Give me a pen
and enough paper
and i can write you an impassioned
novel
on my thoughts
my feelings
everything about myself.
i can be direct,
discuss things that would normally
terrify me to admit;
i can be open about
depression
anxiety
my feelings
everything there is.
Ask me to vocalize these things
and i stumble
stutter
the glottal stops i thought were trained
out of me by a particularly neurotic
high school English teacher
becoming all my words
i will tell you ten thousand
stories
about everything and anything
except what i'm supposed
to be talking about.
i've never understood
this disconnect
between writing and speaking -
surely either way
it's the same words in the same brain
and they ought to come out the same.
But with paper,
i can edit, re-edit, rewrite,
perfect each line and word
in ways that speech has never offered.
i don't have to worry (and sometimes,
worry becomes all i am)
about misspeaking,
misphrasing,
making things seem less important
than they are
or more.
i have a chance to say precisely what i mean to,
rather than a crude, stammered approximation
of gratitude
or pain
or love
or fear
or anything else.
30.3.16
i'm not everyone's toy
i've always had
a break
between the absence of boundaries
with those i love and the bubble i erect
with strangers.
i am a pet; i blossom under the right touch
and please let me know
when i've been a good girl,
and please put a hand
on my head and love me
and please
touch my neck, trace the line of my shirt,
but do not
if i don't know you.
i am service-oriented;
i will go to the ends of the damn earth
if asked to by those who have earned the right
But you have to earn it.
Understand: i am not your toy
not your plaything on which to foist
your personal fantasy,
Not not not
anyone's for the taking
i answer only to those i deem worthy
and it's a slippery slope
between pleasant greeting and fuck off,
if you take the wrong tone with me
or try to apply rights or pet names
where they are not welcome.
i choose to whom i belong
or want to belong
i choose who i want touching me
i. choose.
and you do not have that right
unless i let you know you do.
i am a pet,
not.
a.
doormat,
and you will find out
if you are not careful
just how fast
that door can slam.
a break
between the absence of boundaries
with those i love and the bubble i erect
with strangers.
i am a pet; i blossom under the right touch
and please let me know
when i've been a good girl,
and please put a hand
on my head and love me
and please
touch my neck, trace the line of my shirt,
but do not
if i don't know you.
i am service-oriented;
i will go to the ends of the damn earth
if asked to by those who have earned the right
But you have to earn it.
Understand: i am not your toy
not your plaything on which to foist
your personal fantasy,
Not not not
anyone's for the taking
i answer only to those i deem worthy
and it's a slippery slope
between pleasant greeting and fuck off,
if you take the wrong tone with me
or try to apply rights or pet names
where they are not welcome.
i choose to whom i belong
or want to belong
i choose who i want touching me
i. choose.
and you do not have that right
unless i let you know you do.
i am a pet,
not.
a.
doormat,
and you will find out
if you are not careful
just how fast
that door can slam.
16.3.16
Mess
Some days i'm fine
functional, stable adulthood
responding to emails
making lists
doing everything
right
on
time.
Able to communicate effortlessly,
clear
concise,
organized and brilliant and effective.
Able to handle any situation
get a grip on my emotions and do what i need to
regardless of how scary it is.
And the rest
lost inside my head
utterly
convinced
that i am hopeless,
unable to ever explain myself
peeling off my skin
and revealing the layers
underneath
unable to say Please
unable to say
anything
because silence,
that's safer.
And i am so scared
terror that eats into the back
of my brain,
and i want to say "NO"
"STOP EVERYTHING, I DON'T
WANT
TO DO THIS. I CAN'T."
And i get so angry
at myself
for believing that silence
will ever accomplish
anything. That avoidance
of everything,
surgery,
emotions,
all of it
will ever
make
anything
better.
Naked
and bewildered
and feeling so
fucking
melodramatic
for being this emotional.
functional, stable adulthood
responding to emails
making lists
doing everything
right
on
time.
Able to communicate effortlessly,
clear
concise,
organized and brilliant and effective.
Able to handle any situation
get a grip on my emotions and do what i need to
regardless of how scary it is.
And the rest
lost inside my head
utterly
convinced
that i am hopeless,
unable to ever explain myself
peeling off my skin
and revealing the layers
underneath
unable to say Please
unable to say
anything
because silence,
that's safer.
And i am so scared
terror that eats into the back
of my brain,
and i want to say "NO"
"STOP EVERYTHING, I DON'T
WANT
TO DO THIS. I CAN'T."
And i get so angry
at myself
for believing that silence
will ever accomplish
anything. That avoidance
of everything,
surgery,
emotions,
all of it
will ever
make
anything
better.
Naked
and bewildered
and feeling so
fucking
melodramatic
for being this emotional.
9.3.16
Anxiety!Brain
i joke about the duality
between normal!brain and
Anxiety!Brain: Able to Leap to the Worst Conclusion in a Single Bound
But the reality is
anxiety is the tiny voice in the back of your brain
that never
ever
shuts off.
It is the voice that tells you
that no, there ARE opinions that matter
and it isn't going to care if
your logical brain says that no, that one doesn't.
It's the shying from conversations
the shutting off of your own emotion
the refusal to see yourself
the confusion once you do.
It is the voice that says You
Are Not Allowed
to have negative emotions,
because if you do -
if you do,
you're nothing but a burden.
It is the voice that says you are not -
will never be -
accepted
loved
enjoyed for who, for what you are
that maybe who and what you are
shouldn't exist
and even when you manage to shunt
most of that to the side,
silence some,
force yourself into some semblance
of calm and reality and acceptance
random moments
will catch you utterly off-guard
Like the moment your friend says
you have accepted him more fully
than people he's known for decades,
and you realize
it's because you want that, desperately,
from those whose opinions actually matter.
Those moments you remember
that one year,
ten years ago,
where every time
your phone rang
it was someone else you loved dead
and it left you so irrational about phone calls
and the thought of picking up the phone
comes with a mix of "They'll think
Something Bad Happened" and
feeling like you need permission.
When you realize
that one word can calm
or twist your thoughts
into massive confusion
and all it takes is one.
When you recognize
that a lot of the plans you make
on a day to day basis
depend
on coping mechanisms
And when you know
that opening up to anyone
feels as though you are offering
raw, flayed underbelly
unless it doesn't,
and that "doesn't"
inevitably catches you
off-guard.
And you see clearly
that you're simultaneously
capable of infinite
patience,
understanding,
calm
But beneath the surface
that damn voice is saying,
"SEE THIS? SEE THAT?
NO
ONE
CARES."
And that voice doesn't care
if you happen to know for a fact
that it isn't true.
It doesn't matter, nothing matters
except the monologue behind your eyes
that says
You must be useful
Indispensible
and if you're not, then
what
are
you
really
But you know better.
You know your worth
has never depended on
your usefulness.
Not that anxietybrain
cares any more about it.
between normal!brain and
Anxiety!Brain: Able to Leap to the Worst Conclusion in a Single Bound
But the reality is
anxiety is the tiny voice in the back of your brain
that never
ever
shuts off.
It is the voice that tells you
that no, there ARE opinions that matter
and it isn't going to care if
your logical brain says that no, that one doesn't.
It's the shying from conversations
the shutting off of your own emotion
the refusal to see yourself
the confusion once you do.
It is the voice that says You
Are Not Allowed
to have negative emotions,
because if you do -
if you do,
you're nothing but a burden.
It is the voice that says you are not -
will never be -
accepted
loved
enjoyed for who, for what you are
that maybe who and what you are
shouldn't exist
and even when you manage to shunt
most of that to the side,
silence some,
force yourself into some semblance
of calm and reality and acceptance
random moments
will catch you utterly off-guard
Like the moment your friend says
you have accepted him more fully
than people he's known for decades,
and you realize
it's because you want that, desperately,
from those whose opinions actually matter.
Those moments you remember
that one year,
ten years ago,
where every time
your phone rang
it was someone else you loved dead
and it left you so irrational about phone calls
and the thought of picking up the phone
comes with a mix of "They'll think
Something Bad Happened" and
feeling like you need permission.
When you realize
that one word can calm
or twist your thoughts
into massive confusion
and all it takes is one.
When you recognize
that a lot of the plans you make
on a day to day basis
depend
on coping mechanisms
And when you know
that opening up to anyone
feels as though you are offering
raw, flayed underbelly
unless it doesn't,
and that "doesn't"
inevitably catches you
off-guard.
And you see clearly
that you're simultaneously
capable of infinite
patience,
understanding,
calm
But beneath the surface
that damn voice is saying,
"SEE THIS? SEE THAT?
NO
ONE
CARES."
And that voice doesn't care
if you happen to know for a fact
that it isn't true.
It doesn't matter, nothing matters
except the monologue behind your eyes
that says
You must be useful
Indispensible
and if you're not, then
what
are
you
really
But you know better.
You know your worth
has never depended on
your usefulness.
Not that anxietybrain
cares any more about it.
1.3.16
The Unexpected Aftereffects of Emotional Abuse
You never know
what will hit
or when
or how
until you're bent double
or suddenly running,
gasping under the weight
of yet another unintentional comment
and you never know
who will hit,
a random co-worker,
a friend who would never want
to hurt you,
a stranger on the street
and suddenly the back of your brain,
that part conditioned to believe
that surely
of course
ANYTHING bad is true
because when he presented all your "faults"
he said "You want the truth? I'll give you the truth"
and then he dropped bombs in your brain
with the force of a fucking fighter plane
and they were bad bad bad girl,
weak
pathetic
playing the victim despite your feeling that
everything was All Your Fault,
casting blame on everyone around you
never mind that three days after
he was telling you that "everyone else"
said it was your fault
and hell, you already believed it
that no one needed you,
that you needed to be needed when you don't,
that you had no worth
without someone needing something
from you
too needy
too emotional
too much for him to handle
and if the person who collared you can't,
who else would want to, and why
would anyone want you?
And even now, months on,
now that you've defused most of those triggers
there are moments you still believe them
How he built up good/bad girl to flying or falling
how he used talking all the time as an "I love you" equivalent
or ignoring you for punishment
until you were begging
(you swore you'd never beg)
until that sick pit
in the bottom of your stomach
never
went
away
Until you have to fight through all this shit
aftermath
to keep from projecting all his actions
onto unsuspecting people who
would never
hurt
you.
Until you were so fucking desperate
just to be told you were a decent person
that the right voice saying "good girl"
makes you cry.
But you can get back.
You are not
any of what he told you was "true"
you are wondrous,
strange and beautiful
loving and child-like and adult
lover and caretaker and wife and pet
and you can go back there.
You can be
who you have always been,
under all that insecurity.
what will hit
or when
or how
until you're bent double
or suddenly running,
gasping under the weight
of yet another unintentional comment
and you never know
who will hit,
a random co-worker,
a friend who would never want
to hurt you,
a stranger on the street
and suddenly the back of your brain,
that part conditioned to believe
that surely
of course
ANYTHING bad is true
because when he presented all your "faults"
he said "You want the truth? I'll give you the truth"
and then he dropped bombs in your brain
with the force of a fucking fighter plane
and they were bad bad bad girl,
weak
pathetic
playing the victim despite your feeling that
everything was All Your Fault,
casting blame on everyone around you
never mind that three days after
he was telling you that "everyone else"
said it was your fault
and hell, you already believed it
that no one needed you,
that you needed to be needed when you don't,
that you had no worth
without someone needing something
from you
too needy
too emotional
too much for him to handle
and if the person who collared you can't,
who else would want to, and why
would anyone want you?
And even now, months on,
now that you've defused most of those triggers
there are moments you still believe them
How he built up good/bad girl to flying or falling
how he used talking all the time as an "I love you" equivalent
or ignoring you for punishment
until you were begging
(you swore you'd never beg)
until that sick pit
in the bottom of your stomach
never
went
away
Until you have to fight through all this shit
aftermath
to keep from projecting all his actions
onto unsuspecting people who
would never
hurt
you.
Until you were so fucking desperate
just to be told you were a decent person
that the right voice saying "good girl"
makes you cry.
But you can get back.
You are not
any of what he told you was "true"
you are wondrous,
strange and beautiful
loving and child-like and adult
lover and caretaker and wife and pet
and you can go back there.
You can be
who you have always been,
under all that insecurity.
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