Tag Archives: personal

Trance

Compartmentalizing without realizing,

My feelings keep on resizing and rearranging.

Changing positions to keep my heart safe,

Changing positions to keep my pride intact,

I react to failed attempts and failed attacks

Without a hint of emotion,

As if I’m unchanged by the notion.

While the devotion grows in a safe in my mind,

It lies behind gray matter in a box of things that matter.

I placed them there so they can’t shatter.

I thought I kept them behind glass for all to see,

But really, they’re behind an opaque shape of me.

And so a feeling grows and no one knows

And I expect them to really understand who I am,

When understanding wasn’t part of my initial plan.

The plan was to play it safe,

Using safes and locks and metal boxes,

Under the pretense that they are glass.

And if anyone asks I’m always okay.

Because never okay is never okay right?

When the feelings fight to resurface I’ll build more walls,

And more blocks, adding new locks.

These fortresses protect my most sacred parts.

But now in these hours of honesty and humanity…

I’m just dying to break down the walls,

And give someone all of me…

(found poetry)

__Untold_Stories__

Solitary

…should I join the humanity again which I willingly left a long time ago after I danced to their music and sang to their tune and found out that being ‘a copy’ of the majority is a TOO HIGH price to pay in order to belong?

Simon and Garfunkel say:

“I have my books

And my poetry to protect me

I am shielded in my armour

Hiding in my room, safe within my womb,

I touch no one and no one touches me.

I am a rock, I am an island

And a rock feels no pain,

And an island never cries.”

…I chose to be a recluse, a hermit; me and my four walls. I always follow my feelings. I do not think. I worry a lot but never think. Feelings guide me and they never disappoint. I always know what to do.

Lately, I’m afraid I am losing touch. I am becoming blind and confused. I CANNOT feel my way anymore. I’m just stumbling through the days; not really knowing what to do. I ‘m afraid I am losing my true north.

My SOLITARY WORLD had been full of vivid colours, powerful scents, complex feelings, dramatic sounds and it was amazingly three dimensional down to the tiniest of details!

NOT ANYMORE! Lately, it is grey, one dimensional and very flat and far away. As if I am not a part of it. Like watching a film; you are there but not part of what is happening. Like looking through an aquarium. A silent spectator. Hopeless and powerless.

Do I NEED somebody after all? Do I have to be part of the world I despise so much? Am I not the person I thought I am? Is personal freedom not really important as much as I thought it is?

Or I’m getting old and starting to get MELLOW? Realizing for the first time that my own mortality, the things I once valued are not really that important?

Should I creep slowly out of my cave and end my HIBERNATION? See the world again, but this time not alone?

SHOULD I let somebody into my secrets and into my LIFE? SHOULD I?

GOD! It’s scary!

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Random Thoughts

Getting to that point again where it doesn’t feel like the tiles on the floor are cold anymore and the boiling water is missing its bubbles and the boy looks right through you and doesn’t see your eyes. The silent screaming of a girl so unaware of the fact she will rise again and will not be left behind. The notations of quotations that cannot drown but try to swim to middle earth anyways.

Walking home alone is not as bad as being with none around you with no one surrounding you and when you go to say hello they fly back and warn you that they are dangerously in love with you and it’s better to stay right there.

Your career is chosen along with your haircut and the voice in the back of your head is saying something along the lines of today will be cloudy with a chance of depression. The sunny, sunny moon is up and he is so cold, he cannot talk, and when you whisper I miss you all he hears is his own voice the only thing that matters.

9:30 is going time and I don’t see it happening and the dress is waiting and so is my heart for the three words to see if they will ever return. Today be the last day for me to consume and seven will be empty but the results will tell a better story than the change rooms did.

The man with the name that does not please me will try to tease me but realizes I own this game and the time is stopping and my mineral water bottle is empty again. The food shall last a whole weeks’ time or I might have to run away for good and not look back at all that has failed me and not focus on the fact I am exactly what I hate and try to erase the past that prevails me and run, run, run!

(found among old documents)

Fragile_by_Chemical_Babygirl

TGIF

I believe in the kind of love that doesn’t constantly demand me to prove my worth and sit in anxiety. I crave a natural connection where my soul is able to recognize a feeling of home in another. Something free-flowing, something simple, something natural. I just want to be taken as I am without question.

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The Invisible Domestic Violence No One Talks About

There were times when I wished he would hit me.

You know, a nice punch to my face. That way, I could have walked to my neighbors and said, “Look! Look what he did! Please help me!” But with me, as with many other women, it wasn’t that simple. It seldom ever is.

Domestic violence has existed as long as humans have walked the Earth. The majority of abusers are men. Most, if not all, were abused as children in some way, shape or form, and were lacking in affection, self-esteem, and good role models. The causes and methods of abuse are many and varied just like the people involved.

Abuse of any type is often a byproduct of years of low self-esteem, feelings of unworthiness, being abused oneself and a million other things all tied together in a vicious knot. It’s a complex and sometimes difficult situation to read.

So too are the circumstances for the victim. No one stays with someone who abuses them physically or verbally because they like to be abused. Most have come to this point because of childhood trauma, a long-term relationship with someone who is an expert at controlling and manipulating their victim, and numerous other issues with self-worth.

The reasons for abuse are almost always the same: abusers need to have power over someone else to help them feel better about their own deficiencies, low self-esteem, and feelings of inadequacy.

Women who are in abusive relationships will often defend their abusers and stay in the relationship long past the time they should have left. It is often the female who blames herself and keeps trying to make things work. Sometimes it’s the subtle mind games of the controlling, manipulative partner that cause a woman to doubt herself and her feelings.

This is often difficult for those who have never been in an abusive relationship to understand, but there are many reasons for this. Some are easily understood, some not so much.

Sometimes it is low self-esteem that holds them in place. My therapist kept asking me one question at the end of every session: “Why did you stay?” I kept answering, “I didn’t want to hurt him.” Then one day, it hit me like a brick. Because of past traumas reinforced by my relationship, I didn’t feel like I deserved any better.

Sometimes it is simply fear that holds them in place. It could be fear of retaliation from the partner should they seek help, or, especially in cases involving verbal abuse and controlling behavior, they feel no one will believe them.

Many times women have taken a stand and decided to leave only to have the abuser decide to end it for all concerned. There have been many cases of this resulting in the death of the woman, and sometimes the children, family, and friends, before the abuser turns the weapon on himself—finally putting an end to the vicious cycle.

Many think that that non-physical abuse is not as harmful or dangerous. This can be a huge mistake. Unlike the women who have been physically abused, there are no outward signs of mistreatment. All the wounds and scars are deep within the psyche—branded in the soul of the abused.

Verbal abuse, and the controlling, manipulative behavior that goes along with it, are the silent killers. Instead of taking a physical life, these abusers will kill a woman’s spirit slowly and painfully. Those who are adept at manipulation do this without anyone imagining the truth of the situation. Outwardly they may appear as the “perfect couple.” Inwardly the woman is in tremendous emotional pain and turmoil. She may not trust her own judgment any longer and may think that this is just how things are meant to be.

The signs and symptoms are many and varied, but they all share the same core issues. There are some subtle warning signs to look for. They include, but are not limited to the following:

  • A woman who is overly critical of herself and always defending her partner.
  • Someone who never socializes without her spouse or partner being present.
  • An overbearing partner, or one who treats their partner like a child.
  • Partner is constantly correcting or showing possessiveness with their actions.
  • And the obvious: unexplained or suspicious bruises, burns and broken bones.

As a society, we must learn to see and recognize these signs and reach out to help in whatever way we can. It may be nothing more than just assuring them that you’re there if they need to talk and really listening if they do so. And if at all possible, let them know they have a place to stay should they need to leave in a hurry. Keep the Domestic Violence Hotline number handy in case they want to call. Sometimes this is all you can do.

We can all learn to listen better, to see more clearly when someone in our life needs help. Sometimes all these women need in order to seek help is non-judgment, kindness, and presence. Chances are they will open up if they feel safe with you.

There comes a time in all types of these relationships when the victim can’t bear it anymore. She must walk away and seek help. Simply having a friend to go to at such a time can be a lifesaver in every sense of the word.

Leaving a long-term abusive relationship is not as easy as most would think. Women tend to blame themselves and keep hoping that things will improve. If someone comes to you for help, please don’t judge. Accept the fact that things are not always as they seem, and reach out a helping hand.

Relephant: Via Deb Avery

Injured woman leaning sadly on wooden wall

Tuesday Wisdom

“Never presume to know a person based on the one-dimensional window of the internet. A soul can’t be defined by critics, enemies or broken ties with family or friends. Neither can it be explained by posts or blogs that lack facial expressions, tone or insight into the person’s personality and intent. Until people “get that”, we will forever be a society that thinks Beautiful Mind was a spy movie and every stranger is really a friend on Facebook.”

― Shannon L. Alder

__Untold_Stories__

This Is My Wish For Myself

That I may be true to my heart and myself without fear that I won’t be understood, or at least with a fear I completely disregard.
That I can be okay in my own skin even if no one gets it or gets me or likes it or likes me.
That I can laugh at my own jokes even when no one else does, and acknowledge my own beauty even if it’s lost on them, even if it looks different than what they say it should look like.
That I can be agnostic towards approval, ambivalent towards disapproval, not change to make myself more or less of what I am for anyone else.
That I may risk time and time and time again being what I’m supposed to be for what I am meant to be.
This is my wish for you, too.
This is my wish for all of us.
May we all just fucking risk it all for the sake of our truth.
May we all be brave enough to Be who we are called to Be, no matter what.

-Hip Sobriety

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Unspoken Thoughts

Everybody wonders, ‘What happened to that sweet, nice, innocent, quiet girl.’ I’ll tell you what happened. She’s been through a lot of bullshit and realized a lot of things. For one, she realized half of her ‘friends’, isn’t really her friends. She found they talk shit about her, but still have the nerve to look her in the face and smile. That’s when she found out, she can’t trust anyone but herself. Also, she’s seen the worst kind of guys, who pretends to be good at first but eventually their bad intentions show. All the guys she depended on to make her happy, all let her down. That’s when she realized, she can’t depend on anyone but herself. Because of all that, that ‘sweet, nice, innocent, quiet girl’ you used to know, is gone…

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Bury

When a word (or anything for that matter) hits close to home it hurts. How can I bury the painful memories of my youth and most of my adult life? My youngest sister doesn’t want to bury the hatchet. She continues to nurse an imaginary wound, sustains it through the years, feeds it with anger and hate till it grows like cancer eating her from the inside. For the record, the offense didn’t happen at all. She made it up as an excuse to harm me in every possible way. She uses it to justify her wrong doings, damage me and drag my name through the mud, ruining everything I built and worked for. 

If there is someone who has the right to hate, it would be me. My reasons are supported by facts. The only thing I regret so far is allowing all of these to happen for so long before I see them for what they truly are: parasites. They used me. All of them. With no regards for my feelings and hard work. They cheat, lie and deceived. And I let them because I thought they are family. I thought I meant something more to them than merely a meal ticket. I was wrong. 

You know what is the worst of all? When people believe their own lies. They create a reality for themselves so they can live with what they have done. How they can look at themselves in the mirror straight in the eyes while deep down inside they know they are lying. I severed the umbilical chords few years ago. I have enough. I don’t want to know anymore. But they continue to haunt me. Physically, emotionally and psychologically. I know that my sister will carry her grievance to her grave. She will devote her life on the quest of bringing me down. She had done this all her life, she doesn’t know any better. There is sibling rivalry and there is pure evil pretending to be something else. Her jealousy and hatred consume her. I Can see that. I pity her. Living in lies all these years. Doing all the things she accuses me of doing all the while pretending to be the victim.  She said she has to let go of the things that are making her unhappy and I thought: Why not start with facing and telling the truth for once? Then maybe your burden will lessen considerably and maybe you can finally rest.

But like what my ex-husband said to me when I asked him why he didn’t come clean sooner so perhaps we could still fix what needed to be fixed he said: When you entangled yourself with your own web of lies it is difficult to find your way out. One lie leads to another, then another thinking you can cover your ass by fabricating more lies believing you will be able to get yourself out somehow but he was wrong of course. Truth will always prevail. Always. And I’m counting on it…

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Grit

“Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary.”

— Cecil Beaton from Berlin Parasites

It takes a lot of small things to create a big pile or a widespread. Take for example a beach, a bouquet, a festival, a mass protest, a chaos, a war. A fight doesn’t happen just like that. It often starts with/from accumulation of small things that become one big thing like dislike, irritation, too much or too little of something. Divorce doesn’t happen overnight unless of course, you are a celebrity, then everything is possible. Suicide, murder, cheating, quitting, being rich, obesity and global warming, those are also products of small loose particles which seem to be harmless at first glance but become a matter of importance when gathered together over a period of time. Stress (which on its own is also a substance of… fill in the blank) lack of sleep and proper nutrition, isolation, no motivation, stimulation, and inspiration can lead to… you can fill in the blank again. You can even type my name in it if you wish. You have my permission to do so. Getting sidetrack again. Anyway, I can go on and on naming examples of what I think grit is all about but I know people don’t care much about long articles. Especially Daily Prompt assignments so, I will leave it here and proceed on looking for something to fill my stomach so hopefully my brain will function normally and perhaps I can find a decent sleep tonight. Happy Tuesday everyone. 

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ALL OF ME

Who is she, this rebellious, creative creature that refuses to play by the rules? 

She is the chameleon that catches your eye. She is each hue of the rainbow. She is every summer sun. Every dark depth. She has a too hot heat that scorches the heart and a deep rooted longing to take flight like so many birds.

With her soul stripped bare, stark, she will dare you to see her. To truly see her. She will challenge you to hold steady your gaze. To not look away. Even when ugly truths show themselves, dancing darkly, confident of their ability to stun you. To be shunned by you.

She will let you glimpse some of the darkness that she holds, the shadows that she knows.

And then, as you try to shine light on them, on her, she will turn away from you, wanting to keep her stronghold on the demons. Because they are a part of her too. And what unknown gaping void might be left without them?

She will push you away. And then bring you back, her conflicting behaviour causing her as much confusion as it does you. She will hover at the brink. At the place where freedom falls into a different kind of escape that promises no return. She won’t succumb to the chasm that calls softly, insistently to her, but she will be mesmerised by its allure of nothingness. Of its promise to stop the clashing thoughts and tangled feelings.

There are the times when she will want to give in to the vulnerability that encompasses her. She will want to be nurtured. Spoon fed. Looked after. She will want to climb on your lap, to curl up like a cat. She will want you to tell her that it will all be alright. That she doesn’t need to do anything more. That she won’t have to draw on her depleted reserves of energy that seem to elude her today.

She assumes the personas of all the warriors she has known and learnt of. She will not always know where she begins and where the fictional personalities end, for the lines are blurred and she has no true desire to clarify them. Rather she enjoys their comfort blanket cover, that she may be able to draw on them as she needs to.

She has the haughty pride of a peacock that struts knowing full well of the rich layered beauty that draws the eye. She wants to be admired. Adored. Adorned. And then, she wants to take off the trinkets that weigh her down for they feel gaudy and heavy after a time. 

Her turmoil is studied yet unexamined, only showing itself truthfully in the offerings that she is compelled to create. She won’t be able to tell you how her creativity is born or from where it came. She does not know herself. Only that it does come, and it must come, so that she may then know some modicum of peace. Of respite. Of purpose. Her art of choice is an extension of who she is. Of who she is yet to become.

There are the days when she will wake in the light but feel full of darkness. She won’t understand what happened in the hours of sleep that she should open her eyes feeling this way. The fog will cloud her brain and dull her brilliance. Everything will move slightly slower. More muted. A lethargy descending on her. She knows to wait it out.

There are the days she will find herself in scattered pieces. Like china, smashed on the kitchen floor. Bewildered and broken. Bloodied and cold. She will look into your eyes, searching for an answer that she knows she will not find. She will feel a disoriented sense of despair. A hopelessness of sorts.

Rage is not unfamiliar to her. Cries of anger let loose when fear threatens to take over. She will shout out, hearing a voice she knows to be hers, yet not recognising the stranger that she finds in the echoes that flood back to her.

She can’t always verbally articulate what she wants to convey, what she’d like to share. Rather she finds her voice in her craft. Adding an adjective here, a splash of paint there in place of the words that might otherwise stay silent. Solitude sits well with her, yet although she knows she yearns for this sacred time alone, too much of it leads to a distorted place where the world is twisted and misshapen. Once there, she races to return, taking gulps of air that will speed her back safely.

She will find segments of herself in the creations she makes. In her words, her drawings, her sculptures. She will smile then, as she has a feeling of unity. Of coming home. She will feel confident, connected, whole.

Turning to face you with eyes so bright. And then, in no time at all, she will yearn for the next creation, panicking that it might not come, that she won’t have any outlet for the chattering riot inside her mind. She will want reassurance. Understanding. Love. So much love.

She may be some or all of these things and much, much more. She will frustrate you. She will inspire and amaze you. She will infuriate you beyond a measure that you barely knew existed. She will be all kinds of temperamental. She cannot be any more or any less than she knows in that moment. She is complex and chaotic. She is poetic and proud. She is every kind of fire and ice and all the elements of earth and sky. She is the restless, rebellious female creative and this is what it means to love her.


I wish I wrote this piece because it describes me word for word but it was penned by Skylar Liberty Rose- freelance writer and fellow blogger who believes in creativity as a form of healing and is passionate about manifesting her dreams. Skylar is an advocate of stripping away layers of conditioning and instead discovering the unique truth within. She is inspired by souls with spirit and courageous hearts. She grew up in London and now lives in New York City with her husband. Skylar is a woman after my own heart.

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