I began to understand my end when I realized I don’t even dream of a better life anymore…
I can’t even imagine one without you.
I am mostly quiet now.
Yet what happens in my life writes a story in my flesh.
Pain is never silent. Suffering is never quiet.
I am mostly quiet now though.
My body and brain scream in agony while
I’ve been well trained in the utter futility of making any sound
I must beg your forgiveness for
the extra wrinkles aging me at the speed of five years of heartbreak,
and a lifetime of accepting
(I am mostly quiet now, though)
The permanently furrowed brow
The way my skin almost shrieks aloud now when touched
The dead weight behind my eyes
The way my once-smiling mouth pulls further down at the edges each day
(But I am mostly quiet now.)
For the way my brain screams at too much noise
Yet weeps at the unending unnatural shrieks of silence…
Resounding with pathetic pleas to matter
I plead daily for mercy for the weight of my existence, the curse of my birth.
I know only these things:
No one should have to spend a lifetime begging for love, desperate for mercy, pathetic for humanity.
Not even one…
and I am mostly quiet now.
Window of opportunity has cracked open…
solitude again, at last, albeit brief…
fresh air of relief washes over my face
even as fear and apprehension taunt me.
Am I brave enough?
I’ve ruined or missed
every chance I’ve had in this life.
It’s clear I’m nothing but mass destruction,
bringing heavy misery to all I love.
Cursed like Cassandra to carry the burden
and weight of truth in a world
where only pretty lies are valued
Can I believe in myself just enough
to stop the incessant suffering I bring
I must have a zillion pictures of you and Savannah, yet I had to steal a photo from your old Myspace! I’m sure I could find 100 on my Facebook if I cared to browse those memories…but I don’t. So, this stolen photo it is….
We moved in 2009 into that house on Roosevelt that we all loved so much. I told Savannah she had the choice to keep schools or change. She chose to change, You were Savannah’s first friend. I remember the first day I met you…hoping you were a nice girl and not mean…praying you’d be a real friend to my daughter who’d had some mean girls at her former elementary school.
You were. You are an amazing human being! You were a great friend to my daughter, I adored your funny, unique style.. I loved that you weren’t trying to be like everyone else in that awkward, insecure time of life. I thought, this girl…this beautiful child… will see my daughter’s beauty and appreciate her spirit. She’ll see the sun in my child that makes the other girls insecure….and she’ll love it…
And you did. You were the friend I’d prayed for for my child..the one who would encourage her individuality like I was trying to!
Who could have known she’d turn against me 3 years later? No one would have guessed that.
But you… YOU…among all those lies and false accusations, you are LITERALLY the only person among a million adults who knew better, only you who stood up for me or said, “huh? what are you talking about”?
And you were there almost daily for the 3 years prior.
I’m sure I wasn’t the perfect mom..but I was a good mom! And I loved my children! You knew that even as they started their lies.
Thank you for being my daughter’s friend in those tough years and thank you for being a good human being. I’m scared to love anyone anymore, but I love you like my own and I hope maybe my daughter learned a little about good people from you, if not from me.
You’re my hero….for a zillion reasons…
There it was.
gross and grotesque
like intestines spilled out for display
at a homicide scene…
and yet beautiful enough to steal the breath from
There it was
the heart that went missing
5 agonizingly long years ago.
A Starbucks table full of older children…
I wondered why the others were turning to stare
when I saw it.
The smoke and ashes of a soul’s empire
lovingly built, brick by brick
sitting nonchalantly at a table
surrounded by friends,
who turned to stare
at the lonely old has-been crazy woman
in her car,
waiting at the drive-thru window
My very own heart
pretending it didn’t see me
purposely looking straight ahead
as its friends turned to stare…
I recognized it though.
After all, it’s my heart….
It choked my throat…
floods of hugs and kisses
long talks at the dinner table
giggles making up silly stories
and how the number 3 makes a heart
…for a reason…
There it sat,
surrounded by friends,
pretending it didn’t see me….
my very own heart…
splayed out on that table
I never existed
Maybe I never did?
Does one really exist without a heart?
So I forced a laugh, alone in my car…
trying to turn the choke of memories into laughs
hoping my empty, gaping chest
wouldn’t show itself.
I no longer
She makes the best damn banana smoothies ever.. and pretends her amazing, beautiful children made them for her.
By the way, the secret is FOUR bananas , a splash of pineapple juice(I didn’t have any fresh pineapple to use), frozen vanilla yogurt and a splash of cream, fill blender with ice and blend.
Yummy. Thank you, Lexi Lou and Savannah Banana! This is the best banana smoothie EVER!
I can’t feel totally sorry for myself today on my 6th year straight of being entirely ignored and erased by the little people I grew and birthed out of my own body. Every year for the past few Mother’s Days my Aunt sends me a dozen gorgeous fragrantly delicious red roses.
I try not to let the day get to me- after all, it’s a manufactured holiday-not like birthdays or major holidays, but it does get to me…still. Mostly in the memories. And it’s everywhere anyway: the television, social media pages, radio… It’s impossible to ignore.
So I’m treating myself to the most delicious banana smoothies ever and sniffing my beautiful roses thinking how happy my children are without me and how much I would never want them to be anything but happy.
I made a little video in honor of my maternal grandmother yesterday. I had found so many old photos of her on my dad’s computer and I wanted to preserve them in the event that anything happens to me, so I figured a YouTube video would best keep them somewhere forever.
I sent the link to several family members, including my daughters before I recalled Savannah’s reply when I told her my mammaw (her great grandma) had passed and that I would pay for her and her sister to fly in for the funeral if they wanted to attend. Her reply was, “This isn’t a convenient time“.
Strange how this tiny little phrase was so very unlike my daughter and so very exactly her father. My children were sweet and thoughtful, exceedingly unselfish, and advocates for the less privileged as well as against bullying and cruelty. Nothing this child had ever said or done in the entire 13 years she was in my care would have suggested to me she would ever make such a heartless reply. Only a pathological narcissist would feel “inconvenienced” at the timing of a family member’s death enough to actually say, it’s inconvenient… I read this reply and felt literally nauseated at the striking likeness to a narcissist’s typical reaction and heartbroken deep inside at the blatant implication of what my child has become in the four years in her father’s care.
Apparently, the depth of selfishness and cruelty of a pathological narcissist does not subside, not even with death. Sad, too, that this was the only great-grandparent my children had left as far as I’m aware.
Aside from the narcissistic implications, this saddened me even further. It seems the circle of dysfunction and brokenness my mother began will have no end. Its sharp, jagged knives continue to slice into generation after generation.
My mother didn’t speak to her mother for years as I was growing up. Because of this as well as some added geographical distance, I wasn’t permitted to develop as close of a relationship with my grandmother as my cousins had. If mother didn’t like someone, her children simply were not permitted to like them either. And my mother had a plethora of various “wars” with her family members all her life and mine, which true to narcissistic form, heavily influenced my family circle and bonds (or lack thereof).
Although my mother told me many (conflicting) tales of the cause of these family alienations – all of which she was the poor victim of their cruel injustice, of course -I have been privy to facts which better and more sensibly explain the truth behind these things.
Regardless, I thought I would be the catalyst to end these sad and destructive familial fractures. Although I worried very much about my children even knowing the bitter, hateful, evil woman who despised me all my life, with my dad’s pleadings and my desire to be the bigger person, as well as my strong wish that my children have all the family possible to love them since I did not have that as a child, I allowed my mother to know my children. Mostly with an agreement with my dad that he would not ever leave them alone in her care or presence, which he agreed to (but did not honor I subsequently discovered after his death).
In yet another great display of irony, this relationship I allowed via my dad, greatly assisted in the destruction of my relationship with my daughter – a bond I truly believed could never be damaged, much less destroyed – not even by pathological narcissists like their father and my mother. I would give my children all the love, attention, and respect I did not get from my mother and in my ignorance, felt that created an unbreakable shield protecting my children and I from the dysfunctional alienation my mother had started decades earlier in our family.
It did not protect it. The strength and pathology of two narcissists with influence on vulnerable children who recently lost their patriarchal figure was evil and deceitful enough to break that bond I’d spent years building like a fragile twig. Another mistake I’ll never forgive myself for. I allowed them to even be in the presence of the deception and hatred of my mother. I allowed that, naively believing I was demonstrating being the bigger person. Even if that woman chose not to love me or be a good mother to me, how could anyone not love my amazing children? And how could I be hateful enough over her mistreatment of me to prohibit my children the luxury of having a grandma? The luxury which had been all but taken from me as a child? A luxury I had always envied other children having while I was growing up? I could not then, in good conscience, keep my children from having every ounce of love and affection from all the people in the world.
So, now they have all the love in the world, except they’re void of any affection, compassion, or love for their own mother. Thus, my mother’s legacy of dysfunctional alienation lives on in spite of my attempt to discontinue it.
And after all, death is just so very inconvenient for the living, isn’t it?
Written 22 days before my D-Day…the day the thieves finally stole both my thoughts and my ability to organize them.
It rained for 34 years
A constant drizzle of dampness which permeated the soul
and dampened the spirit’s birth-right of light
knowing nothing otherwise
her soul and body adapt
figuring into a semi-fish like thing.
when she was submerged in water, she forgot the rain
and it was a kind of grateful joy.
She could see others in the sunlight- their sunlight
And she longed to join them, stand next to them long enough
To warm her wet scaly skin just a bit
But she knew.
She knew joining their sun would put out the light and warmth they loved so much.
So she learned to love
She couldn’t know envy or wish the light for herself.
It being something different for her
Just not a part of her world.
The only argument for community she had was a falseness –
Her gift to pretend she didn’t rain.
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