Now She’s Gone

         Poof! Now she’s gone! Like the song by Felt no one ever knows she references. At least she can admit an ex introduced her to the band, rather than act as if she found it herself. Desiring to look cool to possible dating prospects. Ha ha. Go right ahead, add that one to your playlist as well. Like the other songs she tried to listen to, that you didn’t let her, and post to your facecrap so the next woman can think you can terrific taste in music. More like her taste in music. Rainbow kitten surprise, Kasey Musgraves, Theo Katzman, Chet Faker. The list could go on. I am sure she will eventually see a mutual friend of yours on facecrap post pictures at one of these artists concerts with you. Just know she won’t be jealous. It doesn’t work. She will always find music, venues, and people to hang out with. Go see the bands that are no longer at their prime like the Counting Crows, or ones you had already seen a decade ago but cannot remember for reasons I will not say. You don’t even have the motivation to find your own taste in music. That speaks volumes.

       So go ahead you can try to replace the now ex Fiancée with one of the many women you kept chatting on the side, while acting like you were ready to settle down. Any woman would have seen it as a red flag. And let me make this clear, go ahead with your smear campaign; but she is not a pedophile accuser. The replacement though is nineteen years old and you are in your late thirties. People will judge but you two are perfect for each other. She lies about having a boyfriend, has no self respect, attention seeks and is immature. By the way, so cool to act as if you were always platonic friends, when the reality was far from it. So cool to invite ex dating prospects to events. And “just chatting” with them late hours of the evening while knowing you would be upset if your now ex Fiancée started doing the same.

        Oh, dare I mention the infamous line? “Oh, I would beat a guy if he pet you.” Meanwhile, letting your now ex Fiancée watch your double standards, deep rooted in misogynistic, alpha male stereotypes. You think she was dumb, huh? Not dumb, but maybe dumb for loving you so much she put up with things no normal woman would have. The truth is: she loved you since she was nineteen years old and first laid eyes on you. She saw potential. But as ten years past, you decided to just give up on yourself. Decided to not contribute to society or do anything to better yourself. Instead, it seems you gave up while expecting some kind of miracle to save you from yourself?

         Was she supposed to be that miracle? After you told her she expected people to take care of her, while she went through extensive surgeries? Did you think it did not hurt when you assumed she was a “golddigger.” She worked full time during college, after college, and up until she had to do surgery. Basically since she was sixteen years old. God forbid unseen health circumstances arose that she had to address. So kind of you to judge rather than listen. So kind of you to literally regurgitate her previous abusive exes insults and continue to imbed it into her head? Didn’t think of the fact, you might be reopening wounds rather than leaving the scars she healed alone. And let’s not even get into the fact your own resume hasn’t looked great in ten years, but you were perfectly abled bodied. Throw your stones while living in a glass house, right?

        And one must ask: how many other women were supposed to be a life changing miracle for you? How many ended up hurt? Why do you think it is fair to expect so much emotional support while treating women as disposable once the honeymoon phase wears off? You think telling everyone your exes did to you what you really did to them  isn’t going to be figured out? You think you have people fooled but really the joke is on you. And it is not a funny joke to actually live the way you do. It is sad.

       All us past women once had faith you would tell the truth when asked, but after repeated lie after lie; the trust was gone. You expect to build a solid foundation off of no truth. She had to see with her own eyes your lies to wake up. And when she saw undeniable evidemce: you lied again. Gaslit her like the nineteen forties movie. What was next? A flickering of the lights, then telling her she was seeing things? No one deserves to live that way. No one. Not so you can maintain your façade. She wanted to live in truth, not lies.

      But what really sticks out and probably always will is the way you purposed. The casual handing over of the ring in the car, then the infamous line: “nw you can rub it in my best female friend’s face.” She wishes she could replace it with anything else. As a child, she envisioned a man at least getting on one knee and muttering four words. Such an expectation, right? She knew she was right in feeling like a pawn in a game riddled with jealously inducing antics, based upon your own insecurities. It was as if she wasn’t even a human to you. It was as if you failed to see how embarrassing it would be to explain to other people how you purposed. But looking back, she now sees it as a blessing. She now sees she was lucky to have not married someone who couldn’t even get on one knee like a gentlemen and say four words. Someday, when she finally finds a man who kisses her forehead at night, never wants to see her shed a tear, and actually wants a real commitment, you will probably think: I wish I never let her go. But she won’t try to remember you by then. She will create memories she deserves to have with someone who deserves her.

Miss Voiceless Part One

She runs frantically through the aisles, not noticing how frantic she appears to other people. He will probably be waiting for her when she gets back. A shame, since she hardly ever leaves the apartment. A fight will of course ensue; a raging battle, where all her fears come to life. She went to the store: a betrayal of trust in his delusional eyes. This made her stay at home mostly to avoid an argument. She tried everything to avoid an argument.

There was nothing normal about it. She clung to her pillow at night, silently crying, and hoping her would not hear a sound. He hated when she cried. He hated when she laughed, too!  He looked upon her as if she was auctioned off to him, and had no right to feelings. He wanted to control her, not love her. He wanted to brand her emotionally, to keep her in her place. Like a little doll who never spoke.

His words stayed with her most days. He’d leave to work and sometimes without ever saying goodbye. Other times, yelling at her before he left. She tried her best to keep things up, but he never paid attention. It was the one pair of pants she didn’t wash, the natural wearing of utensils, the way she cleaned up after his laziness, etc. Nothing done was seen and all he could see was the negative perception he wanted to.

This was an emotional death trap he started.  She felt never good enough as a result. She neglected herself as a result. She pondered all about his other options, because she felt like one. The opposite of real love; to treat someone as if they are replaceable. But deep down, he was the one truly hurting, but taking that pain out on her.

Fueled by a narcissistic culture, he praised the weak and was disgusted by the strong. He embraced a misogynistic perspective without being aware of it. His echochamber of madness, affected everything and everyone around him. He influenced others, and to her she felt like it was the 1950’s again for women in some ways.

Although she did not mind some aspects of the 50’s culture, she felt some modern men ideally want a woman who: pays half the bills, takes care of any children, takes care of the house, and cooks. This perspective was unfair in her eyes.

Are most men like this deep down inside? Do some clean and cook alongside their partner? I think it’s rare in my own experiences, but I don’t know about anyone else’s experiences. All I know is teamwork is the best method. No one becomes exhausted that way. 

And that was the truth. He initially exhausted her. When she had a job, he wasn’t considerate. He didn’t care if she got any sleep, cleaned without his help, cooked a full meal and did dishes until midnight. He didn’t care she could lose everything if he couldn’t chip in once on awhile. It wasn’t about building something together, but rather what he could build out of her.

It disgusted her. The way he put so much effort into appearing a certain way. He cared so much about his car, his hair, his smile, his money, and his material possessions. He spoke ill of others who did not embrace his same sentiment. He treated people like dollar signs, not humans. Those who had less, made less money, or were in unfortunate situations, did not have his sympathy. He blamed the poor for being poor, and praised the rich for being rich.

She felt like one of them to him: a poor disappointment. She thought if she had more money, he might actually love her. The thought sometimes made her resent herself, then oftentimes him as well.

Even when I almost had it all, he didn’t even notice anything but himself. She thought.

Now more than ever she had seen the situation for what it was: dehumanizing. As she pulled off each petal of a flower, she imagined letting the past go. It had been months, and his insults still were part of her thought processes. She knew it wasn’t going to be as simple to rewire her brain, as it was to pull pedals off of flowers. But she was one of the ones who woke up, rather than lived in a slumber. And those kinds of people have stories to tell, and voices to be heard.

 

 

 

Miss Revived Part One

She had the hair like the sun, eyes like the trees, and a mouth pink like a rose. She never carried herself right, beaten down by the world, the minute she left the hillside. The green pastures, the star filled nights, the crickets almost on the clock every single night provided a comfort she now longed for. Busy city streets, busy lights, and busy faces everywhere. No time to slow down. No time to speed up. No time for anything but work and sleep. That’s how she always felt. Life was always a struggle. Never a blessing. Always a fight, without the encore.

And recognition was rare in busy city life. So many people, they all seemed to blend into a vortex of nothingness together. To create one force of nothingness. Some convincing themselves it is something, while they poured that dirty regulars coffee for the 18th billionth time. Some realizing how little their existence meant, carrying themselves with at least a kind of admirable humility. Some wallowing in their own misery, clearly taking it out on everyone else.

The way she saw it was you had three choices to be; ignorant, intelligent, or angry. There was no other choice when doing mundane jobs. It was, play one of those parts or starve.

Deep down she knew it was time to evolve. Time to break away from the role partially. Time to think about some way out of the cycle of work without passion. She was done listening and ready to go out and fight down life again.

For awhile she spent time being purposely mundane, blending in, and going along with the motions of the majority. No one cared. She didn’t mind at the time, but the hole in her chest cut deeper as each day of meaningless existence passed on.

One night, she made a big mistake. She calls it an accident to this day, but the truth remains inside of her; like a haunting vessel at sea, it provokes her thought processes. Every dryer, every tub, every story like hers still subtly struck.a nerve. A tub, a plugged in phone dumped into it, and a complex without power was the scene. Crying parents, her lifeless-like body lifted from the water, while her burned wrists looked like some kind of sacrifice was the scene. She, of course, doesn’t remember anything but waking up in the hospital.

They thought she did it on purpose, so she had to say it was an accident.

Why am I still here? I wasn’t supposed to live?! Now I’ll have twice the bull crap if I admit to anything. Yup! Total accident! Geez. I really screwed this up. Can I go back? Undo this? Nope, haha! Of course not! She thought.

The nurse was intuitive, knew something was off about the situation but her hands were tied without proof. The cellphone accident was plausible as well, so it was written up as a mistake on reports.

I guess this is my second chance at life created out of death. 

The thought was strangely comforting. Perhaps she needed to look death in the eye to be back to life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Should Have Been Athena

I don’t even know what’s reality anymore

Say something to me

I dare you

Because I’m down on the floor

I dropped my shield

and like Apollo you rose

you played your guitar

but little did I know

your splendor was a facade

your heart was so cold

marked by the God Ares

And ready to charge like a boar

Your spear in your hand…

looking up at Mars, craving more…

 

I came to you like Aphrodite

When I should have been Athena

I came to you as the goddess of love

When I should have prepared for the arena…

 

I don’t even know what’s reality anymore

Say something to me

I dare you

Because I’m already on the floor

But I grab my spear

because you always seem ready for more

I battle you day and night

to settle the score

Then I rise like Athena

Fully armored with a crested helm

Striking you down

Becoming fully in charge of my realm

And even when you fell on your knees

I still showed you the greatest of empathy…

even after you broke me down

stole what was left of me….

 

I came to you like Aphrodite

When I should have been Athena

I came to you as the goddess of love

When I should have prepared for the arena…

A Lost Generation

A lost generation

full of misplaced rage

thinking their on the right side

but often disengaged

stuck in a maze

with no ending in sight

trying to cut through the walls

throughout the night

And their cries can be heard

from all those on the outside

that represent the forgotten

who desired a change in tide…

the ones time forgot

with the opinions they hide

humble is their word

unlike misplaced pride…

they speak in truth

and sometimes their words

are not so smooth…

but are reality infused…

I wish I could help you put your fears aside

but mine ate at me until I had to swallow my pride

And I know what battle you must find

it’s inside of your own mind….

A lost generation

A proclamation to the entity they should detest

thinking their own the ride side

but they stand with the ideas they say they cannot digest

and the irony is so obvious to the rational mind

their delusions create fear and unrest…

And their cries can be heard

from all those on the outside

echoing the emotions they once knew

when they felt pushed aside…

but in that isolation grew strength

That could break a thousand lies…

in that grew struggle

which could not be swept aside…

The Dimensions

The curtains are stained with orange juice from the year before. The kids decided to have it in the bed one night, and well you know what happened. A fight broke out and she spent an hour cleaning it up as usual.

She wakes up and finds it strange  no one seems to be around. No yelling. She sighs with relief.

They always hang around the yard, talking about the latest football game.  She pretends she cares but she’d rather be left to do her own things. She barely even has free time to have it spent in such a boring manner, yet no one seems to ask her what she would rather be doing. But one day, she decided it was all about her from now on. Has since left the family circle, and formed her own filled with dreams.

A voice yells out to her. She runs thinking something has happened. It’s her son, wanting her to play basketball.

“Oh, John just grab one of the neighbor boys! I’m in my heels, I can’t do that right now!”

“Okay, mom.” He sighs and carries on alone.

Sure enough, five minutes pass and she hears a shriek of a child. She runs hysterically, finding John lying in front of a car. The ball across the street as if it perfectly landed there right in front of a long sidewalk. But her focus was not on the house across the street, but rather John. His limp body once full of the grace of an angel has the devils steal his light she thinks. All because I couldn’t just watch him. Tears roll down her cheeks, but as she looks up to ask God why he took her baby boy, her heart begins to race.

A house, not any normal house lies across the street. One she has never seen before. The ironwork magnificent, protective, yet graceful. A lion’s head creates the steeple and his tail wraps around the cone shaped roof as if it is protecting the house.

She realizes something is watching her threw the window. Large iron doors that look as if they cannot be opened await. She wonders if she pulls on them, if they will even open. She looks down, and John is no longer there. She thinks maybe someone poisoned her, or perhaps her medication is making her hallucinate. Panic overtakes her body.The sweat pouring out of her anxious body causes her to feel sick. Her home is no longer there either now. The only house left is the iron house.

Desperation is kicking in. No car has been in sight. She starts to believe maybe she is in some kind of simulation but the thought exits her mind quickly. Too many tv shows she thinks. After a few hours, she takes the chance.

The ball is still lying there. And as she tries to pick it up, it just keeps rolling down the sidewalk. As if it is some trick to lure her or maybe it is a joke. She has no idea what to think or who would think of this sick game. She grabs the door and it opens with barely a pull.

“Someone there?”She asks gently.

There is no answer. She walks further, slowly, calmly, but ready to defend. She hears something. Some kind of motor, a quieter one, maybe a toy?

A little boy sits in the living room, smiling at her.

“Hey!”

He doesn’t say anything. It is as if she is the first woman he has ever seen. He begins to cry. She hears feet running. It’s a man.

“Hey hunny! Why don’t you comfort him!”

“I, I, didn’t know it was my job.”she says.

“Well, that’s how it works. I pay the bills, you deal with this!”

“Okay, I get it.” She mumbles along.

He leaves. She sits down, realizing there some cigarettes. It’s weird though, they have a rather old looking package. She smells them, and they are fresh. Strange, she thinks. Lights one up. Stares at the smoke, as if she is waiting to wake up from a nightmare.

This isn’t real she thinks. But then she coughs. The taste is definitely there. She hates it.

She touches the child, and he cries. ”

He’s real. He is all real.”

Her husband walks in, “Hunny, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I think I’m just hormonal.”

“Huh? Hunny you know we do not speak of these things. I just know.”

“Okay, sorry.”

She looks at the living room again, realizing it now has a strange looking television. A box like structure of wood around it. She doesn’t get it. The furniture looks like it is art deco. She thinks maybe 50’s or 60’s era.

“Am I going backwards?”she says.

“What was that hunny!?”

“Oh nothing.”

“I’m off to work sweetheart. I’ll see you in a bit. Try to make something good for dinner.”

“Sure.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She panics as the door shuts. She is in neither heaven nor hell. She is in something but she doesn’t even know what. She thinks, okay I’ll make the most of it.

She has to make a dinner in a kitchen where she doesn’t even know. She has to act as if everything is okay or she thinks these people will definitely think I am crazy. Just hold out she thinks, maybe I am in a coma. Hmmm.

He comes home, kisses her on the cheek when she tries for the mouth.

“Geez baby!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Let’s not be that way in front of the child.”

“Okay.”

He enjoys her meal but wonders about the inspiration. It is all the sudden inventive for such a woman like her. He praises her but senses some kind of change. He doesn’t know if he will like it or not in the years to come, but he believes in fixing things forever.

She lays her head down to rest and thinks of the life she once had. Her own child. Her own husband. Tears roll down her cheeks quietly and no one knows they are even shed but herself. This pains her. She falls asleep trying to accept the reality. Trying to leave the pain behind.

 

 

The Pilot with a Mental Illness

Did you hear about the pilot who drove the plane right into the mountains? Well, if you haven’t I don’t know where you have been. The minute I heard of this event I immediately felt something was terribly wrong mentally with this man. It makes no sense a plane is above 30,000 feet then falls dramatically to 100ft before hitting a wing and colliding into the terrain.  It had to be the pilot or a serious issue with the plane.

The black box and a passenger recording has exposed the truth. The man locked himself inside and immediately set the plane into a rapid decent. It must have been insane. The other pilot was trying to break down the door with no luck, pleading with the man to stop, but later on growing angry.

How did it get to this point though? How did a man become so sad he felt like the only way to end his life was to take a plane down? Why did he feel it necessary to bring down 150 people with him he didn’t even know instead of just simply hanging himself? Was he full of hate? Or did he feel so alone he felt like the only way out was to die with a bunch of people? Did he feel he had no purpose so he had to make his mark in history with a tragedy rather than an accomplishment? Did he stop his medications? Did his wife ask for a divorce? What happened to bring this man’s mind to this state?

All of these questions are important. Not because they are related to a tragedy but because they address a broader issue going on with people: mental illness. I am not excusing this man from what he has done, it is horrific, but in order to help prevent this from reoccurring we must understand it. We must ask uncomfortable questions and try to get inside how a person like this thinks so we can help. To ignore them is to turn a eye to a person being mugged. Their illness is REAL. It can start off small then lock onto the core of society until eventually we have an epidemic that could have been avoided.

It amazes me this man went to a doctor it seems, was diagnosed with something, but continued to work. How was he allowed to work? Did he hide his condition for years on end? Or did he not hide it and when he told someone they reacted with a typical “everyone feels sad sometimes” response?

Depression isn’t sadness. It is more than that. It takes out your soul and smashes it unto the ground until you lie there motionless, wishing you had a purpose.  There are no words really to describe it, only emotions sometimes. A person at times knows how silly they are for feeling that way, yet cannot shake it. There is something preventing it from being broken. The cycle continues until the person survives or does not. And survival could mean, never being the person you once was and accepting that. But it takes a lot of strength to get through it. It sometimes takes support from others. Perhaps, the pilot brushed his teeth, ran through the park, went to work, and at times still cried. And after years of hiding the tears, he snapped. Were there no signs? Was he that good at hiding it? I think it was a combination of people in general not understanding mental illness and also people feeling ashamed to admit their condition. Mental evaluations for high stress jobs should be mandatory though an there needs to be more social workers utilized. We cannot live in a social media based society without addressing the issues we create when we put unrealistic expectations on human beings. There are not enough centers for those who are mentally ill, not enough funding, psychologists, social workers, etc…Sometimes the mentally ill are left homeless or incarcerated or they end up flying a plane into a mountain. Whatever it is, it isn’t okay.

If medications help some people, then more research needs to be done on specific elements in combination to certain conditions. Right now it is too broad. You have bipolar patients on the same medication as depressed and/or anxiety patients. C’mon. And if meds do not help some people, more funding to alternate therapies as well. Either way, we must try to prevent innocent people from being hurt by those who were hurting but did not tell anyone. We must lift the stigma off the mentally ill and admit sometimes it isn’t their fault. As a society we cannot let it be suppressed because it only leads to tragedy. Let’s not blame anyone or anything specific but rather fix the problems at hand. My heart goes out to all those who perished.