too happy, too sad, too blonde…….too much effort

when i was 11 i tried to giggle

it seemed the more you giggled

and the less you laughed

the better off everyone was

when you were at the party

or the store

or shopping at the mall

-i was never shopping at the mall…

i was loitering and rummaging

which is all i could afford to do-

i was not beautiful

i was not quiet

i was not a half-wit

and i was not at all good at giggling

i would practice in the mirror

behind the closed bathroom door

i watched the girls who were loved

the gaggles of gigglers

they would talk about things

things i could not understand

the proper way to be blonde

the right huge bow to wear with this or that

cars, trips over-seas, clothes clothes clothes

and makeup

but mostly the talks and scores of giggles

were directed at other people

the boys who were so cute

the girls who were so unworthy

what they had heard of this one

or that one over there in fake keds

the gaggle of gossiping gigglers

there was never talk of the news

or of the environment

they all read books

a series of garbage

“sweet valley high”

i worked and saved every dime

wiping snot from the nose of toddlers

and delivering papers

and walking door to door to con strangers into buying the newspaper

so i could go out and buy

every single sweet valley high book

i read the first paragraph of the first book

it dawned on me

one of the unimaginative toddlers

i watched weekly as their parents went

to the club or suppering (verb) with proper people

one of the children filled with green mucous

wrote the entire series in baby hieroglyphs

after one paragraph i was exhausted

from trying to find the meaning

and justification for publication

of mental diarrhea, which is a kind description

but i kept them in case

and i hid my love in the closet

under blankets and dirty panties

stacks of paperbacks mostly stolen

jack, chuck, willie, allen, robert, tim…..

books of roads and whores

insanity and herion

drinkin druggin and too much

motorcycles and buddhism

beets pan and perfume

in hopes i would giggle my way into friendships

it was a skill i never mastered

i was never fully aware when the giggle

was the appropriate response

when i was 12 i laughed and embraced madness

i truly was

there is always an end to it

is there a sin

a lie to the outside

so vulgar and so destructive

an autobiography, a self-portrait

so elaborate and fanciful

that the self, the core begins to believe

in it’s own falsehood

shuffling vanity and disillusion

a wretch painted pink and dressed in silk

is still nothing but a well-dressed miscreant

a joke of society and a waste of it all

to hold on to a life full of lies and fantasies

nothing real or sustainable

it’s just a waste of energy

and energy is running low

the science of madness

allowing the fool to believe

she is a blessing

to walk with a head held high

and spew and spout stupidity

while those maintaining apathy and disgust

wear the mask of kin and lovers

the honest and the brave carrying banners

are painted as traitors to keep the facade

there comes a sudden epiphany

a voice from beyond all seen and understood

a judgement, a reckoning of self

when it is time to put the costumes away

and allow rest to set in deeply

the count-down sealed and guaranteed

728 and walking backwards

anam bandia tuatha de’ danann-soul goddess of the family of danu

i am not a lady

i am not proper

i am not a minder-of-words

i am not beautiful

i am not socially acceptable

i am not simple

i am not incapable

i am not illiterate

i am not meek

i am not a pretty princess

i am not concerned with the market

i am not concerned with stock prices

i am not weak

i am not quiet

i am a slut

i am bitch

i am a trouble maker

i am an owner of myself

i am proud

i am aggressive

i am a delver in enjoyment

i am a warrior

i am confusion

i am badb

i am the capacity to slaughter

i am macha

i am havoc

i am nemain

i am the three

i am the war

i am the goddess

i am the great queen

i am the morrigan

i am

i am

i am

i am always

i am forever entitled

i am the ownership

i am the deed and creed

i am unto myself

i am creation

i am destruction

i am birth

i am death

i am rebirth

i am a world

i am my own rite

i will never surrender nor follow

how much for that doggie in the window

maybe it would be different

if perhaps i were bilingual

what if i had walked backwards

or made the left turn and not right

what if i could line-dance

or if i even understood the purpose or had the desire

what if i could correctly understand negative numbers

there was a time i wanted to stand on my head

but i never accomplished that mission

it was much too dangerous for those around me

to attempt that because i wobbled on my feet

what if i had a great love for magic tricks

or maybe i could figure out poker

how would it all have changed if i didn’t read

what if i enjoyed smoldering hot days

my life would be away

or above

or beyond

there maybe a chance for mundane events

had i just heaved and not hoed

what if i stopped when i was told to be proper

“ladies don’t fart ever in public”

what if i never farted and laughed on elevators

what if i gave one fuck about what that stranger thinks

what if i respected the boundries drawn out

and baked sugar cookies with chocolate sprinkles

in shapes of my brown friends with nooses

what if i adopted beautiful bigotry and a hate for others

what if i could hate based on biblical scripture

maybe if i took all words in leviticus on face value

or if i had never read the book for myself

what if i had just believed it because they said it

what if i bought into the stories

maybe i could have been snow white

dead inanimate nothing but a box

and i waited for that rescue moment

i waited for that special someone to make me a person

to bring me to life because i could never exist alone

what if i could just shut the fuck up

and i did as i was told

and i didn’t think or understand

what if i thought and understood but no-one knew

what if i mastered the beautiful smile and dead eyes look

and i was as thin and sickly in appearance

would it be easier

would there be more

what price would i sell for

if i were a common

sticks and stones

juggling knives

that is some dangerous business

with the capacity of death

even worse, constant mutilation

getting caught in the muscles

tearing through the safety

tearing through the serenity

piercing flesh

knives screaming

whore, cunt, stupid

wretched unworthy bitch

sitting on the floor

pulsing and writhing

trying to push guts

back into an abdomen

sewing it back up

using teeth to tighten

the dental floss

trying to close the wound

maybe it should be heat

let it melt

let it swim back together

i see it in the mirror

behind the blue eyes

of the stranger

that lives in the glass

her scars remarkable

protruding from the flesh

i lie to her

she can’t handle truth

i tell her she is beautiful

she knows better

the lady all length and width

horizon and vertical

with no depth

i whisper to her

“you are worthy”

she screams back

“don’t quit your day job asshole!”

veins popping purple faced

exposing those times

when the knives fell

when she did it on purpose

pulling steel against the flesh

pushing it to the tilt

inside her guts

because that is what she is

that is all she knows

and still i lie to her

telling her she is going

one day to be ok

she can still be beautiful

we both know the line

we both see the scam

but speaking the truth

to her is too cruel

so we juggle knives

of words and actions

scarring the tissue

tearing the fiber

and chaining the soul

 

 

o some days!!!!

i have been sick for so long now, it almost feels normal to me, and this is not even the beginning of my health catastrophe, it actually started about 10 years ago but i was in remission for about 4 years.  now it is back with a vengeance that can only be compared to a scorned lover.

it is strange the way different ppl deal w illness.  i have seen ppl wallow in the flu like they have been stabbed in the gut.  i have seen ppl who had appendicitis who were capable of walking around and laughing even when their appendix was so swollen it ruptured.  everyone deals with it differently.  sometimes it is a cultural thing.  showing pain in some cultures is a sign of weakness, i honestly don’t believe that is the american view of pain but for some reason that is my reaction-bite through it, rub some dirt on it and keep going no matter what.

everyday i get up, at least attempt to clean the house, cook, do laundry, play w plants, etc.  no matter how incredibly horrible i feel i try.  i don’t want to lay in bed all day and do nothing.  i don’t want to feel worthless.  but that is how i feel.  all that i am is manifested in what i do, and when i can’t do i feel as though i am failing and losing myself to this illness.  but the doing is causing me to rapidly become more ill and bad things go down like me passing out or falling down or trying to talk and jibberish just spewing from my lips.  i can’t even go for a walk alone.  “she might fall down!  go with her!””stop cooking!  you’re just going to hurt yourself!  i can’t pick you up off the floor by myself!”  while i know they love me and want the best for me and don’t want me to end up breaking a bone or going into a seizure, they don’t realize at all how i feel by not doing. the pain never stops, it is relentless in it’s constant presence, therefore being in bed doesn’t so much make me feel better, it makes me feel worth nothing as a person.

i have seen so many drs over the years, general practitioners to holistic healers to specialist in every aspect of the human anatomy.  i have been poked, prodded, probed, had tubes up my ass and down my throat.  i have had xrays, catscans, mri’s, nerve conduction tests, eeg, ekg’s, sonograms, blood work more blood work and then more probing.  drs have yanked and touched and pressed and felt all over my body.  and still there is nothing they can do for me.  nothing is conclusive.  sometimes a part is broken, then we start to investigate that broken part and just like a car at the mechanic suddenly the part is running just fine, despite the testing showing differently 3 days prior.  the first example off the top of my head about that is my thyroid.  that is a little organ on the side of your throat that releases chemicals to help regulate metabolism and other fun stuff.  when tested in the drs office my thyroid was way off, so the dr sent me to the lab where they tested to see which of the 3 main hormones released by the thyroid were off, treating this is through hormone replacement of the low hormone.  they tested my tsh, t3 and t4.  they were all within the normal range.  

it is never reassuring when the drs look at you and shrug and say “well i dunno….”  my drs aren’t even able to treat my psoriasis which is visible and examinable and they are able to look at it and touch it and all that diagnostic jazz they love to do.  so you can only imagine what kind of hell i get from an invisible illness.  there is alot of shrugging, and alot of trying out new meds in a hit or miss fashion.  which just makes me more ill.  so when i am told “i think you should see the dr again” it drives me insane.  i am treated like a possible lunatic by my gp.  he has no idea what this is and has flat out said that.  i have no faith they will find anything.  they may give me some new medicine to take that will make me puke but that is just to cover up the symptoms they can’t fix.  i am tired of this bullshit.  i am tired of hearing there is nothing we can do for you…it is exhausting and disheartening and i just can’t seem to gather the strength to go through it right now.

i am averaging at max 4 hours of sleep in a 24 hour period.  this sleep is never consecutive, it is always in spurts of about 2 hours at a time. some nights i wake up crying from the pain, some nights i just can’t get comfortable at all.  i take massive amounts-like way too freaking much-benadryl and an herbal sleep aid called alteril.  i take at least 200 mg of benadryl at a time.  it’s not good for me, i know that, i can only imagine what blocking all my histamine is doing to my immune system, but not sleeping is not an option.  after about 3 days the brain begins to hallucinate and and is completely muddled.  i cannot afford that.  it is terrible and hurts everyone around me.

i can’t keep down food.  somedays i can keep down graham crackers, but that is some days.  i try to eat real food, you know like beans and rice.  but i can’t hold them down.  the dr said it sounds like an inner ear thing(?) so i got a new medication for that and it just makes me pee bright neon green-which was cool to begin w but it lost it’s novelty quickly and it just sits in the med safe.  sometimes he will be generous and call me in some phenegran but only the baby dose-which i have been on so many times the baby dose is ineffective so i have to take two pills for them to hopefully stay down long enough to do some good.

somedays i just don’t feel up to the fight.  i am tired of fighting.  i am tired of losing.  i am just fed up with the whole business of illness.  i don’t want to be on pain pills, i don’t want to be your guinea pig for the new line of drugs, i don’t want anymore xrays or blood draws or fastings.  i don’t want to vomit.  i don’t want to be so tired my eyes cross.  i do want to go for a walk.  i do want to cook dinner for my family.  i do want to be able to go to my friend’s house or have friends over.  i do want to be able to go to meetings with and for my kids.  

there aren’t alot of options open right now.  i mean really it’s deal with it or die.  you can’t just give up.  you have to keep on keepin on but today i am not up to the challenge.   today i just want to cry and maybe sleep and maybe watch some mindless tv.  today i don’t want to go to the dr or go to the er.  i was going to make tamales today but i am running a high risk of falling due to exhaustion and i don’t want to have to fight w anyone not to call the ambulance service.  so fuck tamales today.  i just need a day where i can feel sorry for myself and break down wo having to apologize for it or worry that it will hurt someone else or make someone else cry.  i guess that is pretty selfish, and i think it’s a pipedream.  bc if i show even the smallest sign of weakness i run the risk of losing the ppl i love.  but i am not making tamales and hopefully i will keep my brave face on for the rest of the day until they all go to sleep then i can cry.