Looking back brings distance from the pain


I spent sixteen years in abject silence over a secret which I kept. The sad fact is that it really wasn’t a secret. I just treated the fact with a silence; I would not share my secret willingly. I would not bring it up in conversation, though the opening was wide many times. I do not know if I would continue to keep this secret, under different circumstances. But my family fully impressed upon me how important it was to keep silent on the matter of my brain. They assured me that it would be used as ammunition for getting rid of me, since I had a malfunctioning brain: A DSM-IV diagnosis. Looking back, I think the weight of silence on this matter became heavier and heavier. I had already taken medical leave. Some fellow workers visited me in the mental ward of the hospital. But there was some magic about not SAYING what was wrong with me. I thought it would protect me from all manner of bad happenings in the workplace. Now I wonder if it would have been easier to be more open about my need, for instance, for lorezepam at noon daily. I know no one can understand another’s plight fully. But I kept mine fully hidden. I surprised my coworkers and my boss when I said I was resigning. Internally, I felt isolated, hated, misunderstood— partially because I never shared my feelings, or my needs. I really regret the way things went, lately I have been regretting how I’m doing things; looking back often and thinking a better course was available. I don’t think people really move on from big events that happen in their life. I know I will always remember with pain, the time of resignation from my job, of some thirteen years. All that really makes it better is time that has since passed, from my resignation. And that time has been rich with fervent effort to do right. To be productive in the best ways I know how. And to love my husband, and my family with every last ounce.

a better time


She avoided her past
Bringing it up was like
Pressing a bruise; it always
Was there, and always hurt.

She lived in the jealous present.
She knew her time in the
Prior summer of no episodes
Was highly unusual and to be appreciated.

Once her time was again devoted
To professionals prying into her brain, she
Again succumbed to many episodes.
She feared she was getting worse.

Usually her loved ones gave her
Succor; she found herself struggling
To accept the present as the gift
It was. Her moods swung greatly, inside.

The Winter lagged on, and her
Joie de vivre faltered. Would a warmer,
More hospitable season help her? It was hard to think
That far ahead; to imagine a better time.

Gray matter like a flotilla


Gray matter like a flotilla
Embers in the brain

Subtle is the language of the night

The vines can choke
While tossing you
From thought to thought

Gray matter floating like ash
Smelling like burning leaves

Autumn ends

The flotilla? It tends a
New, cold, muse

Flying on icicles
In the snow

Where does the tenderness go
It remains an
Alter ego to the harsh interior

Ending ending

The Night


Cannot capture
That which
Does not exist

So I sprawl
And kiss
The list

The list which cites less than known
But more than lost

As the good faeries talk
My eyes flutter
Into being

A being which denies my right
To fist
To fight
To know
To be right

At least I know
How night
Acts like a light
To my darkest

Night, so like Death,
Dark unknowing
Solace in endless
Rings of flight

Then Light.

**Picture courtesy of Pinterest

The competition


I haven’t figured it out yet. 


And I won’t. 


I know I will constantly struggle 

with beings more powerful

than me.  And I will

always lose. 


I acknowledge,

even to embrace

my weaknesses, when 

I can see them

in terms of the competition

i am in against others. 


Others who are more




more catty

more popular. 


I am describing high school



But i view the battle on a 

grander scale


Each time I walk out of the 



I breathe deep


and know that I am not God.