Chronically Healing Through Writing

Thoughts of the end -so through a pen I share rawfully honest thoughts. Thoughts about my relationship with chronic pain. Thoughts about the fantasies of romantic love , and the agony when this illusion disappears. The goal is to learn from my own journey through words.

I know I shouldn’t, but I want to look at him again. 

I want to see if he is well.

I want to see if he is as handsome as I remember.

Does he have the same smile? Are his teeth still beautiful?

Does he still look magnificent in a suit?

Did he follow his dreams?

I want to reach out to him.

Universe can you make it possible… to connect by accident?

Can you promise me that I will not break down when we meet?

Universe can you return the love he once had in his eyes when he looked at me?

Can you erase all that bad so that we can start over?

I just need him. I need him now more than ever. I need the warmth and comfort of his conversation.

I need to hear his voice. I need to hear him breath.

 

Him

Remember when you looked at him

Gazing watching me watch him

With intention

With kismet

Not thinking yet feeling

Beyond a memory; more like a meant to have happen

The story we share at gatherings

The mediation after the war

Our moment

 

Girlfriend

I know this may upset your girlfriend, but I love you still.

I know this will upset your future girlfriend, but I love you still.

I sense the turbulence in your current relationship… well because I love you still. My love is a force moving in between the two of you, and for that I am sorry.

This may sound horrible and I promise you I am not one of those girls. However, this is what happens when you don’t clean your house before company arrives.

You left things incomplete, out of order, and somethings are still missing.

So when I say I still love you; its because you never told me you didn’t.

Mourning a Ghoster

When you poured your heart out and the response was only one word.

When you finally became comfortable only to have the sheets snatched from your warm body.

Falling to the ground left ashamed and cold wondering…did I show too much. Was I good enough?

When the good morning messages abruptly come to an end.

Am I no longer beautiful in the morning?

When their concern for your safety is no longer expressed.

When the compliments end.

Was it all a lie? Is courtship a lie?

Did they ever care if I made it home? If so why haven’t I been asked?

Why am I no longer asked; have you eaten today or did you sleep well, and I’d answer “yes, because you were in my thoughts before I closed my eyes.”

When giddiness returned.

When your tender voice came back.

It was buried for so long. Forced to mimic the tone of a man to prove you are strong enough not to fall in again. Yet, your diaphragm proves otherwise.

When you thought you were friends.

When you followed his lead in maintaining casual to build a “friendship” first; only to become strangers afterwards.

Were we ever really friends?

Do friends abandoned one another?

When it’s all another memory.

When it’s another story you tell.

When it’s another mystery trying to figure out why this person entered and made an exit…

When you pregame and brainstorm how to be better so the next will enter and stay longer…possibly forever.

When you knit a thicker sweater to prevent coldness from reentering your heart space.

When you start over because there is still hope.

Nothing Left

My love for you provided my own comfort; in retrospect, I was always uncomfortable
I came up empty time after time
You had all the things I wanted someone to give me
So I gave until I had nothing left
I have nothing left
I have nothing left
I have nothing left
Right?

2015 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 470 times in 2015. If it were a cable car, it would take about 8 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

The Voice of Mental Illness: A Poem

http://soar.forharriet.com/2015/07/the-voice-of-mental-illness-poem.html?m=1

Thoughts

Intoxicated with pain
I write what occupies my aching brain
Making deals with the voice that tells me to stay in bed
So much chatter in matter
The words rings my heart like a wet cloth
A fist to eat before sundown
RE reading and wondering was I under the influence
Or finally brave enough to sign off
And then… the next day I realize these were not my last words

Lonely

Never felt this dead while breathing

Blended Tears

Do not cry while it rains.