I remember...

I remember the moment that I became this woman

I remember what it was like to live carelessly 

       with no regard for the matters of the universe.

I remember thinking that it really would be okay

I remember feeling safe and knowing or thinking that life was going to be like this always

I remember the day that the universe cracked wide open and I dangled helplessly

        in the vortex that whirled around me

                        taking all stability with it

I remember the moment that the vortex spat me back onto the earth 

         which would remain forever shifting under my feet.

I began working on tikkun olam

          but i was mistaken

I was not working to recover the world

I was desperately trying to spackle my own world back together

I was trying to pour concrete into the cracks which threatened to trip me

         and scrape my pretty little knees which had never been knobby

I was trying to stitch together the fabric that had been torn apart

        left irregularly jagged, not as if cut with sharp pinking shears

             but rather torn pulled apart not on the seam                                    

                 but in the places where the fabric had been woven together in the beginning

I wanted to glue the clouds into the sky lest they move and shift again

I wanted to measure the water as it fell from the sky 

      to ensure that the ground would accept her rains without being overwhelmed and flooding out

I wanted to repair my world which had all at once split wide open

      a world flayed like a fish...gutted

        with innards tossed aside as refuse while flesh cooks on a bed of coals

My world had become nothing but a caught fish writhing on a hook

         flopping around trying to avoid the sharp knife

              designed to strip it of its scales

                 leaving it vulnerable and facing certain death

I played God and tried to recover my world 

          but it was too late

                 it had already been torn asunder

And I scrambled to repair it

By capping toothpaste and

Making beds with impeccable hospital corners

Washing dishes and putting them away

Lining up my shoes and alphabetizing my cds

Dewey Decimaling my books

Sizing and colorizing my closet

But to no avail. 

The world is still the same as it was 

    when the vortex spat me out

        onto cracked concrete

That claws at my knees

  When I pray

©Reverendsister's Ink 2013

Sick and Single: Only one is a condition

For No Shame Day I intended to write something far more eloquent. Instead, this is what I came up with. When you pray, remember those who suffer...

Sick and single - only one is a "condition"

"When in the darkness, I would grope, faith always sees a star of hope." Beams of Heaven

No, it does not. In the darkness, in that living, breathing metaphor for the mental illness that plagues me, I do not always see a star of hope. Perhaps my unembodied faith does, but I do not. I see only the thick darkness that is pierced by streetlights and on a good night, the light of the moon when it is properly positioned with respect to the sun. 

Being ill is bad enough and to relieve the world of the burden of caring for us, we take it on boldly. But in so doing, in our attempts to avoid sounding like we are chronic complainers, we often endure it alone. No one wants to be alone when she is sick. Surely, I can manage to pour a glass of water and dump a pill or two into my own hand. There is relief for the physical symptoms that can be found in small pills with numbers or letters etched into them. But the real healing from the pain of mental illness often comes from the gift of presence. A silent, understanding presence. The kind of comfort that we remember from childhood when we could climb into an adult's safe lap and feel loved. That is sufficient. Just to be loved is enough. Just to know that mine are not the only eyes trying to pierce the dark midnight of depression. Just to know that this too shall pass, but until it does, I am not left to bear the burden of it by myself. A hand to hold or a gentle caress of the cheek will keep the darkness at bay if only for a moment. Yet, for the single ones, that small gesture is often more elusive than the cure itself.

When the mind and the body change the rules by which you live, you find yourself trapped in a prison that tortures you and it feels as if you are in fact the guard. The ultimate betrayal is that your body has become your prison and your mind is the warden who forgets to feed you and who by default, assigns you to solitary confinement where you are abandoned by that which has imprisoned you and then the punishment is complete, for you have not even your mind to accompany you in this prison. This is the unimaginable reality for some and the overwhelming truth for others. 

The secret of mental illness - whether depression, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder or another designation - is the reversible cloak of darkness and solitude. We will try to hide and can only hope that someone will seek us...find us...touch us...help to heal us. Some of us are sick and single...only one is recognized by the medical community - as a condition.

Betrayal

She speaks to me and 

She hears me when I speak

She knows my heart and my thoughts

She is my closest ally most times

There are days though,

when she abandons me

I do not know where she goes

I do not know who she meets in 

her secret

clandestine meetings

without me

I do not have any trace of her

only memories of fun times together

I remember and cling 

desperately

breathlessly

because it is all I know 

I do not know if she knows

how it hurts when she leaves

I do not know if she realizes

that I ache when she is gone

 I lose all orientation

I lose my will to live

because without her 

I cannot think and 

I can barely breathe

and there is no life of the mind

when there is no mind

She knows all of my secrets

I wonder if she is telling them

In her absence, I wonder

 if I am telling them

by accident

without her as my guardian

She guards my mouth 

and when she is absent

 who knows what i will say

to the careless listener

who is rendered speechless

in the presence of

the revelation of

the life of my  mind

which is now gone again

I trust her with all

of my thoughts

all of my wandering

traipsing

lilting

running

thoughts

I love her but she betrays me

she leaves me

she leaves no number

I cannot find her

And I need her so

Sometimes

She returns and we

come together again

and then we fall

into our rhythms again

 the rhythm of clear thought

the release of clinging

the release of anxiety

for with her,

I am safe again

She is me 

and I am she

but my mind is a wild thing

incapable of commitment

only brilliant flashes

and moments of grandeur

and winged feet

that carry her away

leaving me feeling

like even the life of my mind

is suicidal

Reverendsister's Ink (c) 2013

.

(Saying) my name

I had a name

I heard you

Say it

I remember it

rolling off of your lips

like sweet sticky peach juice

after that first bite

tried to capture it again

tried to pull it back into your mouth

and you found that

you could not

it had become a drop

it had fallen to the ground

attracting hungry ants

with all of its sugary splendor

and they consumed 

what they did not know

was my name

having fallen sweetly 

from your lips

I had a name

until you changed it

and you said it

with heat and fire

aflame on an arrow

meant to pierce my heart

but it hit the bone

and burnt the marrow

and I began to die

Please,

do not utter my name

for it is not safe 

in your mouth

where flames char the vowels

and crisp the consonants

Please, 

forget my name

for it is not safe

in your mouth

Now, I long for One

to change my name

Sarah and Sarai

Mara and Naomi

Esther and Hadassah

What shall my name be

I know I have a new name

over in glory 

...and it's mine

     ...all mine

But Dear God

when You change my name

say my name

on the wind

say my name 

on the stars

say my name 

in the voice of a child

say my name

in the loving tenor of a man

say my name

on moon's bright beams

Oh Dear God

say my name

on blades of grass

and petals of tulips

say my name 

in syrup and in honey

say my name 

in rain's pelting drops

Oh, My God

say my name

call me

over and over

say my name

over and over

But Oh My God

my soul cries

for You to say my name

when You say

You Love Me

so I will know

it's me

to whom You speak

when You say my name

in water, wind and sacrament

Carla, I love you

so do this in remembrance of Me

Though you cannot say My Holy Name

Carla, I love you

for you keep My Holy Name

safe in your mouth

Carla, I love you

and I have called you 

by name

I have called you by 

your new name

My Beloved

in this, hear and know

you are mine

and you are loved

Gave and Took (in progress)

Gave and Took

Most relationships have a balance

of give and take

When I look at ours

I see that one of us gave

and one of us took

There's a reason

why give and take are

in the present tense

as actions going on

right now

continuously

as opposed to what actually 

happened

in the past but continuously

one of us gave

and the other took

The math was bad

but no one checked our work

one of us gave

and the other just took

The giver developed a condition

of congestive heart failure

from a lack of reciprocity

in the give and take

a condition made acute by 

the took and taking

No transfusion will 

cure the condition

Liars say that

time heals all wounds

I daresay

not so

love and attentiveness

and restoration of the gift

back to the giver

 with a fence to protect 

and guard against

another who merely

blindly

selfishly

takes

like a child on halloween

with hands out and expectations high

only in it for the goods

publicly on the take

with the world's blessing

all trick

no treat

The give

eclipsed by

The crook who only took

Quiet Desperation (in progress...not sure where it's going)

Quiet Desperation

Quiet desperation is a luxury that all cannot claim. 

For some of us, the desperation is screaming at the top of her lungs. 

She longs to be noticed, picked up, cradled, loved and gently loved back together. 

But instead, her cries fall on deaf ears. 

Long walks are not romantic but desperate wanderings through a dark forest. 

Quiet time is deafening in its roar about her ears. 

Sleep is not a place of rest and solace but of nightmares and restlessness. 

She awakens more tired than when she lay down. 

There is no comfort in this life. 

But it is life nonetheless. 

There is no taking of this life. 

It must exist, breathe, and continue because it is part of a cycle. 

They say this too shall pass 

     but they say it in passing with little recognition of what it really means 

                 and entails to wait for such passing. 

Time ticks away differently for the disquieted soul screaming her desperation.

I Thought You Knew

I Thought You Knew

All this time,
I thought you knew
I mean, I did tell you
Many times
Many ways
so I thought you knew

I told you on the good days
so that I wouldn't have to explain
when the bad days came
So, I thought you knew

I thought you knew
How I hear the reverb of
Hurtful words in my head
for days at a time
While compliments fall to the ground
like leaves slapping concrete
Before being blown into brown bags
And carted away like old love letters

I thought you knew
And agreed to understand
that I have porcupine days
When my quills stand out
Because I don't feel safe anymore
And I need you to handle me
Carefully
Because you're not the first
To forget
or misunderstand
But I thought you knew

Reverendsister's Ink
©2013

(drafting...there's more I think)