Vulnerability

What do you do when the anxiety you have for no known reason fills your stomach up to your neck up to your head with an unbearable weight which weighs you down with the sensation of sloth, an inability to move or act and all you can do is just sit there and stare? All you can think about is how anxious you are because that is all you can feel, a mad cycle attached with immense difficulty to escape. Surveillance is a substantial way to be brought out of this. When one is being watched, especially by a superior or boss, one must at least act like they are busy or getting work done. When one is around equals, there is a “fitting in” aspect, a joining of a conversation or activity. Both of these can usually get yourself out of your head full of maddening anxiety. Right now I am sitting at a desk writing about it, which probably looks like I’m working to the naked eye of a passerby. But sometimes writing about it exacerbates the anxiety because you are focusing your mind more in on it, the problem at hand. Yet it does help the understanding of it a little more. “Know thyself.”

Vulnerability scares me. I’m afraid to show people my words. I’m afraid of what they think. Have I put myself on too high of a pedestal? What if I’m not up to par? My words are my vulnerability, a complete expression of me. Maybe I don’t want people to know me. Maybe I like to keep people at a safe distance- not necessarily to keep myself safe from them, but to keep them safe from me.

Little Fixes

Center of the day begins to unfold

Already gone through the marshes and mixes

Alive & full,

Lick our lipses

Do what we can to get our fixes

Skin as oily

as Honeydew

You caught me in a full-on looptiloo

My Journey…

So, I don’t really know who reads this… I don’t advertise this site/blog to barely any of my friends, it seems to intimate for that. But I feel comfortable with the blogging community, maybe because they don’t know me on a personal level. Sometimes it’s easier to share with strangers and fellow writers. And there’s just some things I need to get out/explain. I have not posted anything here for literally 18 months. Why, you ask? I was in an 18 month structured therapeutic community for addiction and alcohol dependency. I went without social media literally for a year and a half. It wasn’t allowed- no facebook, no email, no nothing online.

Now I’m back, and getting online now is almost overwhelming. I want to get back into reading and writing… It’s my passion, it’s who I am… While I was gone it seemed like a lot of my passion and motivation for this creativity dissipated. I did a lot of work on myself, though. Picking back up on this has been a little more difficult than I foresaw. A lot of what I used to write was inspired by fear, hurt, shame, loss…. I feel that when I tap back into that, my creativity flows easier and smoother; it’s more profound. But I also want to be inspired to write when I’m happy, feeling blessed and excited.

I’m still on a journey of finding myself… What do I want? Who am I? Who do I want to be? Right now I’m just going through the motions… making sure I stay sober, making sure my maladaptive thoughts don’t get in my way, making sure I have my priorities right… What a crazy, unexpected, long, and amazing journey this has been and will continue to be.

Getting Right

In attempts to avoid folding within myself
I sit numbly
Your possible rejection of me
Collides into a forgotten, yet nostalgic fear
Creating unforgotten insecurities
Memories of the past start flooding in
But the boulders are too high and sharp
The lack of words become deafening
I just want to cover my ears
And cry out of relief
Over holding in the washed up emotions
That I tried so hard to flee from
Spending countless days and hours
Looking in and Distracting from myself
Getting over someone, and
Getting right with me.

Validation

 

With grace
I see you pace
throughout the corridor,
concern lavished upon your face.
But it always comes back to me
and I get curious, what is it in you
that I see? That draws you to me?
At the end I understand it’s my
desperation
But in the beginning it feels like
magical procession.
It’s insights like these, I’d rather keep to myself,
frustrations rooted in
lack of respect for self,
kinder words for the reality-
a putrid, decaying necessity
of external validation,
your hands on me,
telling me everything’s ok.

j.f.

Written on 10.2.15

6th & Lincoln

Giant moving monsters
Red, White, Silver, Gold.
Other vehicles
of souls,
walk around, pedestrian-like
Some with signs
made of cut-up boxes,
box lettering etched
into the cardboard.
Pleas of help
in the form of money.

Humankind
Both
Is what it says.
Human. and Kind.
Humankind.
We’re all here,
sharing this world,
this planet,
this ground.
He hands her
a bag of food.
We’re all the same,
me and you,
him and her.
We come from
the same place,
the same space,
born into the same world.
But we’ve forgotten.

We’ve become careless,
ignorant, impatient.
Do you ever
stop- cease
what you’re doing
every once in a while
and look-
just notice-
what’s happening around you?
Do you ever appreciate it?
Laugh at it?
Cry at it?
Just be in it,
apart of it.
You already are,
sometimes it just
takes recognition,
and the world
becomes a more
beautiful place.
Your problems seem
a little less
significant
when compared
to the bigger scheme of things.

It makes me smile.

Something

“Stream-of-consciousness writing a la Jack Kerouac is a meditation tool. Writing about regrets over the past or fears of the future, no.”

Feelings hypnotize unsatisfied ruler of my brain. Please don’t come down here there is really something wrong with my brain. Today, at least. Well, most days. Unconventional, unacceptable as “normal” let me apologize now before you decide to run away. Sometimes I wish I could run away, take a vacation and escape from the pounding confusion, lifting the fog that’s in my head. I used to be afraid to showcase these things, people wouldn’t understand. But still face to face I have to pretend that I belong in this world with these socially acceptable behaviors. I really have no idea what to do.

Haircut

I had a dream. I stole a bunch of money from grandma. Mom found it. I gave it back, but still kept some. Leigh drove back to get it.
Cut.
I want a haircut. Bad.
I’m at the Peakview house with mom
She knew I wanted to steal pills.
She had a new Louise Vuitton purse.
I asked if she would buy me a haircut,
She said no.
And I was confused.
because she had a new thousand dollar purse.
There was something evil in the house.
I tried to board it up,
make it go away.
It gave me chills.
We left and saw a hair dresser,
but it was late.
She said my hair was too long
I could only be comfortable
if I put it up.

Awkward

Silence stills me-

us-

sharing the same space,

in the same room.

Unknowing of what

to say, he pulls out his

device which connects

him to the technological outside

world. A connection that

makes more sense

than what’s going on in this room.

Something to fill his mind,

something to take his time,

something to allow him to rewind.

 

Surrounded by the awkward,

the silence,

I could mutter a sound-

to break the confusion.

Instead I give him

his own satisfaction-

and start staring at my

screen-

and write.

The only thing that

makes sense to me.

Color Line

Fresh start
New day
Blue skies
What’s the date?
So much to do
Where is the time
I’m ready now
Call the color line

The color’s peach
Makes no sense
My fruit is called
Need to go
Pee in a cup
In front of whatshername
Say it isn’t so.