I miss the mornings when I got to lay in bed with you.
The way your curled around me and grabbed so delicately at my hand
You do not know how afraid I was, that I would break you
I knew you weren’t fragile but I still saw you as unreal.
That by taking my eye of you, you would just disappear
I was afraid. Yet you loved to cuddle close
Would out your head near my chest and let out the biggest fuss if I moved
I was a weak and yet… to you…I was home
“My daughter…”
“Yes?”
“I do not think I am enough…”
“That is ok, no one ever does.”
Today my daughter got into trouble. Nothing major but I can tell that it left a stain on the day. She wouldn’t listen so I yelled. After that moment she refused to talk to me. Even after I apologized and asked for her forgiveness she did not speak. Only later did she tell me that I hurt her feeling.
My daughter is five.
I should have more respect for this tiny human and yet. I think I put to much on her shoulders. I think I expect to much and get angry. She isn’t the best listener. She gets overly excited about pretty much everything. But that does not deserve my anger no matter how frustrating it can be at times.
My daughter is five.
I feel like such a monster. I told her so. I told her how I did not wish to hurt her. I apologized and asked for forgivenesd but…I also told her that it was ok. She did not have to accept my sorry. She did not even have to forgive me. What I said, what I did, left a stain on our day. I would do anything to go back and change what I did.
My daughter is only five.
And yet she lives her life with a mother who struggles with mental illness. She knows emotions like other children know candy and shopping sprees. She can tell you safety plans for every occasion and exactly what it means when mommy can’t seem to sleep.
Yet she tells me I am the best mommy ever. That she loves me no matter what. That she is proud of me. She looks forward to my hugs. She smiles so brightly when I tell her how I feel…even on the bad days. I am so proud of her and I tell her. I tell her all the time. I may be a monster but in her eyes I am worth it. In my eyes she is a reason.
I must wear it like a chain around my neck
A bloody weight specially made of gossamer wings and naivety
For a split second I can see it
A tiny throne for a tiny king
Strong,
holding me upon a dirty bed
Strangers walk by with their stilted lies
throwing their red paint and holy words
A christening by those who curse
It must be hanging like a noose
This tightly woven cradle where tiny kings,
With tiny wings can slumber
For a split second I can feel it
(Tantalizing fingers glimmer, gently brushing remembering the need)
Remembering the greed
It didn’t take that long to bleed
As they tugged and pulled away my flesh
Cutting into my skin like a second dress
I remember it so clearly
Maybe that is why I wear it around my neck
This bloody weight specially made of
Gossamer wings and tenacity
Such a tiny throne for a unwanted king
My daughter is crying in the other room
But I am to scared to go get her
I am afraid of what I will see
A giant figure standing over her
Caressing her whimpers
I am not strong enough to fight it
So I hide
My daughter is crying in her room
But I am to afraid to save her
I know what is standing there
A figure made of bad dreams
Touching her face as she shakes and whispers
A/N when my daughter was a newborn I was often afraid that something would happen to her. I remember watching all these videos about kids dying from SIDs or some other illness. I would constantly wake up and check on her. Doing the finger under the nose check just to make sure she was still breathing.
As she aged I started to have other fears. As I would open her bedroom door to check on her I would suddenly think that someone is standing there waiting.
They wouldn’t harm us but they would sit there. To this very day, and I do mean very, I am still afraid to go and check on her. I have to work myself up to it. I often hear her when she wakes up but I do not move until she comes to my door asking to come in. I stay silent… I know this cowardly but the person in my head is often one who loves her and hates me. To it I am a monster and she must be protected.
I am afraid but I know she will be forever safe.
A baby bird with broken wings
Listen softly as mothers scream
She is distraught and filled with rage
Was forced to carry this vicious egg
Failure is what failure does
Something to which she can never love
Little bird with a broken wing
Such a pitiful and unwanted thing
Gives a whistle to hear sweet sounds
Mother hurries to the ground
Kicks up dirt
Rocks and
Leaves
She is filled with terrible things
But the little bird sees none of this
Moves its wing in for a kiss
A Hug
A gentle touch
All ignored
By the hateful bird
But baby bird does not notice
Filled to much with hope and purpose
Mother bird shudders and drops
Gives a tweet and then flies off
Choices
By Zoha Lixue
I have waking nightmares.
Voices in my head
People wondering why I am not already dead
They ask me as a favor
To give up before I am able
I can give them all my excuses
But we all know it will be useless
I wasn’t made for this
And they know it
I ignore them
These horrendous voices
I pretend that they aren’t there
Impression in the wind
Hopefully one day they will end
In my head knowing they will one day win.
I do not hear voices I hear impressions. Emotions without words. I can feel it all bubbling behind my eyes. I don’t see figures but I get the sense that someone is watching me. I can feel them follow me. I can there eyes and every blink they make is registered in my mind.
But no
I do not see or hear people. I never have but how do I explain what I do go through. How do I tell people about my pain? They will judge me harshly and think I am lying. They will take away my daughter and tell me that I am unfit to be her mother. How do I show them that she is the only person in this world I care for. That even as I am fading she is thriving. I give all my enegery to her. Yes, I am dying. Not in the way others may think but in a way that says my body is deteriorating along with my mind. The illness I suffer from is in my head…not in a way that makes it unreal but in a way that shows that it is unseen. I am dying slowly and she is the only thread keeping me intacted. Without her I will die all the sooner.
But how do I ask for help without the world trying to kill me faster?
I can see her body floating as I close my eyes. I can see her hurting in every way imaginable as I stand by unable to do a thing. Sometimes I am dying and sometimes I am not. Either way I am always out of reach. I put my hand towards her, grasping, for just a touch. But I never make it, not in time anyways. I watch the light fade from her eyes. I watch as her beautiful smile twist into a look of pain.
This is my everyday nightmare.
As I close my eyes I see her dying. I see her suffering in unimaginable ways. I can’t do anything but watch. Either dead or alive I am always reaching for her.
This is my everyday. When I try to talk to people about it they just call me paranoid or don’t understand.
I can’t sleep unless she is beside me but there are days when that makes it worse. I take every pill the doctor gives me. Say my prayers before bed. Yet nothing is working.
I can see her hurting and I can’t make it stop.
Every day my daughter dies and I know it is all my fault.
Warning :self harm, suicidal ideation, bulimia, anorexia, mental disorders.
I got sick today. Like really sick.
And I know what you are thinking, why the hell did I just tell you about my five min date with the butt throne.
Well my dear people I am telling you this because it made me feel good.
Yes as I sat there puking my guts out all I could think of was
‘This isn’t so bad at all. A few months of this and I can finally be pretty’
Even know I sit here trying to make more come up because I want to lose this weight. I want to be skinny because to me that equals beauty. Now I do not hold this standard to everyone. People can be beautiful no matter what their size may be but I can’t. I will never be beautiful. I will never be someone who people want to give seconds looks. I am barely someone they want to see at the corner of their eye.
Not to say I believe me to be disgusting but I do find myself to be distasteful…borderline disgusting.
I hate myself so much that for a mins while getting sick I wanted to keep doing it. I wanted it all to go away. I kept thinking about all the disgusting foods I can shove down my throat just to have a reason to puke.
So I can be skinny
So I can be beautiful.
I will like to make a point to say that I also have the flu or a cold..whatever sickness this is I have it.
So I did not set out for today to puke up my delicious chicken tortilla soup with extra sour cream combined with a to die foe root beer float. I would have actually liked to have been able to digest that, thank you very much.
But once it happened, I felt relief. I felt alive.
This reminded me of something though. It reminded me of my addiction to cutting.
Both of these cause me great pain but in the end they bring me the greatest pleasure.
Through the pain I know that I am alive. I feel powerful. I feel beautiful. I feel as though I can finally see the light. Do you know how addicting it can be to have all that when your normal is constant darkness and paranoia. To finally have some clarity.
I can see the colors!
All the pretty pretty colors.
Sadly,
I know how destructive this can be. I know what it looks like for someone to starve themselves to lose weight. I know what it looks like for someone to accidently kill themselves.
I know the end result of my addiction.
So I don’t follow through with my temptations. No matter how much my mind tells me that I need to.
Instead I wait with anticipation for the next I cut or burn my skin by accident. I await that moment when I can spend hours in the bathroom due to some illness.
I no longer inflict these wounds on myself.
Instead I wait for someone else to do it for me.
All praise mother Gaia and karma.
May they serve me the pain I need to stay alive.
NIGHTMARE FANTASY 