Looking after ourselves
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29-08-2023 09:16 PM - edited 29-08-2023 09:17 PM
29-08-2023 09:16 PM - edited 29-08-2023 09:17 PM
Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy
Hard psych sessions lately so decided to write about feelings from my last one before my next appointment tomorrow
I find it annoying when people say I place too much blame on you for the past
But you don't even acknowledge I do this
Or just completly oblivious
I try so hard to show a separation between us
But the more I distance myself you think our relationship is thriving
My feelings of hurt and betrayal don't even show on your radar
As you so focused on what affects you no matter who is around you
People question why I blame you for what others did to me
Well none of it would have happened if you gave a dam about me
But instead of protection you left me to defend for myself
This lead to me putting myself in harms way to protect the more vulnerable
Even at a young age I had to fill the spot you left vacant
You should have kept the darkness of the world at bay
Instead you invited it in and looked the other way
I became destroyed inside
Just fragmented pieces
You look at me through your rose glasses
Tell people that I'm thriving when really I'm only surviving
Someone who thrives looks to the future with joy
I look at tomorrow and wonder if I'll see another day.
Despite how broken I am inside I still do my job
You may not see it but you failed in yours
I know you were broken too and destroyed inside
But as a mother you take on the responsibility to ensure that your kids don't get hurt the same way
But you didn't do that and it's what hurts the most
You didn't even try when you should have
You repeated the mistakes done to you instead of learning from them
I am broken and I don't pretend I am prefect
I make mistakes but at least I'm trying to break the neglect cycle
I treasure my children
I protect them from harm
I shield them from the darkness
I fix broken pieces
I help them to thrive
I still make mistakes
But at least they won't be broken adults
I may be only surviving but I survive for them
Because if I keep surviving and doing my job my kids will thrive and be able to pass it on
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26-11-2023 12:02 PM
26-11-2023 12:02 PM
Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy
The hands of the clock wave at me like I should know what time it is already.
Their movements are empty, or maybe it’s because they are accustomed to holding those flags that are lights, the ones that guide aircraft to land on the mothership.
But it’s way past my time for bed, and instead of guiding me in, they are shouting gently that if I don’t sleep enough I might crash into the ocean of worried nonsense.
I’ve been in that storm for 18 years now, pailing water out of the captains helm, anchor weighed in this little bay before the reef hits up against the sand bar.
I’d swim if I wasn’t terrified of jellyfish kissing up against me.
I’ve survived on a steady diet of psychotherapy and intermittent self-sabotage.
The radio doesn’t work, and the MP3 player I brought along, only has this ridiculous Aretha Franklin album about shitty ex boyfriends.
Maybe nobody needs me in their life but the jellyfish.
With their incandescent globules guiding me into the water.
I’m going to get stung probably, but at least I’d be less stinky.
I might even make it to shore, and the food I can smell from there is better than the punishment I dish out to myself.
Maybe it has fresh bbq pork, and mangoes, and self-loathing.
I could make a canoe out of the bed frame where it all went wrong.
It might be better than avoiding going to sleep, and hearing her name call out over and over in my head.
I hate fishing now, my next lover is going to be a turtle.
Sturdy, well protected, great swimmer, cute but lacking in finer dexterity.
Unable to hold the flags that might signal what they expect of me.
I’m a decent sailor, I just lost my first mate to the karma.
And I lost my hope to the storm, each bucketful of water I empty, is a mouthful of self-help to swallow.
Trauma is like that.
I think I’m tired enough to shut my eyes now.
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27-11-2023 10:48 AM
27-11-2023 10:48 AM
Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy
Snow coloured rainbows
Freezing the nipples and testies of queers all over
Did that begin the promiscuity thought train?
I got a free ride, free ticket, free buffet
Free infectionary disease
Lacking the kind of warmth you would expect from intimacy
More of a burning itch instead
Can I start again?
Snow coloured rainbows
Directing me out of this blizzard
I smell the smoke, and hear chopping of wood
There’s gold here, her hair maybe
There’s no green but for her eyes
And I feel calm looking at them watching me
I went for groceries, and I got stuck in the 21st century
I tried to apologise but it ruined any chance of a hug
Can I start again?
Snow coloured rainbows
Why does that seem familiar?
A cold swim will kick me in
To the next chapter in my existence
I’m dreaming of the last page, last paragraph
But I’m re-reading the last line that I’m up to
Wondering if I can be written down
Living the change to become one
Now I’m starting to feel again.
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06-01-2024 12:11 AM
06-01-2024 12:11 AM
Re: Writing As A Form Of Therapy
Its taken me a while to venture out and look for different threads. The 'still' mirrored in these
waters tell me there's uncertain depth to them.
Now and then I shall come sit beside and ponder what lays beneath..
Thankyou too the brave. I bathe in the pools of your eyes. tonys mb1
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