Porcelain Doll

Fragile like a porcelain doll.

Bright eyes, open wide holding back the tears.

Lips in a permanent smile, never to let the world know the pain.

Cracks held together by glue and hidden by dresses and hair.

Never to let the world know.

Fragile like a porcelain doll.

In the middle

I'm somehow stuck in the middle.
I always have been.
Stuck between pretty and ugly, just average.
Stuck between smart and stupid, just average.
Stuck between happy and seriously depressed, just ho hum.

But because I'm in the middle I just want rage, but really I have nothing to rage about.
My life doesn't suck that badly.
I'm not completely ugly, I'm fairly good looking enough for having had two children and a miriad of health issues.
I'm not stupid, but not brilliant, just in the middle.
I'm not so depressed that I want to do anything stupid, but not happy enough to be happy.

What is wrong with me that I cannot just accept that I'm just me?
Be content with my flaws?
My inabilities?
The cookies will wait until next year.
The Christmas cards just get thrown away anyways.
Everyone knows I'm lying to them when I say I'm fine...

My wish box is empty... again... it always is.... Either my wish box has money in it and my marriage sucks or my wish box is empty and my marriage is living on alcohol. Its the only way.

Dante

Numb, yet still in pain. Wishing to be numb.
No tears left to fall.
One small three letter word, such an easy question.
Without an easy answer...

why?

Wish upon a star

I dont know that I can be the person I wish myself to be.
Does that even make sense?

Inside I see this beautiful serene poised patient woman who radiates beauty from within no matter what happens. But then life happens and I start screaming and crying and life shatters around me. Where is the one I want to be? Will I never be her?

Outside I want to be this small petite ethereal beauty in long dresses with long hair flowing in the breeze.... in reality... I'm short, overweight, curvy, and my dresses never look right. I end up looking dumpy.

Is this the reality of life? always close? but never actually reaching the vision?

Feathers

Like a feather drifting in the breeze along the coast of life.

Some days blissfully floating along the gentle breezes. 

Other days, when the skies are black, the waters blacker topped with churning white caps; the feather is swept along, thrown against the rocks, soaked by the dark waters. Drowning, suffocating. Broken. Left lying still as death on the sands of time.  Giving up is the light at the end of the tunnel, and death itself, all in one.

Without the winds to carry the feather, there is no point to go on.

Sunny days with gentle breezes lift the broken feather back into the air to fly again..... those days are getting shorter and shorter. Further apart, the feather doesn't dry and heal fully before the next storm.

How much more can I take before I fail to rise again?

Does the wind even care I'm no longer able to rise on my own?

Do I matter to anyone?

I'm broken and no one cares. Unable to reach out, though that doesn't matter anyways... The one I need to survive doesn't need me... nor seems to want me.

I know I'm not strong enough to be the one everyone needs.

promises broken

You said you were sorry.
You promised.

Do I mean that little to you anymore?
What am I doing wrong?
What more do I have to do to gain your respect?

The Wall

Banging my head against the wall.
Pounding my fists against the bricks.
My tears drop unchecked to the floor below.

         Harder I pound
               Harder I cry.

Mascara running down my cheeks
The wall grows stronger with every hit.

          Give up,  Give up
                 It whispers in my ear
                        You will always fail
                               Quit trying, you will fail

Scuff marks fron my sneakers on the wall
Pounding on the wall, my hands are raw,
Still I keep pounding.

         Pounding
             Crying
                  Screaming in silence

Occasional cracks form,
Hope springs quickly, stupidly
Cracks disappear back into itself.

       Why? I scream 
            What is wrong with me?
                   What do I have to do?

The wall does not hear, see or care.
It is solid, it is tended,
It has no reason to look outside itself
To the girl screaming on her knees


             I just want to be ENOUGH.
                    I just want to be ENOUGH to be respected.
                              I just want to be ENOUGH to be cared for.
                                          I just want to be ENOUGH to be loved.

                                                                     
                                                I just want to be enough.................

Ghost

Silently wafting to and fro

Silently crying from the depths of the soul

Silently pleading

Silently fading

Silently dying

Invisible to all, the ghost cries without tears. 

Invisible to all, the ghost wanders the night.

Invisible to all, the ghost shatters and crumbles.

Invisible to all, the ghost gives up.

Pieces of Life

Long long ago all the pieces were in place... not complete, but in place, making a picture for all to see.  These pieces in themselves do not a picture make. This special picture of pieces changes until its end. The Fates and life have pulled and tweaked, moving the pieces as time has moved on, changing the picture until no more.
People, places, things have taken pieces, to keep near their hearts, to rely upon, to use for their own picture without regard to the original picture or piece, to leave in the gutter drowning in the rain water. New pieces are far and few between... coming in with great joy or destruction. Each piece has its place and role in the master picture.
The most precious pieces are the pieces given with love to be cherished by another, to make the other complete.  When a piece is given out of love it does not leave emptiness in its wake. Pieces given in love are the strongest, if poorly treated, the piece will not return to its place in the picture as it once was. Broken, torn, damaged it fits... but no longer shines. It changes the picture.
Pieces loved by another fill the space until it overflows to the other pieces. Melding, meshing, it becomes the glue that holds the picture together through its ever changing life. Through the storms and trials bestowed upon the piece by the Fates, the glue holds firm, though during the ice storms sometimes cracks and small chinks form until temperatures warm up to reseal the pieces together again. Binding, surrounding, protecting each piece is the lifeblood of the glue. It must not fail lest the pieces shatter forever, never to become the picture intended by the Fates. The pieces rely upon the strength of the glue to get them through the storms intact as a whole picture, not individual pieces to be picked up and put slowly back together until a new picture emerges.
Only the Fates know if the glue is strong enough to protect the pieces. To weather the storms, to fight for the pieces, to become a part of the picture forever.

SUPER MOM!!!! Oh how I wish I were a super mom like mine was and is. I dont know how she does it. Seriously. Growing up, every meal was made well and healthy and on time. The house was always clean, maybe a little messy thanks to us kids... but not even really that. And she always looked so good. Me on the other hand... yeh, no. There are always dishes in the sink and on the counter. Laundry in the baskets to be washed and to be folded. Meals.... NEVER on time... ever. But I try to healthy most days. I'll keep trying for super mom status though.
Today's accomplishments:  Errands run with a toddler who needed a nap, front lawn mowed with a push mower (it was my exercise), store bought cookie dough baked. :) couple baskets of laundry folded.
As for mommyness... the toddler slept for 4 hours, the baby didn't. The toddler through up all over the couch... Its midnight and the toddler still wont sleep. He's in bed though. And I'm exhausted. But I really should do dishes.
Perhaps tomorrow.

Special note: Bug always pee's through Pamper's overnight diapers, but we ran out of Huggies overnights (which he pee's out of too when he has too much to drink) Anyways. I decided to put a feminine pad inside his diaper to see if that will keep him dry... update will come tomorrow.

Looking for a new place to live sucks. We can't afford to keep living here, but the cost of moving is absolutely rediculous. Grrrr. Hope to find a place soon.

And the super awesomeness of today: I was able to finish reading "Time Untime" by Sherrilyn Kenyon my all time favorite author. The book was great as usual!


UPDATE:  The diaper trick.... not successful... but not unsuccessful. It kept the majority from soaking through, but the stupid top of the diaper that goes above where you fasten it soaked his pajama shirt. Grrrr.

The Path

I walk along my path, sometimes there are turns. Dips and potholes. Sometimes there are hills to climb leading to a beautiful vista. Always going on. Winding its way through life. Between trees, around lakes, next to gurgling streams but always leading on.

I may wish to sit and wait for someone to carry me, but I walk on. This is my choice. My choice isto be strong, to find out how strong I really am. To push on through the pain, to see what's on the other side of this hill. As I look up I see my soulmate just standing there waiting for me to reach out and take his hand. The promise of help and support shining through his blue eyes. My babies racing on ahead, busily exploring their world, learning and growing. My bestfriends are there too. All I had to do was look up and around me. I'm not alone on this path. For now our paths all walk side by side. 

Choices

I wish to blame so many others, but the blame falls upon myself. As it should with every person. We all make choices and must live with them. The good, the bad and the oh wells. 6 years ago about at this time of year I got "I Choose" permanently inked into my skin on my wrist to remind myself, I can blame no one else. I must choose my attitude, my life. If I dont like it, I must take it upon myself to change it, or accept it.

Today I had a meltdown. Whether it be from post-partum depression, fibromyalgia, lack of help around the house, or an angry toddler pushing all his limits... it was my own choice to let it get the better of me. It all came crashing down... I no longer have anything nice. Things that started out nice are no longer nice. Be it husband getting made and throwing it, slamming it, etc'ing it. Toddler who doesn't know better or too many cats. The cats are my own fault. I can't say no to one in need. But really we have too many. I have no backbone though I need to tell some people to move theirs along. I just can't do it anymore. I dont wear stillettos, pencil skirts or paint my nails. I drive a beat up ford with over 200K on it. No AC, no cd player, nothing automatic, no damn trunk button.

Enough with that. I haven't yet figured out how I'm going to CHOOSE my path. I can't change my husband, I married him for who he is, not for what I want him to be. My son will grow up too soon. The cats... They're just being cats.

Migraines and Fibromyalgia

3 days of migraine, finally had my husband take me to the hospital for the Migraine Cocktail. I hate going. Its bright, there are a lot smells, people are loud, the beds suck. Two and Half Hours!!! But there wasn't much choice left for me. I'd gone though all my Imitrex, a lot of Vicodin and Phenegren. And husband went back to work today, no way I could take care of the boys without some serious help.

But I feel sooo much better! Yay. Actually got some minor cleaning done. Have to be super careful with how much I do, lest the migraines come back which they've been known to do.

Whatever they gave me in the cocktail also helped calm some of the Fibromyalgia that has been ultra flaring lately. To the point I dont want to be touched even gently. My husband was wiping baby spit up off me and it was all I could do not to cry.

Living with FM is horrible... living with FM and Migraines.... not fair. I so want to be super mom but my body just doesn't let me. Its really quite depressing... which is why I write. To get it all out. I've been living with both since I was 16, living with back pain since I was 13. One would think I'd be used to it by now. But no...

Children

The best thing about children is that they don't yet know you're not good enough for everyone else.

The Viking's Fight

   Treading water beneath a darkened sky. In the darkness, no land is visible though the Viking knows it's out there... somewhere. From the land, beautiful fireworks light up the sky. Using and pulling upon the strength of her ancestors coursing through the Viking's blood, treading to stray above the water to breath, to live, to see the fireworks. The water, living, pulling, sucking, dragging the Viking down into the depths.
   For a moment, lights shine upon the water. The Viking screaming and reaching out to be saved.
The boat ventures near but when seeing the Viking, turns and races back into the darkness not wishing to disturb its occupants. Loud music, laughter, feelings of anger and smell of alcohol soaked occupants from the boat fade away until just a fleeting memory for the Viking.
   Legs are aching, heart is breaking, the Viking's body screaming to give up to the water's pull. Another firework lights up the sky. Lasting only a moment in time, pouring strength into the Viking, giving reason to tread a bit longer. Always bits of hope and life showered in sparks across the darkness of the sky. Aiding the weary and broken. 
   Another day, perhaps more time will bring the boat around again. Longing for the land, the safety and security that it is rumored to bring.

Old Writings 7

Broken and torn. Pulled in opposite directions by unseen forces. Both pulling relentlessly. Neither giving reprieve.

Torn between past and future. Past being time whithered and safe. The future gleaming. Unsure and yet so tempting. Sparkling so brightly just out of reach.

Pulled between tradition and the desires of the heart.

Aching and torn. So confused she lays her heart open. Awaiting the press of cold steel as it bites in, leaving its mark against her soul. Open and bleeding she lays there crying. Hide me. Steal me. Keep me. Lock me away forever, she cries. Never let me go. Save my heart.

Broken and bleeding she stays curled upon the hard ground. Her tears mingling with the rain as it splashes against her lifeless form. Love me. Keep me. The wind echoes the cry of her heart... keep me....

Old Writings 6

Screaming. Pain. Darkness. Hideous whispers of self destruction. Desolation. Worthlessness. Ugliness. Looking in the mirror is a horrifying nightmare. Such ugliness. Imperfections. Disgusting.

I’m crying, I’m screaming…. Silence, nothing is really coming out.

This pen I hold is my outlet, yet so much more goes unsaid. What words are there for this lonely nightmare I live?

Just pain and darkness

I’m breaking. I’m dying, just not fast enough. Slowly Slowly giving into the spreading darkness that welcomes death.

Sleep, Oh how wonderful it would be to sleep… forever. Never to wake, never to dream. Just to float.

My soul is screaming for help. Where will it come from? Will it come? Do I really want it to come?

Living has become a chore. Haunted I’ve become, haunted my soul cries out in pain and desperation. Crying out to be saved. Who will mend my broken soul and spirit? Who cares enough to take the time? Who will help? Who will understand? Who will take my pain away? Who will put the glitter back in my eyes? Who can? If they can….. will they?

Broken… Crying…. Falling… Despair… Suffering….

Just let me go

                Let me go

                                I just want to go…. 

Old Writings 5

This painters canvas is flawed.

No painter will use it for anything of beauty. Just to be. No beautiful colors to radiate life. Just a blank flawed canvas. Used to try new colors or cleans one’s brush. It will never see great landscapes or a woman’s perfect curves. Just to be.

                Forgotten.

                                Thrown away.                  

                                                Twist just a little more and the pain will be no more.

Old Writings 4

From a cold dark world, I see a light no more than a pin prick but light nonetheless.

Reaching out, trying to grasp the hope the light brings with it, I cover the light with my hand. And it is gone.

Just that easy. Gone.

Slipping back into the darkness I let my hand slide away from the pin prick of hope.

Sitting in the darkness wishing the light would be tangible. Crying I stay in the darkness, not reaching out for now I understand hope can only be wished for. If I want the pin prick to stay I must live in the darkness.

Someone, please grant me hope.

Old Writings 3

Let me lie down.

Lay my head against its cold stone pillow and my body against the hard ground

Curl my body under the unforgiving weight of death.

Let darkness creep over me like a lovers body claiming its final kiss.

Hush now, No time for weeping…

The time has come…

Lie me down ne’er to wake again

Lie me down to sleep forever more.

Old Writings 2

Wake the dead. Rise up from you cold tombs. Let the sun warm you as you open your eyes to the new morning.

A new morning. Some say it’s a chance to start again. Really its just another day of hell. Walking, yet not feeling. Talking, yet not hearing. Smiling, yet crying.

Hide my tears. Close the window to my soul. Let not the pain and sorrow leak through the crevices.

Does anyone see the soul? Have the curtains been pulled tight enough to shutter the despair lurking behind them?

Bar the windows, Close your eyes. They are the window to your soul.

Old Writings 1

Memories last where words have gone to naught.

 Poignant they stay whether welcomed or scorned.

Always with feeling and usually a story. Quibbles and fights, giggles and smiles, but tears are the memories that will never fade. Friends and family try to understand but come up wanting.

Smiles on the lips, tears behind the eyes. Forever sad, forever alone.

To give in and die would be to break so many promises.

Learn to live in silence.

Hide behind the mask

No one will know.

Hide the pain.... hide the pain.