Category Archives: The Themeless Ones

If this is how we treat our heroes…

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I wanted to graze my finger tips across a surface roughed by bad intentions

Cut my teeth on twisted lips and indigestion

Was it just my imagination that this blue belonged on me

With a silver prong stylus in my hand, this the freedom I understand

The one that boys painted hues of black and blue while wearing green berets

My body is littered with there words. Their taunts of encouragements

Their disgusted repose

A hero really, for the lack of a better word

Who put such fitness into me I thought I would burn

But here they lie, with stained tongues and strained eyes

Having kissed the encouragement that came at a surprise

My color, my blood, spread quickly in the streets

Fingers one raised on intention now begging for release

Lips clenched in indignation now chewing on my teeth

These boys, so precious, forced to grow up

It is my imagination or did they forget how to trust?

A/N

Thank you dear readers for sticking around through these trying times. I know my angst has gone up a fee notches. So hopefully you can enjoy this one. I would love to see how people interpret it.

Much love from mine to yours

Honestly, this is terrible

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I am not a momma to be held with contempt. I think I am exempt

From such animosity because there is no one, surely no one

Who can hate me as much as me

Such a belittling feeling and yet so deserved

For who else can ignore such a girl

One with a smile so sweetly filled with love

Who else would dare turn away from her hugs

Crying cause their skin is burning

Sleeping well into midmorning

Could you do it and still hold yourself on high

Or would you feel as I do? Despair beside a happy child

Making up excuses to stay a while

Could you really believe yourself worthy of praise

When not a day goes by that doesn’t end in a haze

This is what it is like to parent with depression

To parent in a borderline state of obsession

This desire to leave sticks to the bones

Yet, I know, I truly know, that this small child is home

Honestly_ what a terrible poem

Anxiety fills my head

Posted by Zeannaroux on

Hate
Can have the strongest meaning
A listless reason with deadened eyes
A hopeless feeling we are sworn to hide
Hate
Can come in shapes undone
A middle finger raised high to the sun
Or an orphaned heart with a well loved gun
Hate
Despite all its misgivings is a powerful tool
Used to spin wishes
Or to make someone a fool

Perfected

Posted by Zeannaroux on

School is almost over for me. Got one more semester to go before I get my AS and go off to a four year college for a BA. I still have dreams to get a degree in Philosophy but I just can’t seem to make up my mind about what else I want to go for. I am trying to decide between Psychology and Sociology. I know I want to help people in any way that I can but with my issues I am not sure how to go about doing that. Either way, here is to another semester!

As for other updates. My little one is on her way to Kindergarten. I should be excited…but I am not. I am scared because I do not know what to expect in the world. A part of me wants to just wrap her up into a bubble. But I can’t do that to her. I do not know how other parents do it. How they can be so trusting and hopeful. I hate how terrible I feel because I want a normal life for her. She deserves so much good in this world and I am just not it.

Parenting a child as a person with mental illness is hard. I like to think that it is worth it. That she will grow up to be a well adjusted adult. But the risk…I do not know if I am worth it.

Just another blessing (Rough Draft)

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I wanted him to hurt me.

I guess I had figured he would be enough. Tiny bruises on my body. Just enough so I know that I have been claimed. I wanted him to end me but he said that I would be ok. Just a smack here and there.

Words of contempt and rage.

I wanted my body to tell a story. One that forced my lovers to know me. But I guess it was all in vain since I ended up alone anyways.

Update

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I recently decided to look up books relating to border personality disorder on goodreads. You know, just to get a feel of what was out there. I found a lot of stuff and not all of it encouraging. While there are many books about BPD I found many to be from people who are trying to villainfy it.

One book in particular called it a chaotic hell.

For this very reason I think I want to write my own book.

I am a mother with BPD. I am not perfect and make plenty of mistakes but my daughter is happy. She is full of smile and is the most loving person ever. Sure she gets into trouble as all four years olds do but I do not believe that her life is hell. Choatis yes but not hell.

Still, this does not mean that she will not grow up to hate me.

I can be unintentially cruel at times.

I can be ignorant.

I can spend hours alone in my room crying, yelling at her to get out when she tries to peek into my room.

I can be happy, too.

Endless days of us singing and laughing.

Times when my daughter has to remind me that it is passed her bedtime as I try to convince her to stay up for just “one more game”.

She is four but she has seen so much, to much, of this world.

I want to write a book that shows what BPD is for me. I want to write so that one day my daughter may come to understand even if she does grow up to hate me.

Many of the books are from people who left toxic relationships (friend,spouse,or family) and then turned around to talk a out the hell they went through. Others are from the words of people who were left by someone who died due to BPD and its systems. Very few are from those who suffer from it on a regular basis.

This excludes the medical ones of course.

I always said I would write a book after I have gotten 200 followers. I am getting so very close to that number.

I can only hope that I follow through this time.

Once I kissed

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I don’t like kissing

It’s to intimate

To close

To

Gross

Everything about

Leaves me in hives

Eyes closed

Mouth opened wide

Nope

Sorry

I would rather die

But

Apart of me

A small part of me

Wishes it wasn’t that way

Kisses

Are not a curse

Used to hurt

To force

Love and commit

Meant to secure

To reward

Blushing brides and valued whores

Kissing isn’t meant

To be painful

A reminder of bad times

A punishment for false crimes

I don’t like kissing

To intimate

To close

To

Gross

To much of

A false show of commit

Meant to reward

At least

That is what they tell good little girls

Shh the babies are sleeping

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I am not a good person but I am just that, a person. I have my flaws like everyone else. I have moments that make others believe I am insane. I am not a good parent but I try to be the best I can be. I am not the perfect daughter but I strive to make my mom proud of me.

It hurts to admit my faults to others. When society tries it’s hardest to make us reach for greatness, for perfection.

I want to do good. I want to better than this. I want the big house, the nice car, the wonderful attentive family, and to be mentally stable. I am not though. With my current state of mind, I will probably never be. And I hate it, I hate having to tell people how fucked up I am.

Hate it when they give me that haunted look of pity. It drives me insane!

Now people can tell me to keep my life to myself but I am not one to pretend. I am not the type to have people believe it is ok when it is not.

Now, that isn’t to say I am a complete downer. I have my moments just like everyone else.

It is just that I use no filter in my life. I try to be honest about it and that sometimes gets me judged.

That is I do not go around telling complete strangers my business. Just those I think will care.

Ok yes, this is me telling complete strangers but considering I rarely ever get any comments on my post it feels almost like I am talking to myself.

I can say what I feel and only occasionally will someone message me with kinds words or advice. I need the help but talking to myself will work just as well.

I cry a lot when I am alone.

Usually when my daughter is sleeping. I try to stay quiet so that I will not wake her but sometimes I fail. So I have tried alternatives to crying. Other ways in which I can get these horrible emotions out of my body. Writing helps but it only goes so far.

Still,  I am trying. I cry so silently now that she doesn’t wake up at all. Sometimes I go check on her when I am sad. My tears often blurring my vision so I am forced to sit there and calm down.

I know that I am a terrible person. I know that I make all kinds of mistakes.

I am not a good mother

daughter

sister

friends

I am shit with every title I have

but I do try.

In the making

Posted by Zeannaroux on

Faithless in the making

I pray for help from above

I want him to stop hurting me

But I fear I am in love

Wedding bells in my future

White dresses painted red

I can tell he loves me

But maybe it is all in my head

I can hear her scream

From just down the hall

I can hear his laughter

Right before she falls

But I know that he loves me

And wants me forever more

It isn’t my fault that

My daughters such a whore

A/N

People always talk about how a parent should always know if a child is being abused. That as a parent, we have this built-in clock that lets us know if something is amiss. This isn’t true at all. But for those who do know, and ignore, and blame the child…I hate them. I despise them with a passion. How they sit and pretend that everything is ok when it is not. How they make the child out to be the criminal. They are disgusting people and deserve all sorts of pain…..

Yet

In some cases I believe the one who listens and does nothing is often hiding something. They must be sick in the head to let something like that happen.

Yet

Can they be helped?

I wrote this because I wanted to show the world how twisted the brain could be. Here is a mother listening as her child is being hurt and all she can think of is being in love.

Yet

From the words I have written you can tell there is an innocence there that makes it seem like she is not all the way there. Something must have happened to her.

Yet

There is no excuse for this. There is no excuse for allowing your child to be abused. But I fully believe that people need to try to understand the motive behind a crime.

I often think of why my grandmother sat and listened to what happened. I don’t recall her turning up the TV so she must have heard it all. I remember her warning me about it hours earlier. But me being 8 years old, I figured she was lying. grandpa’s aren’t suppose to hurt. They most they should do is tsk at kids. They aren’t suppose to do those things to kids….to anyone. Yet it happened and she sat and listened. I often wonder if she blamed me for his attraction. Did she hate me? Is that why she lied to the police when I finally told. Is that why she still tries to call me and tell me that he misses me and wants to see his granddaughter?

I want to know what she was thinking. I want to get a clear understanding of what was going through her head. Maybe I can properly hate her if I knew. Possibly even forgive.

Yet

There is a part of me that believes I am better off not knowing.