Fulcrum –

“There is darkness inside all of us, though mine is more dangerous than most. Still, we all have it—that part of our soul that is irreparably damaged by the very trials and tribulations of life. We are what we are because of it, or perhaps in spite of it. Some use it as a shield to hide behind, others as an excuse to do unconscionable things. But, truly, the darkness is simply a piece of the whole, neither good nor evil unless you make it so.” ― Jenna Maclaine, Bound By Sin
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petitecem
Building my life on this fulcrum, everything I have hangs the precarious balance of needing you and needing to get away from you. Tainted is the air I breath and colored is the pain I have with the odorous stain of you. Pride bends low in wet mornings on foundation decks with those whose pain I’ve far surpassed. They’re hardened, unable to feel the pain anymore, as for me, I just got here, not so long ago, when the crucible of your hot irons scalded me into blind submission to you. I called my mother and asked her when the pain would stop, it’s been years since I’ve seen you. Yet, it’s like an hour ago I nursed the burns and savored the pleasure of you. Songs on the radio bring tears to my eyes, every sweet moment of tenderness I glimpse between lovers brings a knot to my throat, a wrenching in my gut, and a fresh trail of moist sorrow from my eyes that runs down my neck and seeps under my shirt. In the routine of living, where mourning was a stranger, are found new altars of sadness. Shaking from holding back the tears, the doctor says he can’t get the MRI to take a good picture. I’m partying with good friends, but I’m hollow, so I go outside for some fresh air and to shed more drops of missing you. They say, “Quit your whining. Jesus, everyone goes through shit!”, but you know, sometimes the shit just gets to be too much, too often, and too long. I’d not be the first strong one to break under the pressure of love gone wrong. I won’t break and to live isn’t hard, but to love you and love another is the tortuous path ahead of me and a balance I must achieve.
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Also published in Broowaha
First published in Opinionsofeye.com

 

The Uncool One – Struggling with an addict

You know me, I’m the “uncool” one, the “buzz kill” because I tell you to stop drinking and drugging. I tell you I can’t go out because I have to work the next day. I’m such a “drag” because I’m taking care of responsibilities and can’t follow you into the “party life”. Your so tired of me “putting on the brakes” in your life of craziness. But, who do you call on when the shit hits the fan? Who has to put up the bond for you when your in jail? Who do you cry to when you’ve been up for 3 days (or more), your head cant take it, and your coming apart at the seams. Who do you call when the police pull you over? Who do you call for commissary or for a visit when your lonely cause your down for a nickel and everyone else has forgotten about you? Who do you borrow money from to eat, or get gas, or buy tampons, or get cigarettes (the ones that burned my couch, my floor, my vanity, my bed, my car, my skin?)? I ask you to come to meetings with me (church, counseling, NA, AA, etc.), and you laugh, you don’t have time for that “boring shit”. I want to do something besides drink and get high and fight, but your “bored” and want to “have fun” before you die. It’s the “uncool” one in your life that you lean on when the police slap on the cuffs, so be nice to us….signed, the “uncool one”

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The Uncool One – Struggling with an addict

You know me, I’m the “uncool” one, the “buzz kill” because I tell you to stop drinking and drugging. I tell you I can’t go out because I have to work the next day. I’m such a “drag” because I’m taking care of responsibilities and can’t follow you into the “party life”. Your so tired of me “putting on the brakes” in your life of craziness. But, who do you call on when the shit hits the fan? Who has to put up the bond for you when your in jail? Who do you cry to when you’ve been up for 3 days (or more), your head cant take it, and your coming apart at the seams. Who do you call when the police pull you over? Who do you call for commissary or for a visit when your lonely cause your down for a nickel and everyone else has forgotten about you? Who do you borrow money from to eat, or get gas, or buy tampons, or get cigarettes (the ones that burned my couch, my floor, my vanity, my bed, my car, my skin?)? I ask you to come to meetings with me (church, counseling, NA, AA, etc.), and you laugh, you don’t have time for that “boring shit”. I want to do something besides drink and get high and fight, but your “bored” and want to “have fun” before you die. It’s the “uncool” one in your life that you lean on when the police slap on the cuffs, so be nice to us….signed, the “uncool one”

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Those Thoughts Again – The ravages of shame

 “Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.” 
candylady

Shame, a burning feeling in my cheeks, in my mind, in my skin. I feel like everyone knows my mistake. I can’t believe I stooped so low; that I wouldnt listen to the voice inside that keeps me safe, (or so I thought); that I would betray myself by being in that position. It wasn’t always me. I didn’t ask for that situation or do anything wrong. But still the shame persists. A constant nagging burning feeling that makes me feel less than, less than anything. It burns through all my identities, creating a self hating monster inside of me. I can’t stop the negative thoughts about me. About how I look, about how others must see me, about how I am, about how I behave. It takes away my feeling of safety. I’m no longer comfortable in my skin. How can I forget it? It comes at me when I’m unguarded. Driving down the road, in the middle of a party, walking to my house, praying, when I’m kissing my mate, when I’m making love. It always hits me hard, the burning feeling almost taking me completely out of the game, making each breath painful. It takes all I have to stand up, to continue forward; all I have to resist the feeling of apathy, of not caring anymore about anything. If I don’t feel, I won’t have to bear the shame. But it keeps coming, never ending, in fact, it grows. Negative thoughts breed and feed off each other. Where will I hide?


God, my creator, is a hiding place for me. He can restore me, heal me, and remove my shame. My heavenly Dad, can give me the strength to hold my head high once again, without the support of drugs, alcohol, music, gangs, belongings, or anything I have unsuccessfully leaned on. I need to know that God my father, sings over me. He sings because he loves me and has created me for great things. He understands my shame. He wants me to be whole again, to live without being affected by that incident anymore. Sure the thoughts may come, but He gives strength to me, words of affirmation, and most of all, power. Power over my feelings and thoughts. Power to believe contrary to whats been said about me, by others, by myself. A chance to truly start over. A chance to breathe without heaviness. A chance to be me, rising above the ashes of shame with wings of confidence and power.

Also published in Broowaha Magazine


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