I. Am. Not.

 I.

Am.

Not.

Okay.

I feel it in my bones,

In my chest- in my soul.

The vibration is so high, 

So intense,

So overwhelming. 

I don't want to say it out loud,

Because then,

I have to 

Feel it.

See it.

Hear it.

Be it.

But...

I 

Am

Not

Okay.

I'd rather suffer in silence,

Than break in the spotlight -

And maybe that will be my demise.

I love that I hate it,

I'm shaking, and aching. 

I'm screaming at the top of my lungs,

But only inside. 

Clawing and kicking, 

And screaming- believing...

That maybe,

In the next moment,

It'll pass.

But then I'm found spiraling, 

On all of those wild things-

That make me and break me instead.

Empathy for The Abuser

 As a survivor of abuse,

I find myself, at time, not often,

But sometimes...

Checking in on my abuser, from afar.

Occasionally asking the mutual friend if anything is new with them,

Sometimes taking a glance at facebook...

And then I catch myself overwhelmed with empathy... re-playing the emotions of "They're not that bad... was I over-reacting? Did I make them look bad? I hope they're OK... I hope they've healed... I wonder if people still see me as a naive girl making up stories..."

But then it's like reality smacks me in the face.

What I went through was not OK.

The physical & emotional abuse and manipulation scarred me deep. Sure, I've done work to heal... yes, I'm thriving... but there is always a little seed of doubt that was planted, watered,  rooted, and grown by my abuser.

But then I think of her gentle eyes, and soft smile... the one she gave me when things were good... or when things got heated, then calmed down... and I wonder "Was it genuine? Could she really not control it?"

But then the facts hit me again.

Knife against throat. 

Choked until unconscious.

Thrown down stairs.

Hit in the face.

Stolen from.

Cut me off from friends and family.

Made "rules" that I had to live by.

Threatened self-harm as a way to control me.

Threatened harm, and death to me as a way to control me.

Cheated on and told it was my fault.

.

.

.

I was so lost.

So sad.

So thin.

So caught up. 

So sick.

So tired.

.

.

.

Will I ever lose the empathy I have for my abuser though? 

Ramblings on a Saturday

 I don't feel comfort in anything, anymore.

Except maybe this tiny orange oval pill.

But even that, in which I pretend to find comfort, 

Doesn't seem to take the edge off like it used to. 

Touch, for the most part, makes my insides squirm.

Affection, makes me nervous and uneasy.

I feel like I want to crawl out of my skin, and maybe then, life would be a breeze

If only for a moment. 

I don't know what it's like to sleep,

In my bed,

Without waking up with a clenched jaw.

It seems that only in foreign beds,  I get a wink of deep sleep.

My body hurts,

I feel the tension in each muscle, each joint... just trauma circulating not knowing where to go.

I am disgusted in the comfort I've found in my recent size... because I am not comfortable, even though I've allowed myself to sit here, instead of starve myself like I would have just a few short years ago. 

How

I 

Wish

I

Could

Starve.

Maybe then, I would feel more in control.

But I feel detached...

Tethering away from my body,

Floating away,

Dispersing as a "soul."

I ache.

I ache like a wretched hag.

One who is lonely and lost in the woods...

But finds peace in the nature and the liveliness of the wild animals around her.

I yearn.

For this limbo-like feeling to flee.

I just want to be wild again...

And when I get glimpses of it, I feel free.

How do I break free again? 

Without shattering my entire life...

Maybe ridding of all that is "my life" is the answer.

Maybe a clean slate,

Like asphalt after a warm summer rain...

So fresh, so warm, so grounding.

Let me be...

Free.

Deal with the Devil

 I had a glass of whiskey with the Devil.

She told me her secrets,

I promised to keep them,

Under one condition. 

She'd give me her heart,

In exchange for my silence,

And shower me in roses and lust until the night ended.

But you see in her world,

The night never ends.

The stars always shine, and the moon never sets.

So lust and roses became my norm,

While the rest of the world, lived blissfully in ignorance.

My romance with the Devil is a delicate treat,

Her skin soft as butter, and her lips honey sweet.

 Her body moves oceans, and ripples the tide.

Her moans sound like thunder on dark stormy nights.

Her ecstasy is the lightening- that surrounds the spark in my soul. 

I made a deal with the Devil, and I'll never let it go.

What is My Lesson?

 What is my lesson?

Why must I love those that struggle with the venom of addiction?
Why must my soul be torn, tattered, and tortured?
My love is all encompassing, and unconditional.
My heart, though bruised, continues to be given away by my own doing.

I dig deep, only to find scars that run deeper than this lifetime.
Losses that have molded my soul.
I am on the brink of a breakthrough, spiritually and emotionally, and it terrifies me.

What will this journey look like?
What will this lesson teach me?
Will my heart learn to thrive in the pain, or succumb to its grip?

Morning Memphis Meditation

 Woke up in a different state,

A different state of mind.

Crickets chirp, and roosters sing

A song of simple times.

Coffee fills my senses,

Overflowing with pure bliss.

Taking in this slower pace,

And matching breath with it.

Soul Search

 What am I doing?

Where am I going?

Who am I?

Cycles

Circles

Soul Search