Today no rhyme nor reason…no poems or stories…just raw thoughts and pondering.
A heaviness. A feeling of being in a suffocating bubble. The thought that this bubble is protecting you, somehow shielding you, yet so suffocating…not having the strength to burst out of it, or really not even having the desire to come out.
The feeling that “life” is happening all around you. Like an out of body experience, I’m looking “in” thinking “everyone is so happy”…not feeling left out or wanting to engage…the desire to disappear…it would be better.
Hearing people make plans for the future, while your mind wants to turn off or just make it through this moment. Seeing people look at themselves as they work on that perfect body, while all you want is to get your heart rate up so your body can produce that proverbial natural “happy pill” (endorphins).
The feeling that you dampen everyone’s happy moments, like a wet rag flopping on everyone’s happiness. Dragging everyone down, why not disappear?
Sinking, sinking, yet knowing that you are already at the bottom of this bottomless pit.
Noises, people, laughter, life…can it all just SHUT IT!
The masquerade is sickening…I don’t want to play along…where’s the “shut-off button”, can someone, please, turn “it” off………………………….
Blissfully joyful, a facade.
Plastic smiles, painted red.
Suffocating, plastic shade.
Do you know me?
Do you care?
“…Masquerade! Paper faces on parade
Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you
Masquerade! Every face a different shade
Masquerade! Look around, there’s another mask behind you…”
~ Masquerade from Phantom of the Opera
Reading about Hemingway’s “six word story” challenged me to try it. Being concise is not one of my strengths, so this was a good practice. And, it encouraged me to try my hand at poetry.
“For sale, Baby shoes, Never worn.” ~ Ernest Hemingway
Painful longing, She’s gone, Missing her. – Me
A little over a month ago I started this Blog. I’ve noticed some traffic – visits, likes, comments, follows – THANK YOU!
I have always liked reading and writing (Love of Writing). On May 8, 2017 my beautiful, 30 year old daughter went to heaven after a 10 month battle with cancer. I plummeted (not out yet) into a deep hole of sorrow and grief. Writing has become a source of “vomiting” my grief and pain onto paper. Typing onto a Blog is part of my process of trusting “my voice” to the outside world.
I’m a woman of faith, who loves her family, likes to have fun AND humor and sarcasm are, well part of me. I write about the good, the bad and the ugly…and the “really?!” “seriously?!” moments of my entire life.
Thank you for joining me on my life journey. Whether you peek in or stay a while, I am thankful for you.
The PEN is READY, what will come out next…
What if I am different?
What if I am different than “you”?
I like spicy, flavorful Mexican food, so my hot dog will not have the “regular” ketchup and mustard, but will be overloaded with bacon, onion, tomatoes and jalapeños.
I will take a quiet, peaceful walk in the mountains over a sandy beach.
I would rather sit with “you” in a quiet place, and eat and talk and laugh and cry. Than be in a group, frazzled by all the chattering noise.
Solitude is my friend, my rest; the place where I can just be. I don’t have to be rescued from it. It doesn’t mean I’m shutting down, heck I can shut down in a crowded place.
We are all different. We are all fearfully and wonderfully made. The beauty in a collage with all the different faces, colors and sequence.
There is beauty in differences! There is peace in just being me!
Running, running…always running. Have I ever stopped? Has it taken a different form? More than half a century of living, or attempting to live or what has it been? Am I still the same? Am I different?
Memories of a 9 (or was it 10) year old, “running away” cause her “no” wasn’t sufficient. Then shutting up about what happened because she was afraid of the outcome, of the repercussions.
Then her louder “NO” explodes into a cry for help, for understanding, for protection. She finally opens her mouth and speaks, only to be told to SHUT UP.
She runs away attempting to find a refuge, only to end up used and abused and cast away like a used, filthy rag. Really?! She was only 14.
My mind is filled with voices, lots and lots of voices…”SHUT UP!”, I scream.
I’m tired! I don’t want to run anymore. I just want to be STILL…
Writing to heal, healing to write.
“…I write because to form a word with your lips and tongue or think a thing and then dare to write it down so you can never take it back is the most powerful thing I know…” ~ Natalie Goldberg