Remember Forever

That Christmas was one I will remember forever. Santa didn’t leave anything under my tree. We didn’t sing carols with our loved ones. I didn’t enjoy the wonderful Christmas feast before me, and there was no figgy pudding. I wasn’t alone, but I felt like I was. I felt an overwhelming darkness seeping into my skin. My own hell was warm enough to melt the freshly fallen snow. I tried to be festive. I put on my mask, the one with the plastic smile. I oozed fake joy and happiness, it filled the room. I was burning on the inside, but I stayed cool as ice. My thoughts held my tongue still. 

Not a single damning word left my lips until I felt safe. Until I was somewhere I knew I wouldn’t be judged. With the car pulled over so I could let my words flow free, on the side of the road. I could have been in a room with ten thousand people and I would have been alone. I cried out in pain as my tears broke free. I thanked him for being there, for holding me, for letting my irrationalities take hold of both of us momentarily. He knew me well. If he hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t understood me, I’d have been a broken mess.

Holidays never sat well with me. I never understood them, and they never understood me. I had contemplated many a time about my departure. That Christmas was no different. He knew. I was the type that felt like I had nothing to live for, that wanted to cut out early. He knew that that day was worse than every other. He held me, reassured me it was ok. It turned out I was going to be after all. So he held me and I slept. Soundly, safely.

Christmas was over and I was still there. I had made it through the darkness in my head. Safe and sound. My own Christmas miracle perhaps. My phone rang and I answered it. My world cracked. In the midst of my own depression I forgot about my mother. I thought she was ok, she seemed fine three days before. But I suppose I seemed fine to her as well. The disbelief of the news dropped me to the floor. Drowning in my own tears, I called out for her. She was gone. Those same demons poking fun of me the day before had been poking fun at my mother as well. I should have known. We were more alike than I knew. Similar in feelings, and thoughts. My demons had been beaten, but that day she lost her battle.

She lost and I lost, we all lost to her demons. I couldn’t save her, I couldn’t even save me. It hurt. It still hurts. Pieces of me died with her. They lie beside her, in her box made out of wood. I oft wonder if they have rotted away as she does. I try and hold on to her smile in my heart. Sometimes it’s hard. Other times I think she reminds me. There are many things I have forgotten in my few years that I wish I could have held onto longer. The good memories are scarce. But the memory of that Christmas is strong. It is bittersweet. I won and lost all at once. Part of me died that day, but the rest lives on. She lives on, metaphorically. Forever is such a long time, and I still have so many years left to go, but I will never forget. I will never forget those feelings, the demons, the fight. The win, the loss, the life I still have.

That Christmas was the one I will remember forever. I must never forget…

Dedicated to my mother whose demons proved to be too much for her. She lives in my heart, and I miss her.

I Am A Statistic

 

 

  • An estimated 60 percent of teen girls’ first pregnancies are preceded by experiences of molestation, rape, or attempted rape. In one study, between 30 and 44 percent of teen mothers were victims of rape or attempted rape. Up to 20 percent of girls become pregnant as the direct result of rape.  Source
  • In the United States, one of every ten births involves a teen mother.    Source
  • The children of addicts are 8 times more likely to develop an addiction.  Source
  • Losing a parent to suicide makes children more likely to die by suicide themselves and increases their risk of developing a range of major psychiatric disorders, according to a study led by Johns Hopkins Children’s Center that is believed to be the largest one to date on the subject.  Source
  • On average, a woman will leave an abusive relationship seven times before she leaves for good.  Source

 

I am a statistic.

I can be categorized.

These things have made me what I am.

Today…

I am broken,

Shattered even.

I am missing pieces of myself.

I have lost control a time or two,

Maybe more times than that.

I have pushed away anything

Everything

That looked promising

That was good for me.

Out of fear,

Out of love.

I have been consumed

By my demons.

I have given up

More times than I can count.

I have Lied,

Cried,

Tried to move further down the road.

Sabotaged myself

Over and over again.

Picked myself up

After falling.

Dried myself off

After drowning.

Took a new breath

After suffocating myself.

I am a statistic.

My chances of making it past my past were slim.

Memories of it still haunt me.

Taunt me.

Fuck with my head.

BUT…

I am resilient.

I am stronger than I thought I was.

I am still here,

When statistics said I could’ve been dead.

I still live.

I still try to love.

I am holding onto hope

And wishes that may never come true.

I will still wish

And hope

And dream.

If dreaming is all that I have.

I am still lost,

But I am searching.

And someday,

When I find the right path,

I will find my way.

I am a statistic,

That made it to see another day…

 

The Tide

I watch the tide rise

and I watch the tide fall

burying the past

pulling under

everything 

That I have ever had

Drowning 

in the ocean

buried in the sea 

of memories

and lost chances

smoothing stones

as I tumble

underneath

the surface

down 

where no one can see

drowning

in the ocean 

buried under the sea

I dig myself a grave

of dirt 

and muck 

and sand

of all the things beneath 

you’d never hold inside your hand

digging holes inside the ocean

buried deep within the sea

waves shall come 

and waves will go

push and pull my heart

no longer does it flow

into the ocean

there is nothing left of me

Shhh…

I am my biggest secret

you will never know who I am

You will never hold all the answers

within the palm of your broken hand

 

broken smiles on fake ass faces

like the one I used to show

the face of all those people

that I thought I used to know

 

truths you could never fathom

lies you’ve always feared were true

stories I sold as memories

ones I never really knew

 

Hiding inside the shadows

trusting the light to never show

but in the darkness

my lies will only grow

 

Go ahead and try

figure me out, you will not

because everything I am 

is everything that I’ve got

 

And…

 

I am my biggest secret

You can never know who I am

none of my broken answers

will fit perfectly in your hands

Alone

I recall past memories 

as if they weren’t all that far away

as if I could reach out and grab them

just thoughts of yesterday

but they aren’t

they’ve slipped away 

like water through the sands

they have drifted into oblivion

so now, here alone I stand

Sink or Swim

I am just barely keeping my head above water. Thoughts and memories tend to drop me like a concrete brick in the ocean. I always make it back to the surface only to lose my breath and sink again. Even with all the water in my lungs I keep swimming, I have to, there’s no other option for me. Maybe someday I will finally make it back to the shore, safe and sound. So safe… So sound…

Photo Source: http://www.fecalface.com

Just A Simple Soundtrack

Lately I have been fighting myself. I’ve been digging up my past truths, fallacies, and memories, that once hurt less than they do now. I am caught in limbo, stuck questioning that which has no answer. I am fighting hand to hand with my faith. Not my faith as in religious terms, but faith in myself. I struggle to figure out a way around the hole I dig for myself. This song reminds me of my struggles. Although the thing Matty is struggling with in the song isn’t the same as mine, I love that I can interpret it to fit my situation and let it help me too. This song is called The Sinner by Memphis May fire.