reach that sacred place of content. Nirvana. Happiness as if it were the destination.

I have worked tirelessly for the past four months and as of late it all feels fruitless. It was a rough second semester at University, struggling with a chronic illness and competing against 300 other students all in the same program willing to push you down when you look like you’re tripping. My success is now marked in terms of a whole, an average of these bright young minds, who have much more energy to study than I. Suddenly, doing my best is not enough. I feel like I’m grasping at straws trying to get enough leverage to just get through these next few weeks and pass my courses.

I hope.

I haven’t had time to worry about myself. Or indulge in the simple things like reading or writing for pleasure. It’s been all academic. A part of me was lost in those long nights of studying. As if the tests sucked the ingenuity and creativity from my essence itself. Somewhere along the way I lost myself.

I’m lost. And being lost is not the place I want to be.

I want to thrive as a human, with dignity and grace. I want to be content with myself physically and emotionally. I want to know that I am doing my best and that it is enough. Because when you’re lost. Is it enough?

Is it ever enough?

My English professor told me at the end of the term:

Keep reading. Keep writing. Keep being you

But who am I? Who am I outside of these trivial books and courses about calculus and mechanics? We grow with change. We change in the face of adversary. And I think its due time that I grant myself the satisfaction of discovering myself once again.

I will keep being me. Whoever that is.

Bandaid

It’s like an extension of the body,
Smooth, and soft, and nearly supple. Protective like a cloud from the harsh sun
For the little city that thrives underneath.
It’s like a second layer of skin.
Except sticky and stinging, straining itself
Like the city bridge stretching over
The dark, dark, murky water below.
It aches with a sharp pang
As I feel the little rivulettes collect-
Form together as if it were a dam,
Ready to burst and drown everything.
I blink like a short circuit – current of panic.
Like the dam burst – staining everything red.
I wonder what the city under the cloud is like now.
What will the roads look like after the flood?

Little Friends

Where have you gone, my little friends?
Has our dependency come to end?

Are you hiding in the shadows over there?
Or are you on the dusty dresser by the stairs?
Are you in the unswept floor, or in the trash?
Oh, I have lost you! Please come back.

Peek-a-boo! Friends! Come out and play!
I haven’t seen you in almost more than a day.
Your love is the one that I foolishly adore
It’s warm numbness I crave- more! More! More!

Little friends where have you gone?
Have you found new homes to haunt when the nights are long?

My longing leaves a bitter taste,
Like expired chalk gone to waste.
But the way it all slips past my lips,
I don’t need other friends than this.

I’ve got plenty of little friends you see,
I love them and they love me.
They’re white and orange and blue and red,
And so they get along with what’s inside my head.

Madness, madness, can’t you see?
I need pills so I can breathe.
I need pills so I can sleep.
I need pills to set me free.

Little Victories

It’s the small things, really; that give us the momentum we need to keep moving forward. Tiny feats worth celebrating that make your heart swell three times as big as it should be.

All because you kept breathing.
All because you’re alive.
All because of the tiny victories.

The year passed in a blur – faded images of heartbreak, sadness, remorse. But vivid memories of success, pride, contentment… happiness.  The clock strikes midnight at the beginning of another book – 365 blank pages ready to be filled with the words of my life. It’ll be a book about my accomplishments, the things that kept me going: the little things. I’ll learn not to dwell on the circumstances of my failures, but rather the strength it took to overcome them. All the blood work that made me wonder if there was any left in me to test. All the MRI scans with black and white blotches that meant nothing to me. All the prescriptions that piled up and nearly drowned me in medication. All the waiting for bad news from the doctor.  Despite all of it,  despite the diseases and disorders, I was successful in my endeavours. I may not have been outstanding in regards to academics, but I didn’t let the failures in such things keep me down.

I’m proud of my little victories. They keep me alive.

The Night Shift

I remember many nights when the chill of winter froze my small, frail bones. Just like the way my heart would race when I saw the soft glow of light creep through the cracks of my bedroom door. My tiny hands would grip the blanket in a tight, clammy grasp, pulling the comforter up under my chin. I would close my eyes and pretend I was asleep. All just to hear my mothers voice.

don’t say anything.

This is a really beautiful post. It hits close to home, especially since I was diagnosed with anxiety/depression and then later diagnosed with ankylosing spondilitis. The pain never goes away but you learn to cope and deal with it. It’s not easy for anyone, especially when it never goes away.
This is such a well written piece I had to share it.

Not Enough Spoons

Trace the moment back to where it all began,

before hope washed away like waves with the sand.

As it slips through my grasp,

I know you can’t help but laugh, as you smirk at the past-

And know you’ve made a fool out of me.

 

As I lay on the floor, my heart on the table,

These words cut me open I hope that I’m able-

To manage something smooth-

To tell you the truth, about these things you do.

With the way that you love me you’re making a fool out of me.

 

I can hold my life in a spoon, it’s what I’ve had to do-

To get through the day, or pretend to be okay.

But I don’t have enough, no I don’t have enough,

To waste another moment on you.

 

 

You Are More Than You Think

One of the things I always see in those I love is their inability to see how truly wonderful they are. It’s as if they’re too busy belittling their value to notice all the good they’ve done, are doing and will do. I’m dedicating this piece to two of my friends – two girls who got me through many a rough time. Two of my best friends who don’t know just how much I love them.

Never in my life have I seen such a great feat of injustice than the way the world treats her. After all she’s given to those around her, she struggles to break even. As time dwindles on, her life is slowly depleting, with every act of kindness draining her of her own compassion and love. She was immune to it herself – having sacrificed so much for so long, she forgot what it was like to receive happiness. To be cared about. She began to believe that she never mattered or that she was the common factor of disappointment. I would stand outside with flowers through hurricane and blizzard if it meant that she would believe again. Believe me that she is worth it. Believe me that she worthy of love: to love and be loved. Believe in me. Believe in herself.
There is no one who can hold a candle to her selflessness. Never have I seen someone sacrifice the better part of themselves for someone else expecting, anticipating, nothing at all in return. I feel as though I have become her loan shark, her tax collector – filled with a bloodlust to bleed those who wronged her dry. An assassin of sorts perhaps. Maybe a thief- but only to steal the love that they stole.
Before long, she began to crack and become brittle after being spread so thin. Many moons later I still pray that I’m not too late to mend the pieces of shattered hopes and dreams back together, or at least some semblance of a brighter future.
She is incredible. She deserves more than the world can offer. She deserves more than my rusted frail heart and defective spine. But I’ll be the best I can be for her – always – or at least as long as she needs me. The world spins in says that prove fairness is but a concept. Nothing is truly fair. We have to balance the scales ourselves. Fight tooth and nail with others, authority, ourselves, to get the lives we deserve. But I can see her newly faded battle scars and I have add the choice to join her movement, not my own. Because never in my life have I seen a person who deserved everything.

Child Support

I don’t know how to feel about growing up these days. It’s exhilarating to feel independent and alive for once in my life. But as time goes on, the rose tint of reality starts to dim. The world isn’t the sunny place it used to be. I am forced to hear the truth, see the truth, and speak the truth of what is around me. For all the people who said that “growing up sucks”: I can attest to that.