Just hold on til tomorrow (poem?)

I “accidentally” cut my middle finger on a broken glass
Just to spite his fucking, sorry ass.
Just one last way to finally say, "Fuck you
For all the shit you put me through!"

But it wasn’t deep enough.

It didn’t bleed enough.

I guess I have lost my touch.

I burnt myself with a cigarette,
But still can't begin to forget.
All the fucking shit he did
And the fucking pain he caused.
And the wreck of a mother
And the fucking whore I was.

It was never what I wanted --
It wasn't “me” at all.
But I've taken the fucking blame,
And I've taken the fucking fall.

I took 4 hands full of pills,
Just how many, I don't know.
So down the rabbit hole I go.
I don't want to die,

That’s for sure . . .
I know life is too precious . . .

I just want to be a in a blur.

And, for once in my life,
I would LOVE to get some sleep.
I just want these memories to
Go away and let me rest in peace.

I even used the telephone.
I called the fucking crisis line,
And talked to Senor Psychobabble.
He said take a hot shower
And drink a glass of milk . . .
Like that will fucking help.

I don't know what I need.
I really feel the need to bleed.
But that’s not an option I’m willing to face.

I have enough scars to be a disgrace.

Just cigarette burns, maybe,

And perhaps that will finally teach me

To stop blabbing my fucking mouth

About things that nobody has any business knowing.

Places I have no business going.

I can feel the hatred in my growing,

But, that's just how I feel right now.

Tomorrow will be different.

I have children that I love,

And there's a God above

Who cares for me.

I just have to hold on til tomorrow.

Just hold on til tomorrow.

In the Bottom of a Hole (poem)

Trying to block out the piercing screams of yesterday
Some days it seems like an eternity away
Other days,
I'm in a haze,
And it feels close
Like the nose
On my face.
Reaching for a sense of who I am,
Of who I was before . . .
Was I somebody back then,
Or have I always been this empty shell?
I have no way of knowing,
There's no easy way to tell.
I think I remember a little girl
That used to be me.
That used to believe in goodness.
In beauty.
In truth.
But that was long ago.
Where did she go?
Did I bury her with the babies I lost?
Was that part of the cost - -
Losing my soul in the midst of the storm?
I wish I could cry.  I wish I knew why.
I wish I could understand the reasons
For year after year of those seasons
Of waking nightmares in a living hell.
I wish I didn't remember it so well.
I wish I knew how to navigate this road,
How to straddle the potholes that emerge
Without falling back into some bottomless pit
That has no end to it.
I wish to hell that none of it was real,
That I could stuff the agony I feel,
That I could make some sense of it all.
But I can't.
It's just more and more and more of the same.
More leg-spreading, gut-wrenching, mind-blowing pain.
More heart-breaking, soul-bending, self-splitting shame.
And to think that to him it was only a game!
So here I sit, not knowing what to do.
I don't know when all this "feeling" will be through.
Do I hide? Do I fight it?
Is there any way to right it?
Will my mind forever be a shattered mess?
Is there any way to navigate this?
How do I let it go?
How can I just say it happened. It sucked.
And then walk away.
As though it didn't matter.
As though it didn't shatter
Every part of my soul.
I'm really struggling to see
What the point's supposed to be.
I don't want to be a victim.
I don't want to let that dick win.
But I feel so stuck here . . .
Like I'm in the bottom of a hole
That I'll never crawl out of.

Reality Check (article)

I found an old entry that I wrote back when I was still together with my Ex.  I'm just including it here to show how far we've come. I had almost forgotten how unpredictable day-to-day life was living with him, how afraid we all were . . . almost . . . and as I read this, my hair stands on end and all of the old feelings of fear come back up into my throat . . .
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I hear  him coming up the stairs. A chill runs up and down my spine. I never know what to expect. Sometimes he's in a really good mood. Other times he just walks in the door and starts screaming at everyone in sight.

The kids and I walk on eggshells constantly.

I switch away from my email that I had been reading on my computer screen. It was just more reminders from creditors that I cannot pay, but I don't need to give him a reason to accuse me of cheating on him yet again. Every time he catches me online, he says I must be chatting with someone, or looking for a replacement for him. I'm so sick of the endless accusations.

The door to the living room opens. He's been drinking again. I can smell it on his breath.

Immediately upon coming through the door, my husband starts yelling and screaming at me:
"You fucking lazy bitch. How can you just SIT there and let them do this? You worthless fucking whore. And I suppose you're online again flirting with all your boyfriends. Here's a fucking idea -- why don't you get your fat ass up and clean around here? This place is a fucking pigsty! It doesn't even look like human beings live here."

[He stomps into the kitchen, still ranting and raving. The racket wakes up my daughter, so he starts in yelling at her. ]
"Why don't you tell your mother to get up off her lazy ass and do something fucking productive for a change? Oh, but no, that would be too NICE. I spend the money to send her to school and does she get a job? No, she just sits there on her FAT ASS and wastes time all day long. She's a pathetic excuse for a mother. . . . .

[some more mumbling and cursing]

Fucking Pigsty!"

He continues to go on a tirade about how if we would all do thus and such we wouldn't "make" him get so upset; and how HE wanted his life to be, and how we're all "ruining it for him."

I so wish I had a million dollars so I could just pack up and leave him. I want to have a cozy house with a picket fence.

I'm so tired of holding my children while they cry, and hearing them say "Why did you pick HIM to be our Daddy?" and trying to explain to them why life isn't always fair . . . and that I love them so much . . . and that someday things will be different.

I don't know if things will be different . . . or at least I don't know HOW I can change things.

I am so tired of seeing all the "happy families" that seem like they're so perfect and have everything together.

I'm sure they have their secret struggles too, but what I wouldn't give to feel secure and loved . . . to not constantly wonder what he'll say or do NEXT . . .

I feel like I'm drowning . . .

. . . like I'm trapped . . .

. . . and living in a world that nobody else can see . . .

. . . I feel so alone . . .

Sometimes I wonder if I would have had so many prgnancy losses if things would have been different. I cry sometimes at night when nobody's looking. Yet in a way, I'm relieved . . . I feel guilty enough for bringing 3 children into this mess . . . I can't imagine having 6 more precious children live through this hell. Maybe God in his providence took them from me for a reason. But that doesn't fill the aching void or silence the questions . . .

I don't know how . . . I don't know when . . . but I WILL make a better like for us . . . I will NOT raise my children to think that this is how a father treats his family. This ends with me. One way or another.

------------------------------------------------

(the above entry was written 3 months before the kids and I escaped to a domestic violence shelter)

PTSD and Survivor Guilt

What is "survivor guilt?"  In the case of soldiers who have been in combat, it is the guilt they feel when they survive when some of their comrades or 'battle buddies' did not.  In the case of other types of trauma or abuse, survivor guilt is similar, but may sometimes have other components.  Basically, in my case, it meant the guilt I felt for not fighting back more, for not leaving sooner, for not doing a better job of protecting my children from an abusive atmosphere, for not knowing that something bad was going to happen for no reason that I could explain ...

In a workbook I used entitled The PTSD Workbook (by Mary-Beth Williams and Soili Poijula), I had been working on filling out an exercise entitled: "My Survivor Guilt."  Even though it was a supposedly simple "fill-in-the-blank" type of exercise, I had a lot of trouble completing it.  My own guilt and shame that were attached to the abuse really threw me for a loop.  However, I'm determined to conquer my own response to the abuse and feel less guilt and shame about it.  So, here's what I wrote in 2012  . . .

My statements about my own survivor guilt:

• I made it out alive from an abusive marriage when some women do not. 
• I made it out less physically damaged or less seriously injured than some women.
• I escaped some of the emotional pain and distress by dissociating when trauma happened.
• I escaped some social disgrace and humiliation by not telling anybody what was happening to me.  Some women were braver than I was and sought out medical help, but I did not always have that option.
• I should have died several times, but I did not.
• If I had left the abusive relationship sooner, my children could have had a better life.
• Some survivors are 'luckier' than I am because they don't have any more physical pain & suffering, while I am stuck here with this emotional anguish.
• I have nightmares about the trauma.  In my dreams, sometimes I actually die.  And when I wake up, sometimes I wish I had really died back way back then because sometimes it seems that coping with surviving is worse than death.
• I daydream sometimes about various traumas and wish that I could change the outcome.
• I never talk about certain specific traumas because I feel like I could have done more to prevent those horrible things from happening.
• I feel so guilty and ashamed because after awhile I quit fighting back or resisting.
• At times, I questioned the very existence of God because I felt like there was no rescue for me or my family when we truly needed help.
• I used to wish that I could kill myself to end the pain,  and even tried committing suicide multiple times. I nearly succeeded several times, but they resuscitated me. Right now, suicide is *NOT* an option because my children need me.  Therefore, harming myself intentionally is no longer an option for me. 
• When I have periods of intense grieving about traumas and losses, I sometimes dissociate and use other things to help numb the pain.
• I have used substances to try to make the pain go away.  I used to smoke cigarettes when I was stressed or sad.  Sometimes I took my 'sleeping pill' early just so that I could go to sleep and escape the pain. 
• If I watch movies or documentaries about domestic violence or sexual abuse or similar events, I become very depressed and emotional and I have a hard time not thinking about what happened to me.
• I felt I had no reason to live for myself.  The only reason I was living was to take care of my family.
• In hindsight, I might have been able to prevent some of what happened by telling someone or calling the cops either during or immediately after an attack. (although I did try once and a corrupt officer just laughed at the situation and went on his merry way)
• I feel very ashamed that I essentially participated in prostitution.  This is against my moral beliefs and causes me a great deal of guilt and shame.
• I should have done a better job of protecting my children and myself.

Then, the workbook asks what I learned from making those statements.  My response was: "not much, except that I hate myself for not being stronger."

In the book, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder: A Clinician's Guide, A. Matsakis says there are seven steps to overcoming survivor guilt:

1. Remembering what happened.  That's a difficult thing for me.  I do remember way more than I want to, even though I try to forget.  I don't like remembering what happened.  I'd rather avoid thinking about it.  But apparently I NEED to remember in order to get past these awful emotions. Over time, a lot of details have faded. What sucks is that it seems like i've now put myself in potentially problem circumstances again from my ownstupidity.
2. Separating survivor guilt from other emotions.  That's another toughie -- I often have trouble identifying emotions in general, much less separating them appropriately.  This one will take me some time. Still working on that.
3. Examining your role in what happened before, during, and after the trauma; looking at your errors in thinking and your irrational emotions.  Boy, have I done enough of this.  I've gone over and over in my head what I could have or should have done differently.  I've come to the conclusion that in many cases, it wouldn't have mattered what I did, the outcome would have been the same (or perhaps worse).  I suppose my errors in thinking would include things such as, "If I had done x, y, or z, this wouldn't have happened."  My irrational emotions? I guess feeling so guilty over not having left sooner would fall into that category.
4. Countering self-blame and irrational guilt through newly constructed statements about the self that are based on true responsibility.  Perhaps in another post I'll attempt to make some new positive statements about myself, but that will truly be challenging.
5. Accepting guilt for what you did or didn't do.  I've already done that (over and over), and that's part of the problem.  I think what's needed in my case isn't so much accepting the guilt as being willing to forgive myself.
6. Examining the personal consequences of your guilt to your own self-esteem, self-care, physical health, emotional health, job performance, and life contributions. 
7. Making a commitment to being honest about the guilt and to taking action toward putting that guilt to positive use.  I'm not yet sure how I can put these feelings and emotions to "good use."  I'm still working on identifying them, sorting them out, and releasing myself from the hold the guilt has had on me.   But I do make a commitment to trying to understand why I feel so guilty and to trying to change the way I look at my own actions and feelings/emotions.

Remember the Good Times (sonnet)

When you hear a song, remember good times.
When you see a picture, remember smiles.
For there will be days smiles are hard to find,
And the good times only last for awhile.
People you trust may use and abuse you,
People that you love may cause you great pain.
So let the songs and the smiles get you through
Until you finally find love again.
There are some things I would like to forget,
Some memories that haunt me in the night.
I can truly say I have no regrets,
I did what I had to do, what was right.
People can blame me and say I was wrong,
But they didn't live my life all along.

I Have No Clue (sonnet)

Here and there are pieces flying by --
Fragments of a past I never wanted.
Pain that sears my soul, still I cannot cry,
Despite the mem'ries with which I'm haunted.
Then and now and here and there are just mush,
A maelstrom raging deep within my soul.
The race to heal makes me feel in a rush,
And yet my heart is still so full of holes.
Particles of past and present now fuse
To create some freakish thing I call "me."
But after all the torture and abuse,
I have no clue who I'm supposed to be.
Is there a blueprint somewhere for a "self,"
Or must I put my questions on a shelf?

Almost Gone (sonnet)

Just today, in front of the kitchen sink,
I stood for what seemed like over an hour.
"What is the problem?" I surely did think,
Why am I still giving this man power?
I remembered all the times he hurt me --
He said me washing dishes turned him on.
I cringed when I thought of the agony,
But then I remembered -- the bastard's GONE!
He cannot hurt me like that any more.
He can't trap me alone in my kitchen.
Somehow, I'm not as afraid as before,
Because someone took the time to listen.
I'll wash these plates and then just carry on,
For the hold he had on me's almost gone.

Christmas in Reverse (sonnet)

It's almost like Christmas, but in reverse.
There are "gifts" to be opened and explored.
Known or unknown, I'm not sure which is worse --
One thing's for certain, I will not be bored!
I wrapped each mem'ry and stowed it away
Because the pain it held was much too great.
The time has come and today is the day --
No more excuses, no more time to wait.
Do I shake each "box" to see what appears?
Do I judge what is inside based on size?
Do I measure the impact based on tears,
Or do I poke and hope with tight-shut eyes?
I must admit, of this I'm most perplexed,
Which "present" shall I choose to open next?

A Moment to Remember (sonnet)

I pause here a moment to remember
All the babies I never got to hold,
And with a mother's love, warm and tender,
I ponder memories that won't grow cold.
Though they never even had a name,
Though their lungs took nary a single breath,
Yet still I wept and mourned each one the same,
And felt the stinging pain of ev'ry death.
Knowing that a child had grown there within,
One that would never see the light of day;
Knowing its little life would ne'er begin
Caused me pain that will never go away.
As eight balloons float to the skies above,
I pray they'll know they'll always have my love.

The Rapist Walks Free (sonnet)

The memories still haunt me in the night,
The flashbacks still plague me during the day.
What about this picture is not right?
So many things I never got to say.
I never called the cops to come for him,
I chose, instead, to suffer in my shame.
It wasn't simply on a flimsy whim,
That I protected him and his "good name."
I thought about our kids, and shut my eyes
To all the hellish things he did to me.
I guess that it should come as no surprise
That things would turn out as they seem to be.
Justice does not exist (at least for me);
Tonight, my husband, the rapist, walks free.

When Will This Be Over? (Sonnet)

My head shoved in the bookcase like a box,
Him reaming me like crazy from behind,
The banging of the headboard as it rocks,
The screaming pain that makes me lose my mind.
"This is for my kids," I say, and shut up,
I don't want them to awake from their sleep.
The pain, the feelings, they all just got stuffed,
I wish I had the luxury to weep.
When will this be over? When will it end --
The remembering of all that he did?
How did I always force my mind to bend
Around the memories I quickly hid?
God help me, I can't deal with all this pain.
I'm tired of living it over again.

The One Thing I Still Can't Do (sonnet)

The mean things you say just drive me crazy,
You change your mind one minute to the next.
You say that my memory is hazy,
That somehow all the dots just don't connect.
The funny thing is, I have some pictures
Of things you swear to God you never did --
Sheetrock put up overnight. What is worse --
The fact you lied or the holes that you hid?
I tell myself just to be like a duck
Letting the water roll right off its back,
But somehow I still keep on getting stuck
Having to listen to all of your crap.
I gave up years ago; I forgave you.
Forgetting's the one thing I still can't do.

I Can't Believe I Let Him in Again (sonnet)

I can't believe I let him in again.
I thought I'd built the walls up high enough.
I haven't felt this bad since God knows when.
Simply hearing his voice, his touch, and stuff.
I only wanted to be with my kids,
To make the day special for them somehow.
I never dreamed I'd be feeling like this,
The nightmares have started all over now.
Just when I think I've fin'lly broken free,
He finds a way to get under my skin.
Why do I let what he says bother me?
Why do I even let his words get in?
God, help me shut out all these memories.
I'm asking you, begging you, won't you please?

Please, No More (triple sonnet)

Throbbing pain, as I whisper, "Please, no more!"
My silent cries, unheard, fall on deaf ears.
I'm worn out, I'm dried out, I'm torn and sore.
Each throbbing thrust a knife that burns and sears.
I try again, and whisper, "Please be done!"
"You want it in your mouth then, say the word."
Which word must I say? I try to pick one.
But his "logic" is skewed and so absurd.
Gasping for air, I try to find a way
To escape from this hell within a bed,
But  I can't complain, no words I dare say,
Or he'll turn me and go backwards instead.
Oh soul of mine, where have you gone to hide?
How can I find you way down deep inside?

"You're done when I say that you're done," he says.
I shudder and wonder how long this time.
It could be ten minutes, three hours, or less,
There's never really a reason or rhyme.
"You can come again for me now, can't you!"
His words, not a question, but a demand.
"The Lord is my Shepherd . . ." keeps running through
As I brace myself and wait for his hand.
Worse still, I see it coming through the air,
His hand balled up in a hard, tightened fist.
And there is no way that I can prepare
For his slobbery, slimy, cum-filled kiss.
My body has forsaken me at last.
The pain that I should feel just went right past.

"You'll take it all, I know," he says to me.
As if there is some pride he finds in this.
Bigger, deeper, and harder; endlessly.
Until he cannot rise or starts to miss.
I try to shut it out and go away.
"Let's see if this will fit, I bet it will."
My mind throws up a wall and bids it stay,
As I command my body to stay still.
"I cannot do this, Lord," I softly cry.
His hand, his fist inside, is so immense.
Is this my punishment -- for what, and why?
I can't escape the pain, it's too intense.
Awak'ning from the nightmare in a sweat,
Another mem'ry I cannot forget.

Freeflow Journaling Through a Flashback or Body Memory

I've found that sometimes there's no escaping from the grip of an intense memory (especially if it's sensory-related). Although deep breathing, progressive muscle relaxation, and meditation help a little bit sometimes, I've discovered that in some cases there's nothing I can do except "hold on for the ride."

One tool that I've found useful is what I call "freeflow journalling." I've heard others refer to it as "freewriting." Basically whatever thoughts, sensations, words, images, etc come to mind, I write it down -- without worrying about using proper punctuation & grammar (or even whether or not it "makes sense," for that matter).

There are several reasons I've found this helpful:

1) It gives me something to do while I "ride out" the traumatic memory.
2) It helps me sort through what happened afterward so that I can process it.
3) It sometimes lessens the severity of the physical aspect(s) of a flashback (maybe because my hands are "occupied").
Here's an example of a "freeform" journal entry that I wrote about a year ago when I was triggered by simply hearing someone say the phrase "Just take it all." (Note: I added some punctuation to make it SOMEWHAT easier to read.)

-----------------------------------

Just take it. Take it all. Stop your fucking complaining. Can't. No room. Stop. When will he come? Please God, No MORE! Arms over my head. Tight. Wrists. Pillow. Face. No air. Can't breathe. My duty. For my children. I can do this. I CAN'T do this. Lord, give me strength. Help me Jesus. Help me. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Burning. Enough. Searing. Too much. Go away. Arms numb. Make it STOP. So dizzy. Gonna throw up. So gross. Gagging. Salty. Over me. In me. Dribbling on me. Musky smell of him. Smothering me. Holding me. Fading. Drifting. YOU ARE MINE. I am his. I am gone. Disappeared. Where did I go? Darkness. Don't fight it. Let go. Wandering. Lights. Turning over. Spreading. Slipping. Again. Here we go again. No more. Please God, no more. Hurts so bad. Stretching. Splitting. Tearing. PLEASE let him be done. Mind over matter. He's spitting on me. Says that's good enough to go again. Mad at me. I'm dry he says. Better that way. Spits again. Good enough. It's NOT. Sticking. Pulling. Feels like he's tearing me apart. He likes it. Says I'm so good and tight. Every stroke burns. Agony. Searing pain. Deeper. Harder. Stabbing straight through me to the other side. ALMOST DONE, he says. STOP SHAKING. SHUT UP. Just a little more. Thank God. Hold on. Slipping away. Almost finished. Is he? COME AGAIN. I can't. Can I? Thrusting. Counting. Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, twelve, fourteen, twenty, sixty nine, HUT. I miss playing football. Think about something else. Anything else. Deeper. Harder. He says he's done. Please be done. Finally. Breathing. Gulping air. Curl up in ball, knees to chin. Is he gone? Have to pee. No, I can't. Too late. Burning. He's still in me. GET IT OUT. But he's gone. Not there. Need ice. Ice. Find the ice. Make it stop. He's gone. Don't care where. Away from me. Quiet. Curl up in a ball. Make the pain go away. Lord, please... Why ... Why ... Why... Is this how it's supposed to be? Am I so weak that I cannot do this? Help me submit willingly, Lord. My body is not my own. It is his. Strengthen me, Father. Need to sing. It will be better one day. I just need to trust. Singing -"All the way my Savior leads me, what have I to ask beside? Can I doubt His tender mercy, who through life has been my Guide? Heavenly peace, divinest comfort, here by faith in Him to dwell. For I know, whate'er befalls me, Jesus doeth all things well; for I know, whate'er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well." Tears. More tears. Why? What is wrong with me? Am I a horrible wife? I must be. This is my lot, my portion in life. I shouldn't let it upset me. God is in control, this is His will for my life, so who am I to question it or complain? Singing-"Day by day, and with each passing moment, strength I find to meet my trials here. Trusting in my Father's wise bestowment, I've no cause for worry or for fear. He whose heart is kind beyond all measure gives unto each day what He deems best -- lovingly, its part of pain and pleasure, mingling toil with peace and rest" . . . God must approve of this, otherwise He wouldn't allow it. And it says there will be pain mixed with pleasure, so I guess I should be thankful even through the pain.  This must be what He wants for me, and I'll just have to accept it. Lord, help me accept it .... Singing-"Have Thine own way, Lord, have Thine own way. Thou art the potter, I am the clay. Mold me and make me after Thy will, while I am waiting, yielded and still" ... I need to just yield. Lord, help me be still and yield. I confess my weakness, my frailty, my inability to properly submit to my husband as is my duty, my inadequacy as a mother, and my incompetancy as a housewife.  I humbly bow before you, Heavenly Father, and beg for your mercy. Haven't you punished me enough? I know I don't deserve to be rescued, but I cry out to you, oh Lord. Footsteps on the stairs. Coming up. It's him. He's back. Wants more. Shaking in puddle. Still singing. Want to believe. Hands trembling. Ice melting. In the doorway. His face. Sneering. Ridiculing. God won't hear me because I'm a slut. Worthless whore. Why am I singing to a God that can't hear me? Or doesn't care to listen? He throws hymnal against wall. Says we need to pray. Pray for my forgiveness. Pray that God will help me submit. Pray that God will forgive me for my weakness. That He will forgive me for my unwillingness. Pray that God will have mercy on me. Pray that God will make me a better wife. God help me take it all. Take it all. He wants more. No, Please, no more. Please, no. He says he'll be "nice" and only do my mouth. Please no. Please. On my chest, he's so heavy. Choking, gagging, suffocating. Bite down. Slap! Let go. Stop. No more. Finish yourself. You have two hands. Will I watch? Video. Awful & disgusting. Makes me watch. Hate porn. Skin crawling. Sick. He can't come. His arm is tired. YOU FINISH. My job. My responsibility. Take it all. Swallow. No. Sick. Gross. BASTARD! Gag. God help me. Darkness. Slime. Room spinning. Pillow soft. Quiet. Fading. Take it all. Just take it all.

It Never Happened

"It never happened." Words that are so strong;
An echo from the past I left behind,
A challenge of what I'd lived all along,
A seed of doubt was planted in my mind.
"If you say this, then no one will believe
A single thing you say; it's all a lie."
I'm empty now, there's nothing to achieve,
No point in even bothering to try.
I sigh and nod, I back away, and then
Give in and say the words I hate to say.
I'm back to just a puppet once again;
The melancholy robot saves the day.
"It never happened." (So glad we agree.)
Guess I was wrong. Good-bye reality.

I Forgot It All

How many yesterdays have come and gone
Since I first felt the burning sting of shame?
When did I find a shelf to place it on,
The things I couldn't face and couldn't name?
How many years have passed since I lost track
Of things I never thought that I'd forget?
When did I bury all my dreams out back,
Amidst the desert sand and my regret?
How many moons ago did I give up,
Convinced it was my lot in life to be
Content to sip this awful, bitter cup,
And never let the sorrow get to me?
Time doesn't heal all wounds, as I recall;
There was a reason I forgot it all.

Have I come this far in vain? (acrostic sonnet)

Some day on heaven's shore, I'll hold the key
That will unlock the meaning of it all.
Until that day, I'll try my best to be
Content to read the writing on the wall.
Keep thinking I should have a clue by now ...

How can so many years have passed me by?
Each time I go back home I feel somehow
Revisiting my youth will tell me why
Each path I walked was diff'rent, yet the same.

Am I condemned this hist'ry to repeat?
God, help me, have I come this far in vain?
Am I forever doomed to face defeat?
I cannot see beyond this awful mess,
No matter how I try, I do confess.

I Can't Go There Again (sonnet)

The pressure's building til I feel I'll burst.
I'm fighting it, but don't know if I can
Resist the urge to wallow in the worst
Of who and what I think and feel I am.
I know, deep down, that healing's what I need,
But, oh my God, I can't go there again.
The thought of it just makes me want to bleed;
I haven't felt this bad since way back when.
I never want to feel out of control
The way I did when I first started on
This journey to the center of my soul.
What if I get there just to find I'm gone?
I almost wish I really were insane.
I'd rather that than face this wretched pain.

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Artwork used by permission of the talented artist
April Mansilla. View and purchase her artwork HERE