Broken part II - The Middle Finger

 So, decided to take a working vacation to Hawaii.

I tried a rope swing over water

That I didn't know was mostly for children

That might have wrapped around my middle finger

 and really tried hard to keep it when I fell in.

The break was spectacular. The x-ray tech loved my enthusiasm. The surgery and accompanying drugs were the most relaxing part of the trip so far.

Broken

I am in many ways truly broken and I seem to make some of the few strides I do in life when I take the time to acknowledge that: to acknowledge the pain and fragmentation that leads me through the stilted decisions of my jagged life.

Seems dramatic, doesn't it? I have so much to be grateful for. I can't even describe it all. From the living members of my family, to the man who loves me, to having a roof over my head most of the time, I am truly blessed. I know I am.

But I am also broken.

It's okay to acknowledge that... and not just acknowledge, but rage, scream, and cry (though I have been able to do only maybe one of these things). A lot of people in our lives would have us believe that our stoicism is our only place of value, but emotions, and certainly the out of control ones, have real strength.

Don't give up your strength for the comfort of people who don't care enough about you to allow you to express your anguish.

You threw them away first

Didn’t you

Everyone you love you’ve thrown away because you knew,

know

you’ll lose them.

It was essential to the essence

of who you are,

so when you had a chance

to stay

you couldn’t let go.

It will all burn down one day

These words.

Do they mean anything

when the echo fades?

So much change

Such refusal to see.

Can’t see harsh enough.

Can’t be self, so be bothered.

In wake of another mission.

Help me.

Help me.

I can’t

Don’t

know how I’ll last.

Help me.

Deep inside is something squirming free that wants to be better than me.

I want to be better than me.

This one down

the last line,

each one in time.

The person I truly am neglected,

for something that never should have been.

The seeking sanity comes trickling in,

a dark so painful it dissolves the skin.

My Monster

My monster is a brilliant thing.  She’s all green eyes and glowing smiles.  She’s the one that
takes the lead, reaches out a hand to shake.  She’s the one looking you in the eye when you 
can’t look back. She says “Yes, you hurt me, and here I am standing strong and smiling.”

Maybe my monster isn’t a monster after all.

She makes marks on skin, on planet.  She cuts through the corners, the bull shit.  If she can 
look the world in the eye having hurt and hurt others, why can’t I?  I can face the consequences 
of my actions with dignity, can I not?

“Don’t stop,” she growls in my ear when I try to shortcut, pause from my writing.  She’s the one 
that forces it on and I can’t stop saying thanks for that. Some of my strengths I made myself, 
can’t give others all the credit for.

Though some did help a lot…

Especially my dad, who I miss every day.

I don’t know how to stop hurting the people I love.  But I think a lot of it could come from not 
knowing how to stop hurting myself.

I owe a lot to a lot of people.

I am so grateful to be here.  I don’t say that enough.

What a time to be alive.  The chaos is inside, too. Please understand, this wasn’t a thing from 
outside, this was something from within, a rift in what we thought of ourselves, our dissociation 
from our own guilt and sorrow.  Pain.

Boiling pain.  We don’t understand how barbaric a species could have come so far, learned so 
much. It’s a schism.

But we have to start believing again.  We have to be willing to make it great in ways it had never 
achieved before.  That seed of rebellion from within the minds of sociopaths.

But I can’t call anyone that, can I?

Me, I can be more than I let on. This is true.

My mind is a cavern dripping angst.  It’s not what you think. I’m not what you think…

I’m so much worse.

One Year Ago, Date Unknown.

  I wonder what would happen if I believed in myself, my own two hands, and the power of my singularly focused mind.  If my thoughts weren't scattered skittles I tried to arrange in the order of most urgent colors. 
 
  When it's time for homework I sneak out for bud, budding friendships, and Budweiser.  The party's falling apart like my teeth and my thesis is years away, a fogged dream.
 
  I sit in my old car, parked at a gas station open late-night, watch the cars pass, and clutch a sweaty twenty in my hand.  I'll walk in soon in my reindeer pajamas.

  I constantly feel violated, each day a fresh counted wound, so I don't fear the night or strangers at the pump.  Both dads taught me many ways to kill a man.  The death of one has brought a nightly flood of desire to take life. 

  The old sadist is awakening, but isn't out yet.  She's raising a new monster, instead.