Dying Inside

Surreal-Photography-Brooke-Shaden-1

Brooke Shaden

 

If only I liked to write beautiful things,

Then I could be forgiven inadequacy.

Words that expose paradigm over truth

If I possessed such a vocabulary

Then perhaps even I could be loved

*

I doubt I will ever know a reception

That does not come with an equal

Or greater measure of resistance.

I am green like death.

The possibilities of death,

How they tempt me

In these dark hours

*

I do not think I will change,

At least not in the direction

Of my endeavors.

I might sprout horns

Or a forked tongue.

I might become translucent

But I won’t become significant.

*

I am not even profitable

As a deviation.

The other freaks

Are more interesting than I

With far mightier pens.

I don’t think I can accept myself,

These selves, which are almost

But never quite authentic.

If I can not manage one or the other

(preferably both)

Then life

(the one which keeps me alive)

Will not welcome me home

*

I think from this poem my mental state is somewhat obvious. I think it is a combination of factors that has sent me spiraling.

 

Watching the movie The Hours I have never read anything about Virginia Woolf to be honest how I managed it I am not certain but it is not a good fit for someone so severely depressed as myself. Or it is a good fit I guess but a terrible influence.

 

Reading more about Sylvia Plath’s life, hearing her recordings. So many poets committing suicide and it has forced me to recognize my own instability.

 

The death of a local cat whom I snuggle with though she was not my personal cat she greeted me with enthusiasm when I saw her on streets and I haven’t any pets of my own so she was like a surrogate. It feels like my only friend died, how to explain that but I am not talking to anyone in real life except my immediate family.  It is quite easy to love animals as you know.

 

The decline in my popularity? people pulling away, breaking promises, all the lost friendships

 

I am working on a project which is difficult for me. Frieda Hughes (Plath) had written a book where she wrote a poem for each year of her life and I thought it was quite an interesting idea. So I decided to give it a go. My early life is depressing to say the least. I was trying to remember times of happiness and celebration in my early life. I thought well no matter how shitty it might have been I am certain to have some good memories. I could think of good memories with grandmother and cousins. With my mom but never with my dad no matter who was in accompaniment. Early on I didn’t have many good memories with my mom either as time went on there were more but in the beginning it was difficult and painful. She didn’t just not want me, she actually wanted me dead. I am trying to process so much right now and very little of it is easy to digest.

 

There is still the worries about the house. I want to buy a house. This is quite difficult to explain. I realize the level of failure if a house does not work may well destroy my life but an apartment I feel is settling, is dream-less, and incarcerating. I can only say this has to do with a sense of belonging not possessing but belonging. In an apartment Sam may well give up wood-working he’s given up so much to accommodate my neuroses already I just can’t let him give up more. For myself too I want to be able to go outside and wonder about, nature brings me a joy and a peace I don’t have the internal means to replicate. Sam is worried I will get lonely in the country and may be I will but I have no friends in the city and I hate entertaining guests in cramped apartments. I actually prefer to be with people outside. Sam insists I am very social but deny myself human interaction and that it is making miserable. I can’t say for certain how social I am, I know I am more social than I allow but not the precise degree. Unfortunately I have an intense fear of abandonment and look to others for validation and this is why I don’t allow myself friends (aside from being too weird to make them). I do not think I am genuine enough in social situations. I sometimes play the clown. I do not like the drama. I do not like me.

 

I am worried about my inability to understand others when they are speaking to me. I cannot seem to open up properly. Even though not talking is killing me and poisoning my relationships I get so frustrated when I try to talk and it is just side-stepping gibberish. I cannot say what I mean and it is driving me absolutely insane.

On and on it goes.

 

 

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15 responses

  1. Oh, MLM, there is so much here – both in your poem & explanation.
    A poem for every year of one’s life – what an incredible idea, but how emotionally-challenging too. How far have you got?
    I know that my past woes pale in comparison to yours, but I have found over the years that dredging memories up, one piece at a time, & writing the shit out of them has been therapeutic & helped me find some sense of closure (in some cases).
    As for houses – I understand your desire & need for space & solitude in nature. It’s important for mental well being to have freedom of space. I hope that you work something out soon…
    The kitty – I also understand that. It doesn’t need to be your own pet to grieve it’s loss. That is simply a sign of your depth, compassion & sensitivity. I’m sorry for your loss. My first cat, Pharaoh, had to be put down 2 weeks before my son was born due to cancer. It was sudden & unexpected & I was devastated. 4 years on, I still cry over his loss…
    Social…I can’t give advice in that front. I feel just as much of an imposter in social settings as you describe. All I will say is this – sometimes we think we’re the odd ones, but maybe it’s the other way around?… Who knows?! Just know that your virtual friends love, respect & admire you greatly.
    Peace out, soul sister 😉
    Bianca xoxo

    • Thank you Bianca in truth I have always thought my past paled compared in comparison to yours. I think other peoples suffering is very hard, more painful really. I have gotten to 4. I will post the poem for birth tomorrow at my main blog. I cannot say I will write all 30 some in a row. These have already take a lot out of me and they will need some work.

      I still grieve the loss of my pets, sometimes they visit me in dreams which seem very real. I am so sorry about Pharoah my grandmother died 2 days before I gave birth and so everyone was at the funeral except me and Sam, I couldn’t see her before she passed either because it was 5 hours away and I was simply too pregnant to risk going into labor in the middle of nowhere on a highway. It was a very emotional time and it is not easy to grieve when you have a new baby as you know.

      I do like that idea Bianca haha Thank you so much (hugs)

      • Death is hard anyway, but the emotions are extra heightened during pregnancy. Sorry about your grandmother. Hugs xxx

      • Hugs back and it is true I was an emotional wreck. Except for the delivery where I pulled myself together. I didn’t find pregnancy easy emotionally to be honest the hormones did me in I am afraid

  2. I don’t know where to begin.
    Reading the poem, it just makes my eyes tear, because I have a feeling like I know you and you have let me peek inside your soul. What I see in there is not ugly as at times you describe it or feel for yourself.
    I share the house visions, same as you, appartament is so constricting. I would get a tad bit bored at countryside, but no for the lack of things to do, merely because nature and solitude draw magic way too much for me to handle at times.
    I like the idea of every year of life poem, but I dont think mine would have a lot of happy entries.
    Theres a lot more I want to write, but my internet is terrible and keeps breaking and I dont want the comment to dissapear, so Ill finish with that I do hope in near future I get to meet you in person, so I can show you what a great time and friendship we have and that when you are with the right people, social norms stop choking on you.

    • This is perhaps more personal in some ways than my other work because it is me and it is the present state. I generally write from the past sometimes the recent past but not generally what I am feeling in the precise moment I am feeling it.

      My dad was a magnet for a lot of negative entities. He could see them and he lived with them and it was just very dark. I think he just like evil things to be honest. When my mom left him the first place we lived was a cabin in the woods by a lake I can say it was a lot more peaceful and even though I had never been in the forest prior I was always in the forest after.

      That said I am originally from a warm climate so I could always go out in Sweden the long dark winter will be horrible if I can’t go somewhere.

      No I am afraid mine won’t either. It is also hard to choose some years had more than one event and others I remember very little.

      Thank you so much for your kindness you are awesome

  3. I am so sorry Yves, about the local cat. I know you became attached to it and that makes it hard. I think you are too hard on yourself and possibly expect too much of yourself. Allow yourself to heal from your past and become a more beautiful person because of it (which I believe you are already doing). I truly hope that you and Sam will soon be able to buy a home in the country. Being among nature (and away from the hustle and bustle of the city), is very healing and spiritually uplifting.

  4. There is nothing I can say to this. Go to your wonderful hubby and let him hug you. A lot. And then some more. As always, I will be here – as will many others – reading your soul laid bare, and thankful that you’re sharing your insights and talent.

    Oh, what the heck, a hug from me too. Wherever possible, be kind to yourself, okay?

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