The First Only Child.

THE FIRST ONLY CHILD

I’ll admit you spoiled me a little, with your outrageous-ridiculous-silly-goofy-adorable gestures of Nothing Other than You were Thinking of Me.

You treated me in the indulgent way parents indulge their First Child while she’s their Only Child.

I loved every minute of it. To this day, I still miss You like The First Only Child misses Yesterday.

NONE TO SPARE

NONE TO SPARE

I apologize; I’m sorry, too,
Sorry that “Yes, It’s true:
Can’t spend My Empathy on you.”
Regretfully won’t follow through,
Can’t part with what I do not do.
Stores dried up from long disuse
Are Emptied, and there’s None to Use.

________________________________
(Photo by @ryanzkwok)

CUT OUT FOR SCHOOL

NOT CUT OUT TO SCHOOL?

Mother’s Day is always hard for me, as are most holidays. Especially since the Joy of these occasions is multiplied by Loved Ones, and I have so Few left to Love.

Mother’s Day is a Double-Whammy because, even though we’ve all HAD Mothers, we’ve not all BEEN Mothers. And folks tend to forget that on Mother’s Day. Or at least they did when I went to church every Sunday. All those red roses handed out to Mothers? After YET another failed IVF or miscarriage? I recall Sundays as a Funhouse Mirror, distorting and exaggerating all I didn’t have.

Even Fathers Day is Still Bad, what with the ABUNDANCE of Horizontal and Vertical departures – at least on THIS runway. Yet somehow I’m always Left holding the bags.

I’m not saying “Bah Humbug” to Mother’s Day and ALL Holidays FOREVER. I suppose. What I am saying is that Holidays are just Regular Days now, remarkable only by the EXTRA Heaping of Grief they serve up.

Too frequently, I feel like I’m stuck on an underwater tree limb, the Rest of Humanity and Vitality having swum past Me DECADES ago. And taking no discernible note of my Dilemma.

Yet I persist in floundering my way into circles around that damned tree branch, idiotically thinking I can catch up.

I guess I wasn’t cut out To School.

_________________________________

(Photo by @chn.photography)

BALD, BARE, & BROKEN

2006

BALD, BARE, & BROKEN

For years I spoke about my breasts,
Such Talk I now hold close to chest.
I wrote for the whole WORLD to see
Of How They Served to Ruin Me;
Their invites to The Dark Disease
Opened all doors permanently
For Death to come and gloat at me.
I keep Such Talk more private now,
Perhaps it helps me Cope somehow?

RACING THOUGHTS & New Disclaimers ♨️

I’ve just lived a Month of Hell I don’t understand and for the first time recently, haven’t had the words to describe. But I want to try.

The last 3-6 weeks (I can’t remember) have been a Giant, Extended, Protracted Clusterfuck of Epic Proportions. On a Daily Basic. Comprised of the following Ingredients:

1. The Daily Trifecta of Physical Mental, and Emotional Anguish.
2. That Damn Oral Surgery: the additional pain, the inconvenience, the EXPENSE, CVS and other Mosquitoes, the recovery period, the healing period, the waiting for the next phase, the fact there IS a Next Phase,
3. Going from February to July, at least where I live, brought my favorite Wardrobe Season, Mild Winter, to a screeching halt with As-Yet-Unworn-But-Recently-Purchased clothing Making Eyes from my closet; who knows if they’ll Wink at me next year? Also, the abrupt and drastic change in temperature has been hell on ONE of my pains: an exceptionally rare and therefore un-researched disorder, Erythromelalgia, or “Man-on-Fire Disease.” Let’s leave it that for now; I don’t want to burn you.
4. THE COMPANY: Profound Loneliness, Static Aloneness, A Despairing Sense of Pointlessness, Pissed-Off Self Loathing, Absence of Invitations, Unwillingness to Extend Invitations, Inability to Accept or Extend Invitations, Unfounded but CONVINCED Ugliness, Too Much Time But Nothing To Do, Wouldn’t Do It Anyway, Profound Sorrow, Regret!, Ghosts from the Past, Abject Misery, Fear of My Future, Inability to Cope with the Present, Paralysis,, Growing Emptiness, Social Anxiety, Agoraphobia (home both caste and prison of my own making), and therefore:

ZERO KARAOKE.

I NEED a weekly fix of Karaoke to handle the Slings and Arrows of my Outraged Fortune.

The good news is I FINALLY sought self-care by Undergoing Transformation of both Upper AND Lower Nails on Wednesday. All 20 are now Bulleted and Shellacked in Deluxe, Upgraded Red Glitter and Reflecting in Top Coat. How’s THAT for “Spring Color?“

I’m still not feeling great. But at least the Racing Thoughts in My Head are
Lovingly Whispering:

Karaoke Tonight?

(Gracias for the photo, @thenixcreative)

♨️ Is My New Disclaimer for Very Foul Language and/or Sexually Explicit Talk

Karaoke and Other Coping Cliches

Be careful who you dismiss as “shallow” or “not serious enough.”

Some people have been so subtracted from, they’re not just empty, they’re minus.

Fleeting happiness is welcomed as a distraction, but the change in direction can cause emotional whiplash; a disorder known for releasing peals of startled laughter, often transforming the source of the laughter into an obsession. Or an addiction.

These people are so acclimated to chronic anguish, they’re easily amused.

My point? Simply to “not judge a book by its cover.” Or even better: “Don’t dismiss someone as a ‘novella’ until you’ve read her unabridged story.”

BILE RISING

Thoughts of Sweetness make me feel Sick to My Stomach, Pained in My Heart, and Intolerably Dark today.

This combination is only Enhanced by the flood of Bile and Hatred currently Rising,

Resulting in these pesky digestion sounds I hear.

Though of course I haven’t eaten all day! I’m always forgetting to eat. My Empty Stomach makes it even Sicker.

Thank Goodness!

Rest Assured: I won’t be Happy until You’re Half as Miserable as I Am.

————————————————

Welcome to My Head once I perfected a “Thought-Stopping” Exercise I learned last year. I finally realized how/why I got Cancer twice by aged 45. And perhaps all that pain medicine was numbing more than physical pain?

There is Virtue in Suffering

There is Virtue in Suffering

Pain Resides in Us and we can’t escape ourselves despite our noble and ignoble institutions, substances, activities, behaviors, distractions, and sundry other coping behaviors to help us do so.

All immersion in suffering-displacing techniques TEMPORARILY displaces Pain, but by displacing Pain, we’re also displacing Self-Acceptance, which I believe is the seed which grows into the Giant Redwood of Joyful Wholeness. I’m not OFFICIALLY sure because I’m not there yet!

I do want to clarify: when I talk about Pain I’m talking about Feeling Pain vs. Painful Events Occurring in a person’s life. If we survive both of them, we come out Overcomers or Victims, respectively.

I think I decided to allow Pain to have its way with me when I got sick and tired of being victimized by what felt like was Everybody, Everyone, and Everything. I was living my entire life in the Adult Biped Version or the Human Fetal Position. I don’t know that I’m NOT now.

But at least I KNOW IT, HAVE PROCESSED IT, AM WORKING ON IT, AM WRITING ABOUT IT, and AM SHARING IT.

By doing all of these things, I am bursting my bubbles, dashing my hopes, tarnishing my image, shattering my ego, losing my dreams, disappointing others instead of myself, burning my bridges, clearing my slates, starting at zero (zero is delicious), beginning again, growing into, becoming, expanding my options, opening doors, breaking ceilings, running deep, running low, running high, running new, and STARTING OVER.

At MY age!! And with all of my wretched disgusting awful brokenness, I STILL can’t believe how wonderful the person I’m turning into is becoming! I know it sounds corny, but when you’re not running away from yourself, you realize you’re not so bad. Maybe you’re even pretty amazing.

Thanks to Everyone [SO much] for going on this journey with me❣️ I honestly think it’s very brave of you.

Though Grace 🌞 has always been here, and she’s still alive to tell about it!! ♥️

ALSO: I know I’ve mentioned it before, BUT IN CASE ANYBODY MISSED IT, Everyone DOES realize I’ve written the ENTIRETY of this blog with my Right Thumb on the WordPress App on my IPhone 12 Mini, Right? I’m blind, dead, and dumb because of it [yes, I said “desd”], so hopefully you’ll excuse any typos.

WORDS OF DANGER

The voice I can’t escape
That hounds me night and day,
That screams how bad I am,
Hurls insults, trash, and spam;

It keeps me fast awake
Every night and day.
It puts me in my place;
Adds lines upon my face.

It won’t be satisfied
Until all Hope has died.
I pray I get away,
And live until The Day
I’ve spoken out My Last,
My 2-cents spent and passed.

When Words have run their course,
I’ll saddle Spirit Horse;
We’ll gallop like the wind,
And Starry Skies Ascend.

(Photo from oranstudio.il)

A FOREGONE CONCLUSION

Life has surely broken me.
I’ve flunked out at Everything.
Why consider equally
When Options just desert Me?
Forgive not pointed sharp for me;
Still grimed up, I cannot see
A single reason surfacing,
Hiding Places changing
Constantly
And arbitrarily
Disappoint inevitably:
Never, Ever, Frequently
Only end up baffle-ing
That the Ones who stuck by Me
Were No One and Nobody.
The Needed ones Abandoned me,
Never even wanted me.
Been let down by Everything
And 100% of Practically
All and Every
One and Single Thing,
Left for dead and wasting
To a husk of Me.

So What’s the point,
Sharpened pointedly,
When you will only
Start new things?
Old ones failing,
Interest lost and dropping,
Forcing hands repeatedly.
Home to pack a bag and leave,
All doors slammed resoundingly,
Locks all changed and shut to me.
Happy Endings Abruptly.

Don’t care what you do to me.
Lost my sensitivity,
Burning hurts so painfully,
Once Angry scars
Protect My Heart
From the Hope, Now lost to me;
It doesn’t hurt, just disappoints.
I have no mass, I’ve been disjoined,
Won’t shatter when you drop me.

All do eventually;
A mere eventuality,
Forgone Conclusively.



(Thanks for use of the photo, @sashafreemind )

GASP OF AIR

Death claims all the Victory
In this life given to me.
It owns the very parts of Me
Which mingled with One’s chemistry
To build a brand new entity,
Just to have him ripped from me.

Who was the enemy?
My own womb, specifically
Betrayed us all, ejecting
This tiny piece of Humanity.
Scrap to you? Not to me.

I still ache longingly
To nurse and cradle this piece to me.
Twenty years and constant suffering,
More Death than Life if you ask me
Since his and fellow siblings’ lives
Were deemed by Someone “Not to Be.”
And Mother never made of me.

What rules for such a Tragedy?
No One knew, apparently.
All Baby Bumps avoided me,
As if my full-term “inability To carry”
An unspeakable disease
Which could be passed contagiously.

Alone, I bear their Memories;
Always My Responsibility.
Now I’ve become too fatigued
To honor them effectively;
They only Live in Memory.

I’m not too proud to beg your sympathy.
I’ll even make this plea upon my knees:
Would you be willing, Momentarily,
To hold my children in YOUR hearts
So I can breathe?

LOST & FOUND

I have often found the Truth
Hiding from my only view
To evade and both elude
The truth a thing that
Me and You
Loosely find we’ve lost it, too.

(Photo courtesy of oscarkeys.com)

THE LONESOME DOVE

Discovery swears I’m weary Now
And Then as well a Home to house
Feelings scream: Intensity!
Beg You to Reach Out for Me,
Drown Me in Dark Memory
Back when You returned My Love,
Now discarded, Lonesome Dove.

(Photo courtesy of Emiliano Orduña)

INDUSTRY

I don’t care; don’t give a shit
I’ve begged and prayed for years to get
A decent offer of a job.
12 years I’ve spent jerking off
Receivers of my Resume,
My words designed to woo and sway.
It never did an ounce of good
As I must now get stamps for food.
But even if I don’t,
It doesn’t change a single thing:
I’m well aware that Industry
Gives not the slightest whit ‘bout Me.
“We Seek Individuality,
And Pride on our Diversity,”
Claim they with much Dishonesty,
While lying through their front eye teeth.

LOVE LETTER TO MY ONLINE FRIENDS


I don’t often find myself contemplating the virtues of Cyberspace, but today I’d like to extoll one of its underreported virtues: LOVE.

Yes, Love. There IS Love to be found here❣️

Yesterday, all day, I felt emotionally fragile. I’ve learned, since beginning this blog last September, that the Internet can grant succor and relief through the Catharsis of “Writing-For-Sharing.”

Sometimes the public attention makes me crafty and prancy with my words, even making up new ones like “prancy.” Other times, I feel like I’m vomiting poison. Or losing what’s left of my beauty.

There are Certain Memories I hold close and parting is such sweet sorrow! But I believe Vulnerability is the Magic Ingredient for Good Writing of Any Kind [sorry much caps, all needed].

Last night I sobbed for hours while writing about my non-baby-but-still-child, Ethan (one of 3 unborn siblings, but the only one officially named).

I’m still crying.

The public-ness and Exposure feel threatening, and I can’t withstand threat right now.

What I need to feel – and needed to feel – is Love. And I did. When I saw this morning that four of my most Devoted Devoteds and Favorite Favorites had read and “liked” my Memorial to Ethan, I felt a rush of love.

Why? The Likes meant these people endured the discomfort and read all the way down to the Like button. And by Liking, they agreed to my request to hold Ethan’s memory for a moment, so I could regain my breath.

Breath is life, friends. As the unwounded soldier helps the wounded, so your kindly presence returned air to my lungs.

By letting me SPREAD MY PAIN, you saved me. You earned the 💜, and I’ll be the one pinning it on you at the ceremony.

Grace, Bogdan, DirtySciFiBuddhah, and Andrea:

Thank you. You’re Everything.

His Name is Ethan

Death claims all the Victory
In the life given to me.
It owns the very parts of Me
That mingled with your chemistry
To build a brand new entity,
Just to have him ripped from me;

A tiny piece of Humanity
My body still aches longingly
To nurse and cradle next to me.

I didn’t know the rules for such a Tragedy;
No one did, apparently.
All Baby Bumps avoided me,
As if my full-term “inability
To carry” an unspeakable disease
Which could be passed contagiously.

Alone, I bear his Memory,
Always My Responsibility,
But I’ve become too tired
To honor him effectively.

Would you consider helping me
By holding Ethan Momentarily
In Your heart so that I can breathe?

MEAN & DARK


I feel like Death is chasing me
That’s why I feel an urgency
To document for all to read
My poems, my only legacy
I don’t write for Posterity
No child survived or got to breathe
All were crushed quite brutally
Deep within the dark and mean
Womb that used to live in me

I Tried

I was here!
I lived.
I loved.
I thought Big Thoughts.
I thought petty thoughts.
I pondered.
I tried.
I gave up.
I dreamt.
I awoke.
I hid.
I resurfaced.
I laughed.
I sobbed.
I fevered.
I iced.
I sewed my soul into the fabric of my clothes
And wore them proudly.
I painted myself,
So carefully,
and I gave it My Best Shot.

I take comfort in knowing that I tried.
I really tried.

Still Not Perfect:


In 40 years you gave me 3 (clipped) compliments and at least 300 (detailed) criticisms.

All to build MY character.

Had we spent more time together, surely you would have “improved” me to death.

So…

You’ll forgive me if I never felt loved.

[“Like” was so far out of reach, I never even conceived it]

Mostly I raced and chased after your constantly climbing targets until I collapsed – empty, emaciated, and starving.

Your meager love gave out early. It never provided nourishment anyway.

What a waste of your precious time because I’m still wretched ME! All efforts to carve me into YOU failed.

No doubt you’re sad about that. I’m sad too because:

I DON’T [think I] MISS YOU ANYMORE.

Go ahead and hate me.

<Same shit, different day>