Black and White: Choice

My victim story is powerful, vivid, well-rehearsed. It is mutating, evolving, expanding and expanding. It overshadows me. I am traced in it, overwhelmed. I am trapped in it, overpowered. I am trampled by it, overlooked. I am lost in its arrogance and redundancy. I retch self-doubt and loathing because of it. I keel over, dripping anxiety, entrenched in fear, and losing my wits.

Am I the victim or victimizer?

I want there to be gray, but, in fleeting moments of clarity, the story is silenced and truth is free to speak. "You recoil from and embrace pain. Hurt is your native language. It is as familiar as your flesh. It is as comfortable to you as home. In your experience, you are equal parts protagonist and antagonist. You are quell and rampage."

I listen, rigid from my desire to detach from and cling to truth. I sit. The conclusion comes to me as if it were an outsider and not a part of me all along. I accept. "Whether I betray myself or save myself, I'll face pain anyway." It is not the experience of pain I should focus on; it is the outcome. Hurt to hurt, or hurt to heal. Hurt to remain bound, or hurt to become free. Hurt to hold on to victimhood, or hurt to grasp victory.

Welcome to Holland

"And for the rest of your life, you will say, 'Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.'

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away…because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss.

But…if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to go to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things…about Holland."
-Emily Perl Kingsley

At Your Mercy

I'll devour your suggestions.
Tell me something.
Say anything.
I'm not keen on pleading,
but you have what I need.
So, here I am.
Without pretense,
here I am.

Reintegration

My heart races.
My stomach leaps.
I listen as though
I'm not the one who speaks.
My innards shout.
My anxiety prods.
I'm there, in that moment;
I'm outside my mind.
I observe myself.
It's my voice speaking my truth.
It's my conscious both aware and aloof.
Those are my emotions and experiences.
Disassociation from her
doesn't disconnect me from them.
"Damn. I cannot disown myself."
The realization stings.
I'm coaxed from hover and observation
to awareness and participation.
I rejoin myself, and we sit in our truth.

Wow. Just wow. Stop and listen.

https://youtu.be/-qy3REaKk2Q

Welcome Home

This was different. It was neither rumination nor impulsivity. It wasn't ossified or skittish. It flowed through me, a foreign object with a soul good feel. "Balance?" I spoke aloud and paused to await its response. Gratitude nudged, retrieving me from an awestricken state, and I remembered my manners.

Allies of Heidi

My dear friend, Heidi Brooks, had a stroke this week at age 26. Since I met Brooks, she has become family away from family. Although I am older, I look up to her.

I admire Brooks' confidence, awareness, compassion, and accountability. I respect the unapologetically feminist, millennial, YA afficionado, "friend connect," beautiful force that is HCB. (HCB is yet another nickname.) She is an independent, intelligent, civically engaged, passionate young woman.

Heidi has a Bachelors of English and looks forward to starting a Masters of Library Science program soon. She has worked with youth for years and currently serves as a Volunteer Coordinator for a nonprofit organization. She is determined to make a positive impact, and you can bet your ass that she will.

She loves Harry Styles and Taylor Swift. She introduced me to the magic that is Janelle Monáe. (I am forever indebted.) Heidi is a sister and dog lover. She has the best nickname for her mom. Her lingo is completely original and catchy "AF."  She is one of the sweetest, most genuine people I know.

We want Heidi to focus on recovery, and this fundraiser is to help her along her journey. Nothing is too small. If you can donate, please do. Thank you.

https://www.gofundme.com/allies-of-heidi