“You purself in stupid places.

Yeah, I think you know its true.”

I’ve been in stupid places and done stupid things. I hurt, loved, healed, and died and rose up again.

I’m not i have actually rose from the dead, because just no. But with each trauma it seems a new was born, in light of the older me. And maybe that’s growing and maturing, but I can’t help but wonder. Why we have to have these traumas to grow? Why can’t we go step by step, in a life cycle, like a butterfly? Why do we have to break our hearts, and know we are breaking our kids hearts in search of this so called maturity.

I am at the point where life has thrown so many curve balls at me, I should be on the other side of zen. But here I am, another spent arguing with myself about taking a shower and trying to get up for work (failure). I dont know how to seek pleasure out anymore and I dont know what I enjoy. If someone gave me all the money in the world, and a day to myself, I would helpless.

Thats where trauma has got me. It has taught me to build my life around others. Adapt to their wants and needs so much that I actually forget my own. Im everything to everyone but me.

From the top of my stairs

Who really cares

If the tears are silent

Or if im sobbing aloud?

The pain is the same.

I’m just better at internalizing

Coming from a childhood of trauma

That taught me this is ok

But no, no its not.

Speak up and scream your words

Allow your voices to be heard.

We are family. Sisters and brothers, all alike.

Taken in the quiet of the night.

Or taught to act and look a certain, maybe just so someday.

We were all our parents ticket out.

Now we’re screaming loud and proud.

I will hug you, I will sing.

My home is yours, cheer you bring. Let us heal this trauma within, so my little loves, my boys, have a new space to begin

Lightning crashes, an old mother cries.

And here I am.

Half a bottle liquor to drink.

Thought I’d keep it light.

But still, half a bottle in my stomach

If only I didnt feel the need to own it.

This life, its all a blur.

A great big, fashion slur.

I’m not myself.

How the holy fuck can i be someone else?

I’ve lost my own.

Not sure where to call home.

Bleed her out.

You made sure the white dress was short and stout.

There is no love.

I’m holding on.

Hoping for prayers from above.

Please forgive me.

I hope someday, my sons, you’ll forgive me.

Lightning crashes, an old mother cries.

And here I am.

Half a bottle liquor to drink.

Thought I’d keep it light.

But still, half a bottle in my stomach

If only I didnt feel the need to own it.

This life, its all a blur.

A great big, fashion slur.

I’m not myself.

How the holy fuck can i be someone else?

I’ve lost my own.

Not sure where to call home.

Bleed her out.

You made sure the white dress was short and stout.

There is no love.

I’m holding on.

Hoping for prayers from above.

Please forgive me.

I hope someday, my sons, you’ll forgive me.

Lightning crashes, an old mother cries.

And here I am.

Half a bottle liquor to drink.

Thought I’d keep it light.

But still, half a bottle in my stomach

If only I didnt feel the need to own it.

This life, its all a blur.

A great big, fashion slur.

I’m not myself.

How the holy fuck can i be someone else?

I’ve lost my own.

Not sure where to call home.

Bleed her out.

You made sure the white dress was short and stout.

There is no love.

I’m holding on.

Hoping for prayers from above.

Please forgive me.

I hope someday, my sons, you’ll forgive me.

“Keep the memories of yourself in a shoebox, on the closet shelf.”

I may have used that quote before, but quote honestly, the past few days, I have been pulling from the shoebox about the person I was. Not just before children, but after them. When I spent my days nestled in a tight bundle with a little love that smelled like heaven. Then there were 2 and I tried my best to soak in the glow of the two, of them. Although, I at some point made a choice. Maybe one every parent makes, but doesnt talk about. Batman had a strong bond with his grandpa, and one with his dad. I felt secure in spending most of my time trying to soothe a very colicky Robin. I didnt realize how my bod with Batman would suffer, but it did. I went from being his number 3. I loved him and Robin the same, but the majority of my day was trying to keep Robin calm, and teaching him the basics, with the same concentration I had with Batnman. And from that, I think thats where his resentment for me began.

I did not abandon or leave him. I was very presently here and caring for Batman, I just had much more help with him then Robin because of the colic. So even though I had always pictured myself surronded by kids, because I have always adored them, having Robin made think 2 was enough. But now that they are older, I wish I could go back in time, and reverse that decision. I miss the weight of the baby in my arms. For months, after Robin was spending of his day out of my arms, I didnt know what to do with myself. I would stand and bounce my arms up and down, imitating how I was used to holding him. I was literaly at a lost. When he started school. and I was alone all day, I had to rediscover myself. What music did I like, what shows did I enjoy, besides NiHow Kihan.

Once I Went back to work, i found myself more, and things got easier. Bu lately, even more, Ive been going back farther in my shoebox. When we were seniors, we had to make up our first resumes in English class. English, history, social studies had always been my favorites. I could argue my points, I could write a paper easily, and espcially with English, I only had to read the story or whatever once, and I could explain my opinions.

When we were studying the Great Gatsby, I assumed he was dead , and thought everyone did as well. When other students started aruguning their points, I was astounded. I never thought that people could have different takes on fiction work. I thought we all knew the ending. But that is neither here or there at this point.

When we did our resumes, I wrote my desired occupation as anthropologist. I imagined myself in a foreign country, not finding dinosaur skeletons. But going over items and learning about cultures, Studying tribes from far away, bringing items to a muesem. I imagine traveling, Europe first, of course, as Im sure every fresh faced college student with a scholarship thought.

Things were planned that way. I was looking at a summer aboard, when in Jan of my freshment year of college, my mom died. it was a drug overdose/heart attack/we’ll never know. I took winter quarter off, got myself marred to Pin Head or some variations, and subsequently sealed my fate. I returned to school spring quarter, and appilied for a library assistant or professor assistant, I can’t remember. I just I emailed my 12th grade english teacher for a reccomendation letter. She wrote an outstanding one. That I was bright, and friendly, devoured literature at a fast paced, and that she had no doubt that someday I would be published, writing something. The genre or reason, she wasnt sure.

sigh.

I never made it to europe, but thats where I was headed, pre first husband who talked me out of going. I can imagine how differently my life would have been without him. How traveled and how much education I would have. How proud I would be of myself. Instead at 19, I settled. I am versed in horror movies, late southern rock, and early pop punk music. I can game with the best of them. These were talents I picked up during my first marriage. Do I feel he was robbed of his furture, since It certainly wasnt me. Sure. But I dont know what his future would have held. If I had never been afraid to sleep alone, I would never have married him.

And my life would be so different.

And I dont regret my kids, because as soon as my mom died, thats all I thought of was having a child. Jonathan Kent just fulfilled that one and only dream I had for myself at that point.

Isnt is strange how in a second, a single act, that your life does a 180? I was meant to travel, and write. I was meant to be published and posh (mind you my spelling and grammer would have improved). I had a whole other life. Children would have came, but at a later time.

But then that is all I could think of, and my only goal. So I Achevied it. And then after getting these little superheroes to schools, what was I was supposed to do ? What is my goal now? Im much too close too entwined with my kids to travel now. Ive screwed myself out of grants and loans. The academican in me hates myself.

Im just unsure how to apease myself.

The charade is over

I am needy.

I am crass.

I say a bunch of things,

Just to kick you in the ass.

I need hugs

I need reassurance

I need to know you wont leave me

Wading the current.

I’ve picked out wedding dresses.

Signed banquets.

Walked down the aisle,

Blood pouring out it,

Fuck it, I’m ok.

When you tried to be my friend

When you wanted to hold my hand

I hinted at trouble.

Guess you didn’t understand it.

Yesterday was your birthday. Today is mine.”

Have you ever explain your chosen method of suicide to someone? To explain where there are scars on the upper arms, but only 1 on the wrist? Told them why it was vertical, why it was left side, and how you chose the timing, because you knew an adult would find you instead of a child.

I did.

And it was meet with slience. There was no apology as why, he only stopped the act and didnt take proper care to heal it. Why it was never mentioned again, and why he just honestly didnt give a damn.

And I am here. ive never been one to do something for attention, so that label bothers me. But it confirms the fact as to why no one showed up to support me at the behavioral unit. And the one who did, who should have gathered me in his arms, and told me how relieved he was and how loved I was, aruged with me on the way home.

Mental health is terrible, and I am statistic

“And it will be the kiss you compare all others to.”

Sometimes, I just need a good cry. I need space, and room to move about and yell randomly, cry. I dont even know at this point what trauma I am crying for, or if its a combination of everything. When your world has become so bland, with no color in it, you hold onto the sliver of colors, like children laughing or the smell of a new baby. But then the color is gone, and your left alone, and you really wonder the purpose of living with no color is? A good cry. I just need a good, soul wrenching, heartbreaking ugly cry.