Lyrical Days

The sounds of music have played a major part in my life. As a child, I recorded songs from the radio onto cassettes, creating my own playlists. When the Walkman became popular (and I finally got one) I burned through batteries!

Islands in the Stream” will be an all time favorite of mine. (Everyone hated how I sang along to it over and over and over and over…) I am not ashamed to admit this to you.

Since my last personal encounter with Him which culminated in an explosive end to a heavy, committed, passionate, serious, full of growth, and unstable 4-year (give or take but likely less if you ask Him) relationship – I’ve been unable to press play.

Silence, sounds and feels different. I am unable to explain just how. The head trauma I experienced a weeks ago resulted in a concussion. My senses are not the same. I am notably different. Sounds I hear are louder: voices, sirens, laughter… if there is too much stimulation in my environment I get a weird kinda’ dizzy feeling. A headache follows and a sorta’ watery sensation in my head. I am aware the brain has no nerve endings and to say that I can feel my brain flip around or even slosh around inside my skull is unreal, and yet, that is what I experience.

To get back to the lack of music in my life…every song I want to play I feel repulsed by. Almost like a satiated feeling, like too much of something suddenly is a turn-off. Silence is still unbearable to me so I have to fill it with something. I stream random shows in the background of which I pay no attention to. Just last week I started again to listen to NPR podcasts in the morning while I work to establish a new morning routine. I spent 2-weeks without news after the night it happened. Can’t say this is too terribly interesting to many readers, but, if you’ve read this far…do you know much on the topic of concussions and sound effects?

I’m curious if things will change for me. Will my joy of singing return? Will my new normal consist of an uncomfortable silence that weighs on my brain? I’m not sure where to look to find these answers or even if there are any. Should you know of anything, will you let me know?

Not sure how many more of these ‘the personals category posts there will be. I will continue to work on poetry and publish when I can. I have a few dark ones I’m holding onto for the moment. Saving my brain power for the few hours I work during the week.

Thanks for reading. It means a lot to me (not so much to Him).


Shut Down.

I am torn. I write these words after days of bed rest. I write these words to convince me of reality and not continue down the path of fantasy. I almost died. Last year. On my birthday. I stopped breathing at the hands of the man I love. I bury the experience so far back in my mind that it no longer seems real. I disconnected from it, so much so that when I summon the memory, feelings, and words he spoke my fingers turn white and hands get cold. When it’s brought up in therapy, I giggle in nervousness while saying, Oh, right. That happened.”

The literature I recently acquired from my city’s local women’s crisis center clarifies terminology. It isn’t choking, but strangulation that caused the bruising around my neck and petechia around my eyes.

[I have to pause here and step away from this for a minute. – 04:47pm]

Saturday, 6:34 PM – I’ve been unable to focus for over an hour. I paced. I looked out the window. I ordered pizza and a salad. I’m jittery, and my heart is pounding. I’m restless. Fuck. I lost almost 5 lbs. this week on account of all the sleeping and not eating. I’ve filled up on slices of bread and gulps of water and then back to bed. I spent a week enveloped in blankets and surrounded by pillows and finding a strange kind of lonely comfort.

[Sigh. I’ve lost focus and direction of my thoughts. This last paragraph was not part of my thought train when I started this post. I’m sorry. I’ve gotten lost.]

I’ll write later.

I’ll leave you here, with a new mantra for the days to come: If I don’t tell you the truth, I lie to me.

Thank you for reading.

We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us. The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come.” – Joseph Campbell


Resigned, a poem

I would choose to be the one he favors over me.
The one he keeps going back to.
The one he refuses to let go.
Even after promising to do so. 
She meets a need I can’t. 
Even after we kiss and they don’t.
She still holds something of his that I don’t.

Screenshot 2017-06-20 at 11.52.00 PM