Thursday Thoughts with a Side of Poetry ~ 6/23/22

I have always written to release the hounds. I graduated from a cute little diary with lock and key to spiral notebooks. At the start, I had no idea why I was compelled to put pen to paper. For me, the writing process was therapeutic. A time of slowing down the thoughts into some semblance of organization, to make sense of the chaos forever swirling in my brain.

In a recent Swedish death clean, I reread my spirals, then promptly recycled them. Destroyed the evidence of my wild crazy days. Ah to be young again. But I digress. The purge saves Pony and Lulu from having to decide what to do with my things. I want to spare them that duty.

Sounds like I’m preparing to die y’all because now I can die happy. Something very small and inconsequential to others has happened to me to validate my existence. When I say die, I mean figuratively die (or let go). Though I’ve yet to receive a proper diagnosis which makes anything possible but I’m managing day by day.

Okay, time to land the plane. Throughout my childhood journals, I doodled, copied quotes, and wrote poetry. Scattered all among the prose where pearls of wisdom that I collected by observing everyday life. Like no other form of writing, poetry was where any bad feelings flowed onto the page. If journaling worked before to keep the pain at bay, maybe it’ll work again? Dusting off my mad skillz. Without further ado, here goes nothing …

my heart is full

overflowing

creating a palpable

sense of urgency

to make up for

what might have been

hide what hurts

deep inside

for what was lost

erasure

never final

until done

I might refer back here as a landing page for my Get Real series where I plan on sharing more of my “stuff”. Or not. I’m still on the fence.

As always, more to come.

Reflections about Blogging from A to Z April 2022 Challenge ~ 5/5/22

The world is burning while Nero fiddles … I mean Rome burned while Nero fiddles. Boy what a rough start. I’m sure I’ll be mixing messages and spewing nonsense but feels like we are living in nonsensical times. Orwellian as my buddy KR said this morning. I just could not get up my gumption to reflect before now. Trivial … everything seems trivial. Oy vey!

I truly enjoyed the challenge this year because I mixed haiku with music, two of my most favorite things. Writing those posts was like free therapy. I didn’t get around to reading as much as I had hoped with life intervening, even before this more recent terrible awful, but I plan to take a very in depth road trip pretty soon.

Please pretend my feature image says 2022. I know it doesn’t but my media is about topped off. I wanted the Winner badge and felt like I didn’t have room for two. Of course now I need to figure out what to do with the coveted Winner badge. I figured it out once upon a time and hope to do so again. In the meantime, I’ll add this gem right here.

Hope You Fickle Bitch

HOPE

I see you standing there all sassy and ready to go

Making me think change is possible after all this time

Years of denial broke open like an oyster

Inside mother of pearl

Iridescent not quite shiny but faded shimmer in and out

Done with all the mental mind games

Calling it out

You’re not to blame

YOU

ARE

NOT

TO

BLAME

You’ve got issues of your own to own

Pun intended

 

 

 

Lame Attempt At Poetry

Often said

there’s a fine line

between 

love and hate

between

joys and tears

when all seems lost

up is down

down is up

directions to nowhere

emotions flowing

through her veins

the smell of worry

emits from her pores

incessant thoughts 

that just won’t end

time for action

resistance 

is futile

acceptance 

a dream

Random Musings ~ 5/4/19

Should I worry that I noticed myself wanting to write 2017 when it’s really 2019? Is there a term for that affliction? Where does one draw the line between simple forgetfulness and the beginning of something worse?

Oh my here we go.

I’m sure I’ve got something … worse … Ugh.

I am switching gears because this is my new thing and I can change the direction of my vicious thoughts anytime I want. Besides the sun is back out so I got nothing to be wa wa about.

I had plans today and I’ve completely blown them off in favor of going through my DVR to catch up, writing, surfing, and everything that is not my original plan.

There is something to this brooding, doom and gloom, and serious introspection that I must truly enjoy to my core. Why else would I do it? It’s filling some kind twisted need. And I’m enjoying myself. And maybe doing nothing doesn’t always have to be a pity party? Maybe doing nothing is a form of self-care?

Yep. That’s it. Now I will close with my lame attempt at poetry.

Wallowing in pity

Serves no purpose

Knowing and doing

Are very different things

What will it take?

To spark some reaction

Why does it have

To be this way?

See y’all on the flip side.

As always more to come.

Confession is Good for the Soul

I feel a restlessness

In my soul

Ready for everything

And nothing at all

Caught in a tail spin

Of perfect deception

Time to get moving

Forgive my transgressions

Folks it has been one of those days, weeks, months, or years <insert Friends theme song so they know you’re okay>.  Some may know the signs.  Good days, bad days, good days, bad days cycling around the hamster wheel of life.  I know what to do to break the cycle but my pig headed stubbornness has got me back here.  To this place I’d rather not be.

Two people in the last two days told me “Nobody Cares” in response to something I care  irrationally but deeply about.  Okay then.  I admit it.  I certainly COULD care less.  I certainly SHOULD care less.  I certainly want to eat a whole sleeve of effing Oreos.

Then I saw where a FB friend posted about the signs of Perfectly Hidden Depression (PHD).  I thought hey, I resemble that remark.  I looked further and found this article.   In the article is a questionnaire that I took.  I scored more than 12 y’all.  Boo for me 😦

However I would say that my D is not PH.  My D has reared its’ ugly head once or twice upon a time.  My current status is power through.  In attempts to be treated, I have admitted a few things to a few people and doing so has always backfired on me.

There is such stigma to needing help.  I would not wish mental illness on my worst enemy but I do wish everyone could have a preview into that dark world to help garner understanding. “Snap out of it” “Get over it” Well duh?  Of course.  Why didn’t I think of that?  I DID!!!  I KNOW!!! But knowing and doing are two different things.

I will close with this.  Don’t cry for me Argentina.  I am one of the lucky ones.  Counting those blessings (classic sign) through gritted teeth.  I have a support system (I try very hard not to use said system) but I have one.  They are worth more than gold.  If you need someone to listen, I am here.  We are not alone.

As always, more to come.

A Poem About Anxiety

Sitting in the metaphorical dirt

That clouds my racing brain

Wondering how I got here

Again and again and again

Nothing seems to work

To keep the doubts at bay

Fear is the only constant

And my tears that I hide away

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I know I am not alone.  And I know that my “issues” do not surpass anyone else’s.  All is relative mi amigos and amigas.  For as long as I can remember, my “stuff” wasn’t important.  I dealt by making jokes and minimizing my feelings.  Why should I complain when what is happening to other people around the world is absolutely atrocious?  I mean c’mon.  Read the news.  If you do, you know I got nothing.

Ah but I do.  And the dam is about to break.  My heavy aching flood of emotions have been contained far too long.

As always, more to come.