Stitch Me

Sleep stitch me together
Again today I’ve worn thin
The threads of my soul
Weave strong the fabric of my mind
Patch up the tears in my heart
Sow in seeds of hope
That in waking I am new.

Lightening the Load of the World

(for my counsellor)

She was there when the flood came
Bailing buckets of pain
As it fell she remained close 
But not the kind of close that pushes away
She works with knots, clots, the caught and stuck
It is a severe gift to help break the jam
For those with insides caked in sludge 
Walking around soaked in anguish like clogged drains
Her protection wraps wide around the broken
Who come limping into her room
Some work with wrench and nut, a sickle and a field
Her, ‘how are you?’, begins the unlocking of rusty doors
Piercingly safe with that granite warmth
Hiddenness comes out like babies into the light of day
A witness - to unknown sufferings
To confessions that would crack like glass
To the frayed threads of bitter unions
Things you can’t say to those you love the most
The buried child sits on her couch
Having been quiet for a lifetime
Induced by her presence
Once it starts it doesn’t seem like it will stop
Choking and no longer able to speak
Words come out like blood
Sharp stones of regret passing
She soaks up the red drippings, mopping tears
Hour after hour exposing and cleaning wounds
Everyday people fighting to stay alive
Lives curled around trees like fresh car wrecks
She carries within her the hurts of a 1000 hearts
Lightening the load of the world

It Took Months

I would lie awake at night 
writhing in agony
unsure what it was from.
I would be exhausted 
and antsy. 

I wanted to crawl out of my skin. 
I wanted to tear at it until I bleed. 
Yet I knew that didn’t make sense 
and wouldn’t help.

It took months to figure out 
what was going on. 
Months of struggle, 
being weak and helpless 
beating myself up 
and not telling anyone. 

Months before the word Depression 
ever even popped into my head. 
Then I became 
embarrassed 
and fearful.

I didn’t want to tell anyone. 
Hopeless. Ashamed. 
And Scared.

What Do You Do When You’re Blue?

Brain sucking like a pump in an empty pond
Heart running on sorrow
What do you do when you’re blue?

Doctor calls it a sickness
Friends say it ain’t normal
What do you do when you’re blue?

Talk drains the tub dry
Being upright brings me down
What do you do when you’re blue?

Work, work, a man must work
But have you seen an ant at the mouth of a furnace?
What do you do when you’re blue?

Maybe I’ll walk around the mall
Or lie here in this posturepedic casket
What do you do when you’re blue?

Set backs are like buildings falling
So you hunker down in trouble’s rubble
What do you do when you’re blue?

Pills I got don’t work
And she ain’t coming
What do you do when you’re blue?

My Brain

My brain should be like a juicy marinating roast 
But it’s dry out, cracked, and leaks under strain
It has dipped below the ‘low’ line for months now
So the dry organ thumps, heaves, and screeches
Like the sound of a train slowing down
Like a pond pump as it starts to suck air.

At night, when rem should wash the brain clean
When the juices are to be filling the pond
When all the pathways are to be swept 
When rest should be adding the marinate
When readiness for the day is being worked on
Sleep, rings the doorbell and runs 

I’ve seen fish trying to breathe
And machines run out of oil
I’ve seen the dry earth devour rain 
And children being fed through a tube
I’ve been next to a fire bell when it has started to ring
And how many have I seen broken down beside the highway waiting

This brain’s in trouble.

Who Is This?

Have you ever seen that ad for cancer support

There is an emaciated women 
with a shaved head 
standing all alone 
looking in a mirror 
saying she can’t recognize herself

I feel like that is what I have been trapped in
Everyday I saw myself 
reflected back in this mental mirror 
and I thought 
who is this
exhausted
weak
easily overwhelmed 
woman 
that can’t do the dishes 
get to the grocery store 
go to work

What has happened to me
All my life I have tried 
to be strong
independent
motivated
productive 

Now I can’t even get out of bed
Who am I
Where have I gone
Will I ever be me again

A Distorted Fisheye View

A glimpse into a life with melancholia

my mental health is far from stable
it ebbs and flows and dips and crashes
all within a few hours, a few weeks, 
and with the cycle of the months.
i have no diagnosis
just self proclaimed melancholia
coupled with existential angst
and a heavy dash of hormones.
whatever my label, the reality is...
i have a hard time knowing what is real
i see the world through my perception
a distorted fisheye view
exaggerating the negative
and virtually erasing the positive –
at least when that lens is pointed inward.

i have vaguely tried counselling –
really don't want to try Zoloft.
after all, i don't want to be like my mother

but i am my mother. deeply, inextricably so.
i have her DNA
her self loathing. her wild mood swings.
her penchant for running away or
hiding under the covers.
at a young age, i learned her ways of 
relating and responding to the world – 
despite all her best intentions and 
all the valuable lessons i was explicitly taught, 
the old adage is true:
children learn what they live.

so i learned to overreact.
to talk to myself with a deeply critical voice. 
i didn't learn that the glass was half empty,
i saw that it was smashed to pieces on the floor
in a cry for attention and release. 
i learned that the world was chaotic and 
that if you got your hopes up you'd better be ready
to coax mom out of bed first. 
and i learned that the way to deal with a tormented mind
and untamed emotions was to run and hide.
she took off. she hid. but, we were lucky, 
she always came back.
and when i hear of those who don't just threaten to end it all, 
but who painfully follow through, 
my heart breaks for them and their families.
and i know how close we came. 
how close i have come. 
but she is still here. 
and so am i…

…and the fact is, i am my mother.
with her deep compassion,
her heart that always puts people before any task...
who tried to make every moment special, in big and small ways.
who uses her understanding of pain to walk deeply with others.
who taught me to sacrifice and love unconditionally. 
children learn what they live. 

so maybe i need Zoloft – just like she did.
or maybe i just need to stay on the journey of self-compassion
and a good naturopath
but i will probably always tilt towards the darker side of life.
its in my bones.
i feel its pull and hear its music
i'm more comfortable with a bittersweet symphony than an angelic choir.
but there is beauty in darkness. poetry in pain. 
sometimes even company in misery. 
i still look for glimpses of hope – even though some days i don't find them...
i wear my heart on my sleeve and my dark on the outside, 
trying to walk alongside others who are broken too.
i'm trying to learn to love the shadows, 
trying not to fill in the cracks, because wise Leonard said, 
thats how the light gets in. 

Hope Runs Low In My Veins

Hope runs low in my veins
Like rivers in the fall
Cells look up at me worried
Body crawls around 
Heavy in its skin
My mind like air traffic control
Is sending off planes at the same time
And in wrong directions
Missing each other by hairs
Give up, tear up
Lie down, stay down
Everyone suffers
Everyone fights their own interior battles
No one knows the depths

Of another’s quiet despair

On Difficulty Waking Up

Again last night a truck must have come and filled my bed with cement 
This morning, encased in concrete, I've woken unable to move anything but my eyelids 
This is how a turtle must feel flipped upside down on his shell 
Or, a mobster who has woken to find that his time has come 
Coaching myself with all the lies and guilt I can muster 
I jerk myself upright to a seated position on the edge of the bed  
My brain chemistry and inner ear begin to send me a frenzy of static messages
As if tuned in between stations
Waking on these days has become such disappointment to my nervous system
I’ve got to sturdy myself on these legs - let them hoist me up into a standing position
Wearing nothing less than a concrete casket 
Reaching for the door frame to support my first step 
Let's get this day started

My Dreams

Cutting across the lawn between our houses
I walked with great effort. 
The lawn was mud, 
thick, 
boggy up to my knees.

It gripped my feet 
making each step a struggle. 
A fight. 
An huge effort. 
Each step. 
So much struggle. 

I woke and thought 
this is what every single second 
of every single minute 
of every single hour 
of every single day 
is like for me right now. 

Every breath is a struggle
a fight 
through the thick
boggy

black mud.

————————

I found myself 
being chased down a corridor 
by two large men. 

I was all alone 
and it was 
hopeless. 

What scared me 
was not that I was being chased 
and then caught by these men; 
but that 
I didn’t even
try
to fight back. 

I just couldn’t.