Again

again
One word. Pretty simple, a word we use often, probably don't even think about the meaning anymore. Some of us, me included, have hated this word many, many times. It is a word I have often struggled with..."wasn't that good enough the first time?" "Why must I redo it," "why can't I be done now," "that's it, never doing that a second time." For most of my life I've lived in the idea that once you do something you shouldn't have to do it again or you can't do it again. Make a mistake? That's it, no more chances. Have a rough draft? That's actually your only draft, you're done. Everything had to be perfect. Everything was failed. There was never the chance to redo, correct, try again. But that's not true. This idea that I've had for so long is false. My mind made it up and lived by it for way too long. Everything, well most things, can be done again. Usually there is a chance to keep going. There's not a full stop. This is my equivalent to the semi-colon people who have considered suicide get, this is my YOLO, this is my life is beautiful, keep going. One word, not capitalized because it's not a start - it's a continuation of a journey. It's a promise that I have more than one chance. More than one chance to change my life, to become anew, to set a goal, to start. It's a vow to myself. I will be nicer, I will forgive, people make mistakes and start again. I am a person, I make mistakes, I have the chance for an again. 

Circular Thinking

Bridge the gap,

Bridge the gap,

Bridge the gap.

The more I say it, it will happen right?

I’ll make the distance shorter, easier to cross, and I’ll be okay again.

Right?

Focus.

Don’t fall into the emptiness.

Don’t fall.

Keep going…eyes up, feet moving.

Don’t fall.

Keep moving and it won’t happen right?

Keep moving and it won’t catch up. I’ll be okay.

Right?

Pull yourself together.

Find the pieces and glue them where they belong.

Find the pieces.

Find the pieces, complete the picture, and become whole.

Find the pieces.

Find the pieces and make yourself okay.

Right?

That’s all it will take.

To find the pieces, keep moving, and bridge the gap.

All I need to be okay.

Okay. Right?

Okay…not great, not perfect; just let me be okay.

For once, one moment, a chance, a day.

I want to be.

I want to be okay.

Caretaker

I spent the night crying. To you it seemed like I was searching for someone to love me. You took this in the most basic way. Said someday that person would come, I'd find them with time. But you don't get it. I've found that person. And I'm watching them disappear, fading right before my eyes.

I see her. I know she's there, at times she is truly present. I've known her. I've been a part of her. Now I'm searching for any part of her.

What if I lose her? What if my future never sees a glimpse of her? When she's gone, does her light fade away? Do the memories remain or do they fall out of the universe as quickly as they fall out of her head? If it is my job to carry her, who will carry me? What if I lose the strength, what if I lose the words and the thoughts, the structure crumbles until only a frame remains? What happens then, do we both crumble into the emptiness; where do we go if no one remembers?

They tell you how the disease takes hold. How the world begins to slow down, until the patient is stuck in a past destroying your future. The world doesn't tell you that the disease lives in the caretaker as well. They don't tell you how strong the need to freeze time will squeeze, they don't tell you how quickly and constantly your heart will break. Everyone looks for a cure for the patient, where's the cure for me?

Put on a smile. Fake the positive. Nod, "everything happens for a reason." Let them believe they are helping. Let them think they have a cure. Let them pretend that their band-aid words have stopped the hurting. Let them believe - because they need this.

Relax into your role. Caretaker. Here for her, here for them. Never here for yourself.

Tangled

Tangled.

Connected, by so many knots.

Not something we should have done.

Knots complicating our structure,

Not layers we need in our chain.

chain me to you – but never to your heart.

Hearts beat faster,

We pull closer, stronger, together, we weaken our structure.

The tighter we pull, the weaker we are. We bend.

We yearn, we desire, we break.

Knots in lives, already delicate and fine.

Not a line we should have crossed

Not a tangle we can unravel.

What’s done is done and we are done.

Because now we are something new,

Now we are knot upon not, forever becoming what we shouldn’t be.

How did we get here?

How did we go from us, to we, to you. 

Me.

Broken Birthday Hearts

I keep waiting for the phone to ring.

 I’ll be honest I’m always on edge about this, but today is different. I’m not waiting for bad news, not waiting to hear that I need to rush to the hospital or that I’m alone – today I’m waiting to be welcomed. I’m waiting for her to welcome me into the world as she’s done for 25 years.

 Waiting for the story of the red toenails, a bubble bath, a baby saying mew. For the story of my life as a caffeine addict, going strong for 25 years, and the doctor who whapped her. I just keep waiting and hoping and trying not to think, working hard on not waiting. Because if I wait, and it never comes, then there’s proof. Proof that it’s getting worse – no longer speculation, she’s forgotten our first welcome. Sure, the story is probably still there, but the date no longer sticks. 

And I’m scared.

I’m so scared because what does this mean for my future. If the past no longer holds, what will I build my future on? How am I supposed to create a life, continue a life, if I lose the one foundation I’ve always built upon?  And how many birthdays do I have to feel this way? How many birthdays will hurt like this? How many years will be marked by a broken heart?

Any answers would be appreciated.

A Brief Glimpse at the Past

She opened the book again, straining to read the words with the help of the street light outside. “Stupid,” she thought, “can’t believe you let them leave you.”

Of course her instructors had turned the lights off when they left, she wasn’t supposed to be there this late. Her parents were supposed to be on there way, were supposed to be outside waiting in the warm car, were supposed to remember their only child. But no, according to the poorly lit screen on her phone thirty minutes had passed and still no one was coming. So much for being the “favorite,” for being a “spoiled only child” like everyone assumed. There she was, butt freezing on the cold concrete steps, once again taking bets on which parent would remember her existence first. Hell, which one would get the phone first.

This wasn’t the first time, just the furthest time.

 Forgotten at her after school program? Walk to her mom’s office.

 Forgotten at school? Walk two blocks home.

Forgotten at a friend’s house? Turn it into a sleep over.

 Forgotten at your dance class, fifteen miles from home on a Wednesday night?

Freeze and sing Phantom of the Opera over and over until you can no longer talk.

What other solution was there?

“Could call again,” she mused.

Perhaps this time would be different. She had thought that the past seventeen times, but you never know, miracles happen – hell her birth had happened. Maybe one of them would pick up this time. She sat while the phone rang and rang.

The mother wasn’t supposed to be able to conceive.

The wonders of modern medicine and a clean diet.

The daughter was perfect, without flaw, tested for many.

The baby was exactly on time, March 21.

The parents never were.

No answer, no surprise.

“Really? I am your only child; how do you not realize I’m missing?? This is my own fault for being quiet and relatively well behaved!”

How do you even come to terms with being left behind by the people who love you the most?

Dreaming

There are dreams that we know will let us down. I will never run down a hill, only to find my feet no longer brushed by grass, but rather blanketed in clouds. There are the dreams that find and destroy our sleep - cover us in a darkness without comfort or escape. Dreams that terrify us into leaving the light on, reading ourselves into exhaustion, anything we can do to avoid the screams. But then there are the day time dreams:

I will be successful.

I will own a house.

I will be a wife.

I will find a family.

I will be someone's comfort.

I will be satisfied.

I will belong.

I will achieve it all.

I will fulfill my purpose.

These are the dreams we have when our minds are busy with work, while our bodies move from action to action, doing the daily requirements to get by. These are the dreams that keep us going, the ones we are supposed to chase. But how safe is it to run after these ideas? Throwing ourselves into a void, hoping that we end up clutching the answers in our fists - finally happy. 

Dreams in the daytime are the most dangerous of all. They distract us, keep us from finding the joy in the sunlight, lock us away in "what if's." And there we are stuck. Running on treadmills of our own creation. Stuck staring at dreams broadcast upon the walls of our mind. We are forever unsatisfied. 

I want to live outside these dreams. I want to find myself in a world without the need for change. I want to be happy. But that is just a dream.