Lists, Again
Below are some posts I wrote and posted and then took down, or never posted at all. Some of them make me uncomfortable, or it makes me uncomfortable to have other people know those more pathetic parts of me. I have a tendency to force myself to see the lesson, or the bright side, or the message I can send. These posts don't necessarily have any major lessons learned or inspiring messages; they're just me, writing, because I can't stand it anymore. I'm posting them now, because I'm working on accepting and loving every part of myself, even the more disturbing, ridiculous, scary, and pathetic parts.
The Curb
Written 1/29/16
People walked by. Some smiled and said hello, some didn't. One cyclist went by without a word. Another cyclist--a homeless man--stopped to talk. His name was Mr. Clark. No first name, just Mr. Clark. I liked Mr. Clark. Sometimes happy things can happen on the curb.
The reason I was sitting on the curb was not a happy one, however. I was following my ex, who had our children, to make sure he took them where he said he would and brought them home when he said he would, because earlier that day he had threatened never to bring them back again.
Legally, I cannot keep them from him, so I have to let them go with him, make them go with him. Oh how I prayed as I sent them off with him yesterday, my daughter with frightened glances back at me, my son with a resigned "let's just get through this" expression. I prayed for their safety and for them to have courage. Over and over I prayed for those things as I drove down the highway behind them, carefully keeping a safe distance. (Safe distance? A safe distance would have been the kids in my arms and him far, far away.)
I sat on the curb, down the street from the restaurant, mostly hidden, just able to see the hood of his truck, waiting for them to leave so I could follow once more and make sure he took them home like he was supposed to. And they were stuck in there with him, my daughter in tears, my son determinedly waiting for it to be over, with him talk, talk, talking at them.
I felt helpless and insane. How could this be my life? I called people to talk to, searching for a distraction. No one was available. So I prayed some more. Peace tried to come. I could sense it just at the periphery of my senses, but it was hard to grab hold of. I trusted it, though, and calmed down just a little bit.
Eventually, they finished at the restaurant and I took the shorter way home to beat them there after I made sure they were headed in that direction. My daughter exited his truck before it even completely stopped, running to me in tears and sobbing for me to never make her do that again. My son gave me a hug and went inside the house, without a word.
I walked to his truck and found him sobbing. We talked for an hour. Since then he has left us alone.
And now what?
Lists
Written 2/16/16
Many things have happened over the past few days. Some terrifying, some frustrating, some joyful, some uplifting,
all necessary.
Maybe I'll blog about it. Maybe I won't. But for now, I want to list a few things I've learned so I remember and can relearn them again later, because I will forget:
Anger is powerful, but not always necessary.
Hatred is never helpful.
Courage is always helpful
There is such a thing as too patient.
It's okay to ask for help.
People are stronger than you think.
It is as bad as I think it is.
It is as good as I think it is.
I cannot protect him from himself.
He is not my enemy.
The truth will set him free.
The truth will set me free.
The truth will protect my children.
I must speak out, and speak the truth.
I choose happy.
I choose peace.
I choose to turn him over to Him.
Today, I am documenting. Documenting what has happened, documenting what he's done, documenting what I've learned, so below, I've documented some of my writings over the last few years. Writing was and is part of my therapy, so I employed it as my tool during my darker times. I found much happiness through the years, despite my challenges, but the works below are not happy, and they are not great works of literature, but they are my truth from that time. If you want happy, great works of literature, go read Jane Austen.
by Micki
Written August 2012
Do you see this smile upon my face?
Sometimes it is real, and sometimes fake.
At times it shows the happy in my head
Or covers how my heart is ripped to shreds
But you, oh all that you will ever see
Is the plastered smile that's stuck all over me.
by Micki
Written August 2012
You want to see my heart?
You want to know my soul?
Be careful what you wish for 'cause it's anything but whole.
by Micki
Written August 2012
I often wonder who you really are
I yearn to see if anything exists beneath the scars
Sometimes I see a glimmer of something beautiful and bright
But more often you are swallowed in a darkness blacker than night
I wish I could remove the hurt, erase all of the pain
But that desire diminishes as you betray me time and time again.
by Micki
Written August 2012
Lately, I talk a lot.
I've heard it's good to speak things aloud
To hear my words give shape to my fears and wishes
My listeners do not know my words are crying out for help
My smiles and laughs a device to break the reality of what I say
Into something manageable
Something dismissable
by Micki
Written Fall 2012
Happiness is in the air
It floats high up, out of reach
I climb toward it, higher and higher until its wispy tendrils are within my grasp
I lean out, and it floats between my fingers, around my wrist and then beyond my hold
I reach farther, straining, until I tip and fall
Down, down, down,
Looking up at happiness
Farther and farther away in the air.
by Micki
Written March 2013
some days, all I have to show
after giving all I can
are tear stains on my pillow
and a stupid poem
by Micki
Written July 2014
At 7,
Night was monsters, witches in the dark
Vampires outside my door
At 17
Night was mystery, excitement at the unknown
Endless possibilities
Now
Night is a cloak, a way to escape reality
And find peace, if only in my dreams
by Micki
Written Fall 2014
I
Have the strength of an army
The power of thousands who have gone before me
Whose blood runs through my veins
Dare
To cross me
Try to take away those things I hold most dear
Witness
As I crush to powder with my words
With my witness of what I know
I have
the muscles that strained as they carried children hundreds of miles over unforgiving plain
I have
the sweat of cowboys herding cattle through the desert heat under a blistering sun
I have
the blood and tears shed through sacrifice, pain, toil, and hardship
I reap
the joy, comfort, and faith of those who paved the way
So dare
To challenge me, to weaken and attack me
And you will see me rise up with all that is in me, beside me, before and behind me
And know
Who I Am
by Micki
Written October 2014
I've heard that when a terminally ill person dies, he or she sometimes has an upswing in energy and vitality. It's like a gift from God for that person to be able to say goodbye. I feel like that is what is happening with my marriage. We've been trudging along, so very very sick for so long, and the last couple of months have been like new life breathed into our relationship. But the true disease never really left, still festering and waiting to truly, completely, eternally consume and destroy. I have nothing left to give. I need permission to let it die. Keeping it on life support is just killing me more slowly, more excruciatingly. Every day, another piece of me dies as I fight to keep the disease alive.
The Curb
Written 1/29/16
Last night I found myself sitting on a curb. It's an interesting place to sit, the curb.
People walked by. Some smiled and said hello, some didn't. One cyclist went by without a word. Another cyclist--a homeless man--stopped to talk. His name was Mr. Clark. No first name, just Mr. Clark. I liked Mr. Clark. Sometimes happy things can happen on the curb.
The reason I was sitting on the curb was not a happy one, however. I was following my ex, who had our children, to make sure he took them where he said he would and brought them home when he said he would, because earlier that day he had threatened never to bring them back again.
Legally, I cannot keep them from him, so I have to let them go with him, make them go with him. Oh how I prayed as I sent them off with him yesterday, my daughter with frightened glances back at me, my son with a resigned "let's just get through this" expression. I prayed for their safety and for them to have courage. Over and over I prayed for those things as I drove down the highway behind them, carefully keeping a safe distance. (Safe distance? A safe distance would have been the kids in my arms and him far, far away.)
I sat on the curb, down the street from the restaurant, mostly hidden, just able to see the hood of his truck, waiting for them to leave so I could follow once more and make sure he took them home like he was supposed to. And they were stuck in there with him, my daughter in tears, my son determinedly waiting for it to be over, with him talk, talk, talking at them.
I felt helpless and insane. How could this be my life? I called people to talk to, searching for a distraction. No one was available. So I prayed some more. Peace tried to come. I could sense it just at the periphery of my senses, but it was hard to grab hold of. I trusted it, though, and calmed down just a little bit.
Eventually, they finished at the restaurant and I took the shorter way home to beat them there after I made sure they were headed in that direction. My daughter exited his truck before it even completely stopped, running to me in tears and sobbing for me to never make her do that again. My son gave me a hug and went inside the house, without a word.
I walked to his truck and found him sobbing. We talked for an hour. Since then he has left us alone.
And now what?
Lists
Written 2/16/16
Many things have happened over the past few days. Some terrifying, some frustrating, some joyful, some uplifting,
all necessary.
Maybe I'll blog about it. Maybe I won't. But for now, I want to list a few things I've learned so I remember and can relearn them again later, because I will forget:
Anger is powerful, but not always necessary.
Hatred is never helpful.
Courage is always helpful
There is such a thing as too patient.
It's okay to ask for help.
People are stronger than you think.
It is as bad as I think it is.
It is as good as I think it is.
I cannot protect him from himself.
He is not my enemy.
The truth will set him free.
The truth will set me free.
The truth will protect my children.
I must speak out, and speak the truth.
I choose happy.
I choose peace.
I choose to turn him over to Him.
Today, I am documenting. Documenting what has happened, documenting what he's done, documenting what I've learned, so below, I've documented some of my writings over the last few years. Writing was and is part of my therapy, so I employed it as my tool during my darker times. I found much happiness through the years, despite my challenges, but the works below are not happy, and they are not great works of literature, but they are my truth from that time. If you want happy, great works of literature, go read Jane Austen.
by Micki
Written August 2012
Do you see this smile upon my face?
Sometimes it is real, and sometimes fake.
At times it shows the happy in my head
Or covers how my heart is ripped to shreds
But you, oh all that you will ever see
Is the plastered smile that's stuck all over me.
by Micki
Written August 2012
You want to see my heart?
You want to know my soul?
Be careful what you wish for 'cause it's anything but whole.
by Micki
Written August 2012
I often wonder who you really are
I yearn to see if anything exists beneath the scars
Sometimes I see a glimmer of something beautiful and bright
But more often you are swallowed in a darkness blacker than night
I wish I could remove the hurt, erase all of the pain
But that desire diminishes as you betray me time and time again.
by Micki
Written August 2012
Lately, I talk a lot.
I've heard it's good to speak things aloud
To hear my words give shape to my fears and wishes
My listeners do not know my words are crying out for help
My smiles and laughs a device to break the reality of what I say
Into something manageable
Something dismissable
by Micki
Written Fall 2012
Happiness is in the air
It floats high up, out of reach
I climb toward it, higher and higher until its wispy tendrils are within my grasp
I lean out, and it floats between my fingers, around my wrist and then beyond my hold
I reach farther, straining, until I tip and fall
Down, down, down,
Looking up at happiness
Farther and farther away in the air.
by Micki
Written March 2013
some days, all I have to show
after giving all I can
are tear stains on my pillow
and a stupid poem
by Micki
Written July 2014
At 7,
Night was monsters, witches in the dark
Vampires outside my door
At 17
Night was mystery, excitement at the unknown
Endless possibilities
Now
Night is a cloak, a way to escape reality
And find peace, if only in my dreams
by Micki
Written Fall 2014
I
Have the strength of an army
The power of thousands who have gone before me
Whose blood runs through my veins
Dare
To cross me
Try to take away those things I hold most dear
Witness
As I crush to powder with my words
With my witness of what I know
I have
the muscles that strained as they carried children hundreds of miles over unforgiving plain
I have
the sweat of cowboys herding cattle through the desert heat under a blistering sun
I have
the blood and tears shed through sacrifice, pain, toil, and hardship
I reap
the joy, comfort, and faith of those who paved the way
So dare
To challenge me, to weaken and attack me
And you will see me rise up with all that is in me, beside me, before and behind me
And know
Who I Am
by Micki
Written October 2014
I've heard that when a terminally ill person dies, he or she sometimes has an upswing in energy and vitality. It's like a gift from God for that person to be able to say goodbye. I feel like that is what is happening with my marriage. We've been trudging along, so very very sick for so long, and the last couple of months have been like new life breathed into our relationship. But the true disease never really left, still festering and waiting to truly, completely, eternally consume and destroy. I have nothing left to give. I need permission to let it die. Keeping it on life support is just killing me more slowly, more excruciatingly. Every day, another piece of me dies as I fight to keep the disease alive.
I'm sorry you've been hurting for so long!! I'm glad you're finally seeing glimpses of a happy life. Someday soon, all of this will be just a memory!
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