My mom has Alzheimer's.  Recently she was put in a home because it has progressed so quickly and aggressively with her.  She's only 67, which in my mind is not that old for a senior citizen.  It's like the geriatric equivalent of a 20 year old.  But the body does not recognize this fact, nor take it in to consideration when it decides to allow such a horrid disease to attack its neurological system.  The challenges of dealing with my mom's illness has been a rollercoaster of emotion that I haven't quite learned how to deal with in a healthy manner.  Needless to say, I'm attempting to revert back to some of my old coping mechanisms that allow me to express myself through word and verse.  So, I wrote a poem.  Or attempted to write something that may or may not resemble a poem.  It expresses how I feel right now.  Perhaps I won't feel this way tomorrow, but right now in this moment, I feel this way.

Dementia.

Hollowness. The depth of my anguish is an onyx abyss. 

Cold. Hard. Without end, it goes on into an infinite space of sorrow.

Missing the warmth of the sun. The rays of light that gave growth shine no longer.

Shadows. Deep. Dark.  Endless pain looms on beyond the horizon of hope. 

My sun, my moon, my stars all extinguished with the disappearance of her light.

Mom. Where have you gone? It is now, more than ever, that I need your guidance. 

Your sense. Your presence. Your love.

Missing you.  Needing you.  

Mom. Come back. Remove the veil that hides the essence of you.

Remember me. Remember us. Remember. 

Please.  I need you.  I miss you.  I love you.

The Birth of Insecurities

Not until 5th grade did I realize the pigment of my skin was different from that of my family and the majority of people in my life.  It was at this time I had my first encounter with racism.  We had moved from Vancouver, WA to Myrtle Beach, SC.  I didn’t know about the Civil War, slavery, and the racial injustice at this point in my life, not sure what little kid does.  I was your typical 10 year old girl that loved to play “house” and Barbie’s with her friends.  The idea that my skin color would play a role in how people treated me never occurred to me.  

Naivety is a gift that can be snatched from you without your consent, and mine was taken by a group of black kids that thought I was of mixed race, half black and half white.  Due to this incorrect assumption they would tease me mercilessly.  They would circle around me and push me back and forth, while taunting me with derogatory slurs.  As a kid coming from a home where skin color was not a topic of discussion, it was overwhelming and shocking to be ridiculed for something I had not even taken notice of until that moment.  It was in that moment that I realized my skin was lighter than the black kids that hated me and darker than all my white friends and family.  It was in that moment that I was no longer colorblind.  

Kids are truly ruthless and have no compassion or tolerance for those who lie outside what’s acceptable in their realm.  Unfortunately for myself, I lied outside the acceptable realm for many of the youth that I interacted with on a daily basis while residing in South Carolina.  I admit, I was no beauty between the ages of 10-15.  I had crazy unruly curly hair that hated the humidity and being brushed by my careless hands. As a tween, I was built more like a full grown woman.  I was already 5’8” and wore a 34D bra, so I was endowed to say the least.  However, I was also built like an athlete.  Lean and muscular.  In the 90’s that was not the look to have.  Waif and heroin thin was all the rage.  So, between the black kids hating me because they believed I was mixed racially and some of the older white kids not liking me because they could, my tween/teen years in South Carolina were miserable.  I hated it. I hated all the black kids and I hated all the older white kids that picked on me.

Now, don’t think I didn’t have friends.  I had many friends in my grade and lower because I’m a resilient type of person that refused to give into other peoples perceptions of me.  In fact, I won Student of the Year when I was in 7th grade, but it was the interactions with the black kids and the older white kids that really helped shape my personal insecurities.  To this day, I can’t stand when people assume that I am half black because I associate it with all the black kids in middle school that relentlessly picked on me for being racially mixed.  I also view myself as an ugly, big nosed, big lipped, fat cow that will never be considered beautiful because I’m not a size 2.  It’s been over 20 years since these incidents but they still effect me.  Some experiences more deeply than others, but nonetheless, they haunt me.  

It’s crazy the experiences and moments you carry with you for a lifetime, but so far these are some of the ones I lug around with me.  As I have grown older, I have gotten a little better at accepting certain things about myself but the struggle will always be there camouflaged by my happy and confident exterior.

Doubt

Doubt is creeping in once again and I am not sure what to do with it.  I'm a bit overwhelmed with stress from work and life in general and keeping my head above water.  Eek.  What to do? What to do?  I'm not sure what to do.  But doubt is definitely rearing it's ugly head and I don't like it.  I keep trying to figure out what's wrong with me.  Am I too fat?  Am I too ugly?  Am I not smart enough?  Am I not friendly enough?  I am trying to smile more and be more outgoing but sometimes I get really freaked out and shy you know.  What to do?  What to do?  I just don't know.  There are times when I wish I could just go back to a simpler time.  An easier time.  But when was that?  And how long did that easier time actually last?  Haha.  I imagine not too long.  Sigh....SIGH...someone should really just shoot me because I no longer want to care about anything...ANYTHING I say.

Inside Outside

Inside myself I am free from fear.

Inside myself I am free from pain.

Inside myself I am free from love.

There is nothing but me and my heart grows...

Not from love.

Not from light.

Not from him.

It grows smaller with every attempt to connect with others...

Who hurt me

Who pain me

Who deny me

Outside myself I am open to fear

Outside myself I am open to pain

Outside myself there is nothing but me and my heart grows...

From love

From light

From connections I make...

With him...

With you...

With me.

Free Write

It had happened so long ago but the emotions were as raw as a fresh slab of meat straight from the butcher's block. I hadn't thought about it for quite some time, in fact I tried never to think about it. Whenever the images crept into my head I would hum songs from my childhood that took me back to a time when I didn't know fear or shame. However, this time the memories did not creep or crawl into my mind like they normally do; they simply slammed into me and knocked me over like a freight train going a million miles an hour.

Breathe. Please just breathe. It's all I could do to keep my composure. In and out, in and out the steady rhythm of my breaths calmed me to some degree. My body on the other hand was as stiff as a cadaver on ice and the breathing didn't seem to help loosen me any. Breathe. In and out. In and out. Slowly, each muscle released and relaxed and finally I felt the fear and shame slowly drain out of me with each breath I exhaled. But there...right there in the forefront of my mind were the memories I had been hiding from for nearly 10 years. No longer could I banish them to the dark abyss of my mind. No longer could I run. No longer could I hide. No longer.

How about another stab and hopefully a more consistent one...

So, I had this idea that I would be able to use this as an outlet for my writing attempts but it seems it didn't work quite well. I really do prefer literally writing it out and then typing it up I suppose. I guess for a while there I was at loss for inspiration and mulling over direction a friend of mine provided me about my writing. Which I have thought about a lot since that time. And of course I have been reading like crazy and paying attention to the styling's of other writers. Especially to the way they utilize dialogue to move the story along and how they create the environment of their characters for their reader. I'm really terrible at that because I just assume everyone can see in my head and obviously you can't (count your blessings).

So the truth of the matter is that I always am writing in my head; little paragraphs here and there for the booking I'm attempting to write. Usually they come to me while I'm trying to go to sleep or driving down the road or just sitting around staring at the wall (lol). So last night when I should have been sleeping since I have to get up at 5:30 in the morning I was writing in a notebook of mine. And here is what I've got:

The sharp edges of the Wasatch mountains grew faint in the distance with each passing mile marker bringing me closer the an unknown future in California. Running away from things I didn't want to face had become one of my best life skills. The fear of failure, rejection, heartbreak kept me from leaping off Love's cliff and giving love a chance. Of course the only reason I feel this way is because I have leaped and jumped willingly and wholeheartedly. The thrill of the free fall filled me with pure exhilaration and naturally that's when gravity reared it's ugly head and splat went my heart on the floor of Love's grand canyon. Needless to say I pulled myself up and scraped the remains of my heart from Love's jagged rocks and am currently contemplating my options for my life's future in California. The two scenarios have me either wallowing in self pity while gorging myself on Cheetos, chocolate, and filling my angst soul with the somber ballad "Near You Always" by Jewel in the dark solitude of my room or I could get over it. I'm sure if you've ever had a broken heart you know the scenario and right now this is my attempt to get over it.

Before leaping into Love's grand canyon my life was perfectly fine. I had friends a-plenty, did well in school, and had fun dating around. Sure, I was no blond bombshell with a size two booty but I was well endowed, curves in all the right places with long curly black tresses and a golden cocoa complexion. Cookie cutter I was not. Exotic, on a good day I was. Lucky for me (despite my heartbreak I still feel lucky) I was having an "exotic" day when I met the guy I would eventually leap of Love's cliff for. It's actually a pretty funny story how we met, of course if you were the other guy you wouldn't find it that humorous.

It was my freshman year at University College during freshman orientation. The school sponsored an entire weekend of fun activities for the incoming freshman before the official beginning of school. It was a time for us to get acquainted with the vast campus, meet our professors, and most importantly take in the beauty of the male population. Which my best friend, Mauri, and I did most enthusiastically.

"I wish we were living closer to one another on campus. You're freakin' dorms are wicked far from mine," I pointed out to Mauri on the campus map they provided us in our orientation packet. The map had a bunch of little black "X's" marking the buildings I had classes in.

"No worries Campbell, it will just give us more area to meet hotties," she said with a sly grin, "plus it means we'll be walking for sure and won't gain the horrid "freshman fifteen"." We had both made a commitment to one another that we would not gain the freshman fifteen but lose it.

"Right," I replied sarcastically.

"Come on, lets head over to your place and see what's going down there," Mauri slid off her cinder block lifted bed and headed toward the door. Mauri's dorm room was a private because her family was wealthy, they could afford it. Where as mine was not. We weren't necessarily destitute but by no means did my families wealth compare to the Maskell's. But despite our different socioeconomic stations in life we were the best of friends.

The Maskell's owned book printing company that printed training manuals and text for various corporations in the world. The business had been in her family for several generations, so that should give you an idea on her families worth, cha-ching. But despite her wealth and to die for wardrobe Mauri and I had been best friends since we were 6. We met in Sunday school class and discovered that we both had an affinity for She-Ra, Princess of Power. After that we were bonded for life.

We were the perfect balance for one another. I tended to be the more reserved one in social situations while she was extroverted to the max. We were Ying and Yang, balancing one another perfectly. So, when it came time to choose colleges to attend we both wanted to attend University College in Utah. Both of our parents had graduated from there and we each had older siblings there, as well as cousins, aunts and uncles who had graduated from there. It was no surprise when we both applied there and got accepted.

The campus was beautiful. There were beautiful maples, oaks, and pine trees all over, every bright green blade of grass was perfectly manicured and the vibrant colored pansies happily guided us down the sidewalk. One would expect they've seen all the beauty the campus has to offer, until you look up and see these towering majestic mountains with snow capped peaks that look like a backdrop from the movie "Lord of the Rings". One can't help but reach out to touch the jagged mountain range because you swear if you stretch out as far as you can you could feel the velvet mossy ridges of the mountain tops. Of course I didn't do this but I did see a few wackos attempting it.

"Holy shiz-nit who's bright idea was it to take these dreadful stairs?! Because I'm on the verge of having a freakin' heart attack right here and now," Mauri gasped as we approached the top of the steep staircase leading to the main campus thoroughfare.

I laughed and said "Yours bright one. I tried to tell you the ramp would have been easier but you went on about the freshman fifteen and how you want a bigger butt and stairs and blah blah blah. You know they call these the "stairs of hell"?!"

"Well there's a shocker, what an appropriate name, I feel like I just climbed out of the depths of hell. Jeesh, remind me to never listen to myself."

"Trust me no one ever does," I poked teasingly. She gave me an exasperated look and we both broke out laughing as we fell into one another and trudged the rest of the way to my dorm room.


*************

So, that's what I've got thus far and as you can see I've changed some names but it's a work in progress and this is my outlet to get my stuff out there. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks!

an attempt at a start...

The silence of the room echoed throughout the small apartment. There were faint marks left behind of pictures that once hung on the wall and imprints pressed into the Berber carpet of where the furniture once stood. Relief and sadness filled my heart, while doubt continued to rear its ugly head in my mind. Questions of "what was I doing?" and "can I do this?" kept my nerves on edge, making it nearly impossible to sleep the past few days.

Two months ago my whole world had fallen a part and today I took an active role in taking it a part. I took down the pictures on the wall of a girl I barely recognized. She was happy. She was in love. She was free from the broken heart that consumed her now. The pictures held hope for her that one day she might be that gay bright girl filled with laughter and joy, but for now I wrapped her carefully with packing paper and bubble wrap placing her in between two comforters in a box labeled fragile.

It was amazing to see how much I had gathered through the four years of living in the small apartment. After 5 carloads to D.I. and 3 carloads to the local dump I finally wittled down my belongings to being able to fit in my 2004 Honda Accord with room to spare. There definitely is something cathartic about getting rid of a ton of junk, or maybe just getting rid of things that remind me of him.

12 hours later I was packed and beyond exhausted. The orginal plan was to head over to Nikki's house once I was finished but I didn't have the energy. I collasped on the front room floor, used a balled up hoodie for a pillow, a blanket Nikki had forgotten over here 3 years ago and went right to sleep.

I awoke the next morning stiff as a board with a horrid crick in my neck and rays of sunlight blinding me. Irritated, I unwillingly got up and double checked my cleaning job, put the remaining few nicknacks lying about in a box and tossed it in the back seat of my car. I put the apartment keys on the kitchen counter and turned to leave.

They say when removing a band-aid to just yank it off as quickly as possible, but I've never been that brave. So, naturally I can't just leave. Half way to the door I stop and turn to take one last look. I realize I'm not leaving much; dusty walls, small windows, low ceilings and elephant neighbors above. Getting out of this hole is the best thing, but as I look around I'm reminded that is the kitchen where he taught me how to make his famous ziti and the living room where all of our friends would gather together for jam sessions on Sunday and sing songs from that months Pottery Barn catalogue.

"What am I doing?" I whispered to myself.

And then I blinked and I was in reality. I took one deep long breath and as I exhaled I concentrated on releasing all the pain and memories I could of that place; leaving it behind for someone else to have. Closing my eyes, I turned and walked directly to my car never looking back. At least not right then.