Don’t Take My Pain Away

Don’t Take My Pain Away!

Don’t take My Pain away from me!
My Life demands the Proof from Me.
So I’ve built my portfolio,
Diversified the Ills I own,
While surgeons’ knives have been well-honed
On this hulled-out husk of bone,
Once spewing stem cells left and right.
The flesh in Me that’s now denied
Pleasures once too prim to please
The pleasure-seeking parts of me
I wish I’d found before they Died.

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)

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

SO DIRTY

The way I look at it, Life double-fucked me.

It first fucked me in Childhood by preventing me from developing healthy coping skills (parents didn’t fret over their kids’ feelings too much back then).

I was DOUBLE-fucked because I needed those coping skills to weather the unspeakable horrors and tragedies Adulthood had in store for me.

Some time after aged 30, during 15 years of 15 major surgeries and Plenty Of Other Crap, I began coping the only way that worked for me: chemically.

I found I needed pain and anxiety medication to get through the day. Both ANY DAY and EVERY DAY.

Truth.

This always serves as the Official Reason People Who Gave Up On Me give for Giving Up On Me. I honestly don’t think I was that bad, but I wasn’t around for most of it. I was too numb.

Yet, with no Outer Pressure and DESPITE having minimal coping skills and a practically-nonexistent support system, I threw a giant cosmic wrench at myself. For no reason whatsoever, I chose to resort to my Chemical Coping Skills ONLY when they were desperately needed. Which is practically never, much to my own shock!

This choice has delivered me to Emergency Rooms on numerous occasions, certain I was in the middle of a stroke or heart attack, so great is my pain, anxiety, and nausea from both.

Remarkably almost-sober (don’t take my cannabis away from me; it helps with the nausea!), my thoughts often scare the ever-living shit out of me.

I personally find this ridiculous journey upon which I have embarked an extremely courageous one all the same.

I now Actively Disappoint rather than just Passively. Maybe you have to have been on a Similar Journey to understand what this means, but I think it means “I’m proud of myself❣️”

So Folks Who Want To Vilify Me: Stand in Line.

The person suspiciously ABSENT from that line will be ME.

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?

No More Ms. Nice

I don’t know about You, but I’m SICK TO DEATH of my own sweet poems today!

I only want to spew venom, tear to shreds, and rain on parades until they’re cancelled,

Causing small children to literally Dissolve into Actual Tears.

Just like my OWN children.

Then maybe I’ll be happy,

Though I insincerely doubt it!!

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.

PLUMB YOUR DEPTHS

When I plumb depths, they terrify.
I’ve glimpsed into the Hells I Hide.
Secrets lurk so Dark Inside,
Monsters, Pain, and Anguish, too;
The Empty Void Awaiting You

Won’t be avoided; Screams,
“Reflection!”,
Can’t escape a Soul’s Infection
Eating from Your Sharpest Place.
This Yawing, Grasping, Clutching Space
Demands Bestowal with a Name.
You call it “Evil”; That’s in Vain

Because you’re not that Bad!
Mistakes Aplenty Lives should have;
They reinforce a Search Within,
A Search, well-sought, yields Many Gifts.

Confrontation is the only Glue,
Beams the Shine and Lights the View
And makes the Search less scary, too.

(Thanks to DDP for the photo)

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?

DOCTORS’ BAG

Have you a big black doctors bag
Which contains the Tools to fix
The Exhausted, Broken, Pained, and Hungry,
Angry, Muddy, Rising, Downing, Inner, Outer, Upper, Lower,
Crazing, Craving
Parts of Me?

(Thanks for the photo, dr-spitalier.com for the photo)

EXHAUSTION

Dog barks from locked patio,
It’s the only way that I can
Go or Return to
What’s been calling me,
Be it pain, pleasure, words or sleep,
It’s the thing my body needs
At this moment,
From me.

Scared of the Dark

I’m a big blusterer.
I pretend I’m willing to GO DARK.
But the truth is:
The Only Darkness in which I can See
Is a Darkness
Where I’m the only Victim.
To Imagine
A Darkness that
Devours the Weak
Shatters my heart,
Already quashed and tattered,
And thoroughly disgusts me.

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?

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.

Jennifer Is:

A. Clever, charming, charismatic, playful-but-deep, beautiful, intelligent, magnetic, and extremely generous.

B. Emotionally desperate, physically-ravaged, profoundly traumatized, mentally unstable, financially ruined, damaged beyond repair, fatally flawed, and utterly irredeemable. Also: she brags about herself (see A, above).

C. Who really cares about B, anyway?

I’d Never



If given the choice
I’d never know your voice

If I should get my way
I wouldn’t let you stay

If granted to me much
I’d erase your every touch

If nothing went amiss
I’d reject your lying kiss

Issued from hard lips
While yanking at my hips

If dreams should come true
I’d cleanse all thoughts of you

Eject you from my mind;
Leave your corpse behind