Tag Archives: Blog

Welcome back

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I’m alive. It’s funny because I didn’t expect I would be. I first created this blog as a way to work through my feelings. Most of the time this meant that the vast majority of what I wrote made no sense. Still, I continued to write because it helped in the long run. It enabled me to go back and figure out how I felt any given moment in my life.

And yet, I stopped.

I wish I could say that there was a valid reason for me doing so, but there isn’t. I am not better anymore but I am also not worse off than what I used to be. I am content. I am…well.

But now I am back.

Fodder for the fire

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I occasionally plan out rants in my head

Minor thoughts of things I wished I said

But there are times when they take control

When they grow past my original plan

Morphing into something that leaves me with dread

Today’s nightmare happened fairly early

I wanted to debate with friends and family

Regarding abortion.

To make it known, I stand for freedom of choice

Because every voice, is worth listening to

But it’s my voice that I wished was silenced

Because it brought with it memories long passed

I thought I got over it, guess I didn’t

Now it’s dark outside and I am covered with fear

He isn’t here, but I can hear him breathing

The hitched sound of a grown man

As he gazes upon an unexpected child

It has been awhile, since I dreamt this dream

But I can feel him breathing, as though he was in me

I just wanted a clean debate

Wanted to talk about something important you see

But here I am laying dark

Trying to convince my beating heart

That the remembered man is not next to me

Picket Fences and Daisy Drops

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I’m sorry for thinking about what it will be like for us to grow old

Our links hands surrounded by hypothetical friends

Shared memories, this is only our beginning

And there is nothing stopping me from believing it will end

But I’m sorry for all the miscommunication

Stupid fights that ended in us breaking apart

I’m sorry for dreaming that we will last through time and dust

Because no matter what happens. It’s these dreams I will be left with

No matter what ends up being

It’s this future I will be forever grateful for dreaming

A heavy nightmare

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I wanted to be someone. I think about that daily.

I wanted to be someone and yet I sit. I became nothing. I am not helpless, nor hopeless, nor lost. I am not broken from the wasted pages surrounding the computer desk. I am merely something that became nothing. A person less blob of what could have been.

I am still capable of many things. I can still write my way into a heap. Carefully singing old hymns of what once was. A dream instead of a dark memory. I am here cutting away and pasting little hopes I once held for myself. I make the patterns on my skin.

I truly did want to be someone but I don’t actually remember what that someone is.

Nana (Revised)

Posted by Zeannaroux on

Happy birthday Nana, we love you so much

I melted to a tall tale
Whispered by children with the braided hair
Her skin, aged like the earth, brought forth stories on unknown worth.
I melted as far as the oak tree stands
Wine in hand with berry delight
A beautiful sight on a beautiful night
Clear cut eyes crinkle under the moonlight
“We have dreams we dare to share.”
Whispered the children with the kinked up hair
Her skin, aged like the earth,
She held her children close and told them stories she dared not show
And I melted to hear the tale
My dark brown skin and coiled hair,
Living the life, she gifted me
My children! Sweetly dancing
Beneath the growing tree
My family! Kneeling at the knee of the women
Whose eyes shine with the stories she shares
Her family! Listen in and
Whisper their prayers for God to hear
Thank you, Lord, for keeping her here.

Close, to close

Posted by Zeannaroux on

How could you leave when they are standing

By the door expecting

You to return, but there is nothing

That can save them now

Why would you leave them

For a bottle of forget me pills

Now they are graduating

First grade with a finger painted certificate

Hanging on grandma fridge

You told them they would always be with you

Pinky promise in the living room

With a lady in the corner

Taking notes as ordered

You smiled at them

And held them in your arms

But it wasn’t long until you were gone

They are in 6th grade now

And can’t remember how you feel

Because you decided to take a break

With forget me not pills at the kitchen sink

But they know your face

Stiffened with grace

Though grandma does all she can

She is suffering in your place

Because it’s her baby girls body

That flashes in your place

How could you leave them?

When things just started to change

I hope it was worth it

Because they may never understand

Inspired by NF

Cleaning Closets

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I found a pair of socks that I kept from 2001. Well, I got them from an old best friend’s mother sometime around 2011, but they are one of those new year’s socks. The one with won’t clocks on them to celebrate the end of the year. They are cute, and I loved them. I still do, but they have holes in the toe from me wearing them too much. They are also a little more grey than white. No amount of bleaching will bring back the color they used to be. But I love them.

They reminded me of a time when I wasn’t happy but content. Yeah I remember that I spent a lot of time with this friend. Her parents would let me come over nearly every weekend. We celebrated almost every holiday together as well. There were actually a few times when I would go home with this friend on a Friday only to go back to my parent’s house that following Monday after school. Notice that I said home, because hers was more a home than any place that I had lived before.

It wasn’t perfect. This friend and I had fights. I occasionally disappointed her parents. And I am almost certain that 2 of her three older siblings hated me. I would say all three, but in recent years, one of them messaged me cause he wanted to date. Which was strange, but he was the hot older brother, so score (?).

This friend and I lost touch after high school. Honestly, it was bound to happen. Thinking about it now we were friends due to proximity. We had enough in common to hang out but not enough to keep the relationship from turning toxic. Back then mg disorder was not yet diagnosed and I wasn’t seeing a doctor. So I had a lot of issues that went unnoticed by many people. She had some problems as well. Some of them ok but others pretty toxic in their own right. We could have attended therapy and grown up together, but we didn’t.

I tried my hardest to stick around, but she wasn’t for it. So we stopped being friends, that is. She stopped answering my phone calls and text messages.

But I kept those socks her mother gave me. Even when I was homeless, they stayed in whatever backpack I carted around. Even when a shelter I stayed at kicked me out and refused to let me get my belongings, I still kept those damn socks.

It’s been nearly a decade since I spoke to her. What’s funny is I kept in contact with her momma for a bit after that, but she was a major republican and worshipped tr0mp. This wasn’t an issue for me, but I was pretty vocal in my distaste for him, so eventually, she unfriended me.

I still got the socks, though—those 20-year-old socks.

Posted by Zeannaroux on

My daughter is in therapy. There really is no reason for it. Mentally, she is fairly healthy. No, this is so she can work through the struggles that came from being raised in a single parent home when said single parent has a personality disorder. I can’t, I won’t let her turn out like me. Instead I put her in therapy so that she can speak to someone who can help her understand that I love her unconditionally even if I do not always show it and that my flaws are not a representation of her at all. So far, I think it has helped her.

But I overheard something the other day. Or was it today. I can’t recall. Well one day I heard something while she was talking to her therapist.

Normally, I do not my best to not listen in. I play music or watch something. There have been times when I will stand outside. Her therapy is her time. But today, or was it last week, maybe it never happened, she read a book to her therapist about people with BPD.

It is a book geared more towards children. A series, in fact, that details a lot of disorders but I gave her the one fo used on mine. She read this book to her therapist and told her how it was one that made me cry every time I read it. How, while reading it, she discovered that the charecter with BPD acted a lot like me. Her therapist asked her opinion on this and my daughter stated

“It’s fine”

….

It’s fine?

As she continued to read she ran across a part that gave her pause. Within this book is a section that talks about people with BPD often having problems with boundaries because they are afraid of being abandoned. So when someone goes a long time without answering text or phone calls, the person with BPD will start to freak out. In the process they may respond in anger or fear. My daughter, being the rather opinionated person that she is, told her therapist that this was something she found to be mean. When her therapist asked her to explain what she meant she just repeated herself and kept on reading.

Now, this is something that I do. But it is an aspect of myself that I tend to ignore. Mainly because I feel justified in my mass text or phone calls if I am repeatedly ignored. Of course I do not do it for long. Because after some time I will just convince myself that the person hates me and wants me dead. That’s exactly why they are ignoring me. It doesn’t matter what the true reasoning is. What I feel is right because I believe it is. They hate me, they want me dead, I annoy them, thus they are no longer my friend.

But this isn’t true. At least that is what reality says. Yet I still feel this way. So when my child looked to her therapist and said that she behavior was mean…I had to check myself.

Am I being mean?

I don’t rightly know.

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I am dust, if I trust
With a dash of fire light
And a mix of broken prose
I suppose,  I am made
With bitter beat
And repetition
Standing at memories kitchen
Clutching a chest that will move
Hoving closer and closer to you
I am dust, if I trust
With a dash blue hued rust
And a mix of mistaken prose
I suppose, I am done
Because memories
Have been over come

Continue reading →