I am not the only one To come off the long binge Of consuming life Heap of bones and padding Moving through thick waters Heat rising in me like a crisis —————————- I am not the only one To wake at dawn From bad, strange dreams I would never speak aloud For fear of interpretation Proof…
Little boy lost in a sea of tears
Tears we shed for you
Tears we held back from you
What to do about Danny?
Send him away
Straighten him out
Get him to rehab
Drive him to the DOT
Fill out paperwork
Listen to the gibber-jabber of his street talk
“What are you talkin’ about?”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Stop it, Danny, and act like a normal person.”
“But, you will never understand my pain, sister.”
We all have pain, we all have our crosses to bear.
When I think of his last hours I feel the despair, the hopelessness, the inferiority, the self-hate but I don’t feel the addiction. That was his alone. Others share that feeling of addiction, that compulsion to just get high one more time. I guess I was lucky. And, unlucky too. Because I know what the depths of depression can do your mind. Everyone an enemy. Pain, pain, pain everyday. We tried to help him get straight. We tried to encourage him for his child’s sake, his own sake. I didn’t like him when he was high. He talked street talk I couldn’t understand. And, when he was straight, he was stiff and uncomfortable and just waiting to get away from us. His brothers and sisters and mother. Now, I pray for his soul. I pray for peace and comfort and light.
Why would anyone want to get out of their cozy bed at 4 in the morning unless their job demanded it or a sick child needed their help? I like the morning. It’s quiet, peaceful. The promise of a new day. But this is ridiculous. I am ruled by the moon and the ocean. Always changing with the tides. It doesn’t matter what manner of drug I take the night before to get 7 or 8 hours of sleep — the outcome is always the same. It works for a little while, then, it doesn’t. My sleep clock adjusts to a “normal” schedule, then I get bouts of early awakenings which screw up most of my day. I feel really special sometimes even though I have this illness. I dreamt that I was playing a game with my friends just before I woke up this morning. We were counting the different ways the neighborhood dogs barked when we ran past their gates to tease them a bit. I woke up with a bit of dread, but also a sense of vigilance today. Be careful, watch out for your children, keep your family safe. Very strange. This is the way I was made. Who can ever change that?
All the past rejections stir as soon as it happens.
Somehow, I feel “less-than,” “undeserving.”
The very core of my being is assaulted by the feeling.
“Use your coping skills,” I tell myself.
I have an arsenal that I have developed over the years and years of depression and anxiety. Prayer, meditation, yoga, sunshine, planting, music.
This isn’t even “my” rejection. It’s someone else who has been rejected. A part of my soul, a part of my identity, a part of my family. It stills stabs me like I took the blow. I wish I could take the blow and save her from this pain. But, I can’t.
Beautiful sister- take out your arsenal of love and the power of the Holy Spirit to heal you. Ask for God’s loving guidance. Pray for protection from your guardian angel. That’s my plan. Now, I want you to do the same.
This morning I awoke to the sounds of my two man-child sons shouting at each other. Why are they arguing, I thought. I must get up and find out what’s going on. Why is Erik here? So early in the morning? I put my robe on and padded down the stairs only to find that he wasn’t in the house and the other man-child was still sleeping. This is a very weird, strange symptom of narcolepsy. Does it ever get better?