Misery

Misery comes in different ways,
It can last for weeks, or just for days,
My misery started long ago,
Silent so no one would know.

When I was only just a child
When the misery would run wild,
Some causes came in dark of night,
Other causes during daylight.

But as I aged, learned how to shout,
I became able to let some out,
But there’s some that stays within,
It seems this war, I’ll never win.

At night he haunts me in my dreams,
During the light she always wins,
Now I’m trapped within these walls,
They know I’m here, but no one calls.

A test, they say, will let us see,
What is happening inside of me,
This misery I have had for days,
Bothers my life, in many ways.

But when all is said and done,
I pray I’ll once more see the sun,
That will be my very own way,
I’m going to live another day.

– van –

Mother And Mother’s Day

A holiday is drawing near,
For most it means there’s someone dear,
I try to forget the entire day,
But I need to find another way.

I have things I could have said

But I kept my silence instead

Now it’s been over three years

But I’ve not shed many tears

PTSD is what they say

Controls me even to this day

Any love I felt for you

Like a bird, away it flew

Now the day is drawing near

Honor one who caused me fear

I need to get you from my head

Because now you’ve been quite dead

But words and actions came my way

I lived in fear, most every day

The only thing that I will try

Is to say to you, goodbye.

~ van ~

 

Why Do I Feel Like This?

Woke up, thought things were ok,
The phone rang, upset my day.
Today I was to meet with someone,
The call came, things came undone.

My heart screams in a silent shout,
I do not want the things to come out,
I must keep them deep inside,
But sometimes it’s very hard to hide.

To hide the pain of being left alone,
I almost wish I hadn’t picked up the phone,
But that would not make things ok,
Just cause me a disrupted day.

I know that I am not to blame,
But I feel this way, just the same,
Feel that it’s because of me,
She did not want to really see.

My fear of abandonment is running wild,
But I thought it was under control,
Now the feelings have to stay inside,
The next two days I’ll have them to hide.

Why?

I know it was so long ago,
But I can’t seem to leave it so,
Things buried in my past,
Seem to forever last.

Now my hair is gray,
It is another day,
But the things that haunt me,
Others don’t even seem to see.

I talk it out, once a week,
But what is it that I really seek?
An answer to make it all go away,
But then it comes back another day.

I talk with friends I met online,
They have issues similar to mine.
They, too, struggle each day,
Wishing that there were a way.

Why can’t I make it go?
The path I’m on seems so slow.
One day, I know I’ll find my way,
Not dreading the coming of each new day.

On that day, He’ll hold out His arms,
Then I’ll know I’m safe from harm,
He waits for me to find my way,
Eternity will then have it’s say.

I’ll no longer live in the past,
My time will forever last,
In a place where there is no pain,
I’ll be with Him, once again.

A Letter For Mothers Day

Some had mothers who cared so much,
Some had mothers who did no such.
Mine was up and down each day,
I didn’t know which was the right way.

Mom, you made my life very difficult, not only as a child but as an adult, right up to this day. I lived in fear of your anger. I never knew when it was coming, like a bolt of lightning from the sky.

I felt as though you were not proud of me. I felt as though you didn’t love me. The truth, I think, was that you were not capable of love. I believe that you, too, were damaged somewhere in life, and that our mental health was passed on from generation to generation.

How can I hate someone who is ill? I can’t. Was I capable of loving you? Not then, while I lived under your control. The fear continues to live on in me, the mental illness passed on to me.

But that cycle ends with me, and with my brothers. None of us had children of our own and that can’t be coincidence, as they both married and are still married. But I remained single, but not just due to you. There was another kind of abuse going on in that house, that you didn’t seem to be aware of.

I’ve heard of people having love/hate relationships, and perhaps that applies to my life, not just for you, but for Dad, and for all the significant others I have had during my 55 1/2 years of life.

But now you are gone. I never got to really talk to you as one adult to another. I was always your daughter, and was treated as such. I no longer have the opportunity to tell you that I love you. After years of therapy, I realize that I do love you, and I do not. I cannot.

Am I capable of loving today? I love God, in a very special way. And I love my family, a family I would not have had, if not for you.

Alone And Sad

My life when I was young,
Bad, from what all had been done,
Ran away as soon as I could,
But even that did no good.

Relationships, I cannot keep,
Never really get that deep,
I hardly let anyone inside heart,
I know you can still play a part.

Neglect, abused, parents both sick,
The air in our house was very thick,
Dared not do what would trigger more pain,
When all it would do was repeat again,

The words, the blows, the cause of the pain,
Sexual abuse, again and again.
Nothing worse could have been done to me,
But no one, could ever really see.

The sickness spread from parent to child,
A young adult became quite wild,
Alcohol, for me, was the best,
Never really got into the rest.

The sickness grew inside of me,
And other people began to see,
The help that was needed so very bad,
Nowhere to be found, it is quite sad.

Started climbing out of the old, deep pit,
Once it was started, I could not quit,
To quit would mean that I would fall,
And once again I’d lose it all.

Today, alone, feeling sad,
Sometimes wish that I still had,
That one who’d smother me with love,
I’ve found it some, sent down from above.

Secrecy

Secrecy can be a very lonely place.  If you were to sit around, talking with people, you never know when something is going to trigger a secret to accidentally pop out.  With some things, it’s not really that big of a deal, because I know that the things that have to be secret, will never come boiling to the top, just waiting for a chance to pop out.

Those things don’t come out, even when you have a mental health provider, sitting there, trying to find out what makes you tick, or maybe in my situation, stop ticking.  If these things get stirred up, the anger that resides down there with those secrets, is what might actually pop out.

To try and avoid that from happening, I just shut the door.  On everything.  Then I sit there with nothing on my face or my tongue.  And what does come out, really isn’t that relevant.  So I live my life, day-to-day, without really feeling anything, and that’s a lonely place.  I really don’t like going there, because bad things happen.

So I write.  Sometimes I come up with something deep and meaningful, and other times I come up with drivel that no one really cares about at all – not even me.  But for me, writing is a very useful tool, because my fingers can say what my mouth cannot.

Often, when I get on my site, I really don’t know what might pop into my head and out of my fingers.  But there are a few occasions when I end up digging deep and bring up something I didn’t really know was there.

I can write most anything, because those who are following me, I only know by the way they talk about things.  It’s the silent followers who just happen to know my blog’s address, and are taking in all those things that I put down here.  So secrecy protects me from having to talk or feel anything about something that I don’t want.

~ van ~

Why Do I Keep All This Stuff?

Question mark liberal (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

You might think that I’m speaking of all the books on the shelves, or the 30 t-shirts stuffed into four different drawers, or maybe the 17 different coffee cups that clutter my cabinets.

No, I’m speaking about all the junk that I still keep in my head, though it serves me no purpose any longer.  I have fifty-some years of stuff that has come into and gone out of my head, and then there’s the stuff that comes in and never leaves.

I can tell you the name of every cat I’ve had since I was about four.  I have my mother’s social security number in there, and she has passed away.

I can tell you about drunken escapades that happened 30 years ago.

But the thing that really bothers me, is the stuff that comes in and goes right back out again.  This can happen in the middle of a sentence or conversation.

Maybe it’s just because I already have too much stuff in there, and there is no room for any new information or ideas.

How do you get rid of all that stuff?

~ van ~