Disorganized – spoken word

Read this with as much rage as you can:

*****

My room is disorganized,
As is my brain –
As is my attachment to my parents.
Disorganized attachment
Brought on from years of
“loving abuse.”

The first memory I hold
was not of physical abuse,
Nor sexual –
Rather a recollection of neglect
The moment they implanted in my brain:
I am not deserving of love

Following were years
Of sexual and physical abuse –
Teaching me that I deserve pain.
Teaching me to search for that
In every partner, in every person.

If you asked my second grade teacher
What she thought of me
She would tell you,
I never came to school without a smile.
What she did not know,
Is that I feared if I did not act perfectly
She would do the same as my parents did to me.

Because my gapped tooth smile
Held for me, secrets:
I would not consider revealing
For at least 15 years.
Because even braces couldn’t hide the gap
That came back despite a retainer.
Because you could retain me for as long as you wanted
With threats and fear and pain
But in the end, those gaps in my memory
Are revealed

My second grade teacher never knew
The anger and resentment I felt
When she disapproved of me.
The heat that washed over my face
Like the first dog day of summer
So hot that movement only created more pain.

Pain. I searched for it.
I search for it.
Because it is that on which I was brought up.
I want to hurt myself in the same ways.
I want to hurt myself in different ways.
I want to be free from them
Only to be trapped by them in my mind.
I hear them.
“You are a rotten child.”
“you are ungrateful”
“you don’t know what’s best for you, I do.”

I don’t know what’s best for me?
Please.
Take a second and think about that, fucker.
What is best for me?
I’ll tell you:
It’s not you.

You are the tornado that stormed my brain
Causing me to split and split and split
Causing the above-ground pool to collapse
And wash poisoned unchlorinated water
Through my veins.
Causing my synaptic gaps to widen
Larger than the gap between my two front teeth
And as sparks pop in my brain
The neurotransmitters can’t seem to make their way
From one junction to the next.
Because you are the restraints that held me to the gurney
As they wheeled me into the ambulance for more treatment
And you are the memories.

You are not my present
And no way in hell do you know what’s best for Me.

So walk on out that door, bitch.
Drink your overfilled mug of coffee
And slave over your work which has become your life.
Let that be your life.
I am not that.
Abuse your work
Abuse yourself.
But do not abuse me and tell me that’s what is best for me.

I am my own person.
I am my own person
Goddammit, hear me when I say
I AM MY OWN FUCKING PERSON.
You can’t control me anymore.
You can’t hurt me if I don’t let you.
And I won’t let you.
I don’t need you –

But don’t get me wrong.
Because this is disorganized
And despite all this fucking rage,
I am confused
Because I still love you.
And I still fucking want you.

And that is why I search for pain.
Because without you I need to give it to myself.
How do you still have this power over me?
I don’t need you in my brain.
And one day you won’t be there.

I can’t fit into your labels
Nor do I want to.
The only label I want to fit in
Is my own.
I want to bind my chest
And I want to cut my hair.
I want to feel okay
And I want to choose my doctors
And choose my career
And I don’t care if you disapprove
Because your opinion is as valid
As fake news and alternative facts.

Don’t expect a call back from me
Or a call reaching out.
I know what’s best for me
I’m not taking chances.
Don’t hurt me and tell me you love me.
I’m not here for jokes.
I’m not here for you.
I’m here for me.
I am here for me

-cdk

A Guide to Getting Out of Bed When You Are Depressed:

One:
Open your eyes.
Let the dread overpower you.
Feel the weight of lead on your limbs
Try to swallow, struggle.
Close your eyes.
Let the darkness swallow you in.
This is safer.
Go back to sleep.

Two:
Toss in your bed.
Feel the cold come through the windows.
Pull up the blanket.
The warmth feels safe for half a second.
Throw the covers off.
Not Safe.
Smother your head in your pillow
Suffocation is safe.

Three:
Get up.
Drag your feet across the floorboards.
They creak. You groan.
Look down the staircase.
Tunnel down the stairs,
Stand in the rain and smoke.
smoke.
smoke.
smoke.
smoke.
respiratory therapy.
Go back inside.
Go back to bed.

Four:
Get up.
Let the anxiety motivate you
to do the things you don’t want.
opposite to emotion acti…. fuck this.
Just get the day over
Go back to bed.
Or just go back to bed.
fuck the day

the whispers of our heroes

the whispers of our heroes
sound something like
the threats of our enemies.
and that is because
there is no difference.

i can feel the condensation
of his breath
on my neck
in my ear
“let me fuck you.”

i feel my body thrown
no control, no feelings
i float above myself
and there i watch.
my hero. my enemy.

the whispers of our heroes
sound something like hate
they are the screams of our soul
as they rip it out of us.

eyes closed.
tears strike down.
the whispers of our heroes
sound something like
our own wish for death.

-cdks

Thoughts on Mother’s Day

This year, I am beyond grateful to have another year with my fantastic grandma. She is my hero, my everything – i celebrate her everyday, and on Mother’s day, I celebrate her a little harder.

At the same time, Mother’s Day is a weird time for me. My mother is not dead, she’s not present either. It’s hard mourning someone who is very much alive. Over the past decade, almost, my mother has played either no role in my life or very minimal – and it’s sad. Yup, I said it. It makes me angry and sad and all kinds of things because it sucks. And it’s not fair. I don’t care if that’s immature or what. This isn’t a matter of radical acceptance because I know and accept the situation. I just hate it. A lot. And at the same time… I don’t want it to change. My mother can have her own mother’s day, but I won’t be a part of it. Just like she wasn’t a part of so many important things in my life. I became so desperate to celebrate Mother’s day, I used to post a happy Mother’s day to my father for playing both roles. It only made him mad, he didn’t want people to know or whatever…

Growing up with divorced parents, like a lot of kids, it was tough. Considering both of them are narcissists and despite “trying to make things work,” hated each other, and continue to do so – celebrating holidays is tough. As an angsty teen, I discovered the band, Cake. The song I will post below became a sort of mantra about when a certain someone would call, but now it’s kind of how I feel about a lot of people in and out of my family.

At the end of the day, Mother’s day is a hallmark holiday. The idea is nice, but for people who have lost parents, have been hurt by them, don’t get along with them or whatever it may be – these are tough days.

At the end of the day, nobody can be in place of my biological mother. Yet, I am grateful for the pseudomoms in my life. I have my friends’ moms.

I have my Grandma.

And she is my sunshine.

The Things that people who “care about me” say to me:

  1. If you can’t give me 100% love and honesty than we can’t have a relationship

to which I reply: I can commit to honesty and in that, I can honestly say I can’t 100% love you all the time.

then I guess we can’t have a relationship.

2. I don’t support what you’re doing. I think there’s something psychologically wrong with you and you need to fix it. But just because I say that don’t think I don’t support and love you…

To which I think: you don’t support who I am and you insulted me you also prefaced this with not supporting… sooo I think you don’t support me.

3. You don’t know what it’s like to have to take care of you. You’re lazy and you’re living off of everyone else, pretending to be an adult while we all do it for you.

to which I reply: you don’t take care of me, nobody is responsible for my well-being other than me. And I am being an adult.

4. If you were to change your name, I’d still call you by your birthname..

To which I didn’t respond.

 

*******

Sometimes you have to choose the people who are important in your life:

People who are TRULY supportive:

“OMG! Dean’s list! I’m so proud of you! That’s my dance of joy, I ❤ the shit out of you”

“You’re a wonderful, resilient, determined, caring, loyal person.”

The Nicest Thing

unnamed

It reads:

“4-ever means you stay.
To stay I think you need to stay safe.
To stay safe, you’ll have to set limits, say no.
To say no you’ll have to have courage.
To have courage you might need a reason.
To have a reason you’ll have to think about what’s good about you, and what makes you worth fighting for.
To know what makes you worth fighting for, you’ll have to remember that you’re human and that you didn’t do anything wrong to deserve bad things.
To know that you’ll have to check the facts.
To check that facts you’ll have to be willing and non-judgmental towards yourself.
And when all of that gets too hard, staying forever mean’s I’ll be there to remind you when you need help.
<3"

3pm

I woke up at 3pm today,
and the weight of my brain
carried over my sinus.
My eyes glazed.

I woke up at 3pm,
and I can’t remember what happened yesterday
but my gut tells me it was something important.
I don’t want to know.

My lungs are tight
With every inhale I take
my body shudders
and shakes

I am tired
and groggy.
I don’t think this one will work out.
I guess I’ll go back to bed.

-cdk