My ability to be creatively vulnerable with my mental illness as well as the experiences which contributed to it will serve as a method of self-healing.
Author’s Memo
Autoethnography can offer multiple therapeutic benefits. Not only does it allow those with mental illnesses to express themselves, which contributes to a better understanding of self, but it offers a method of healing. Duchin and Wiseman state, “Individuals’ ability to describe traumatic events in their lives is connected to the processing of trauma and healing” (280). As these poems illustrate, my ability to be creatively vulnerable with my mental illness as well as the experiences which contributed to it will serve as a method of self-healing.
2020 was a trying year for a lot of people, and for me, in a multitude of clusterfucks kinda way. I lost a beloved pet, moved across the country, separated from my spouse of 11 years, started my graduate degree, had to make a difficult decision to re-home my other pets, and had a miscarriage. Don’t forget the abusive relationships… Yeah—I wish I could. Sometimes in life, we do stupid shit—like that time I got out of one abusive relationship just to get into another. Although, to be fair, I didn’t even realize it was abuse because it resembled the environment where I was raised. It’s funny how that works—how you can’t see something for what it is until you’re away from it.
I’ve written poems here and there before, but something about all of these events happening really drew me to put words to paper again—or in this case, text to phone screen. When I was writing, I went back from time to time and reviewed the previous poems, but it never occurred to me just how dysfunctional I was until I “retired” them, completed some grueling therapy work, and later read them from start to finish. Being in an abusive situation is difficult, and although it was painful to endure and it’s still painful today, I am thankful I escaped. I still struggle some days—but the struggle I have independently is much preferred to being around someone who is purposely trying to destroy you.
We all have trauma and the only way we can stop projecting our trauma onto other people is to heal. We heal by sharing our stories—vulnerability is powerful.
I’m at the top and it’s a long way down, but if I fall, I know the wind will carry me away
Like a dandelion
And I’ll float and fly over the water until the earth pulls me back down
Then I’ll flutter down and dig deep in the soil
Sprout my seed
Ground my roots
And even if they try to pull me from the dirt, they won’t be able to
Because I’ll be strong, steady, planted
Thought loops are like Froot Loops so let me take you on a colorful ride
Sometimes it’s a fucking mess inside
One minute I want to die and the next I want to live
But what’s living?
I don’t want to meet over coffee—that shit’s lame
I don’t do wine Wednesdays or get a thrill from playing chess
What I really need is a distraction—you know, stimulate my brain
Sometimes I eat the good candy just to turn the lights out
Why is it always night out when I feel most alive?
Chain smoking keeps me coasting through the minutes
hours
days
And I close my eyes and pray “please take me away”
Because I want to go right in this moment while everything’s okay
I’ve been trying to think of what to do with you but I had too much candy and can’t think clearly
I guess it’s the better alternative to an electric current running through my cerebrum
Fuck feelings
Maybe I should just be brain dead
This mind is a beautiful thing to waste but it’s always been treated like trash anyways
You’re like the fish that I keep throwing back but my bait’s too good and I hook you again
And again. And again.
And each time, it gets a little harder to throw you back
And every time I cast my line again, you bite a little sooner
I guess this will be the little game we play until I break down and take you home with me
Image by Love Art. Live Art. from Pixabay
It’s complicated, right? I am complicated. You are complicated. This, we, us, them—is complicated. There are some complications. I hope if I say it enough, it all becomes meaningless.
Your heart is a muscle—it keeps you alive, but as it beats, you’re dying. That’s what it’s like. Like having your heart in a glass box where no one can touch it. But I feel it beat in me…
It’s a sweet misery. It kills me a little bit more every day, but it keeps me wanting to wake up the next. I’ll dream of all the things that could be, only to open my eyes to the empty space in my bed. But, somehow, you’re still here with me…
How do you wait when you don’t even know what you’re waiting for—or if it will ever come? But I know I can’t walk away, because I want to hear you call my name. Please, will you please just call my name?
I’ve always wanted ECT because it helps with forgetting, but your brain can actually work in this way—on its own. Einstein said time is relative and now it all makes sense; my brain took out the garbage, so what was many calendar years is now just a small sliver in my mind.
How do you stay when it kills you? Because you don’t want to lose it. How can you leave it behind? You can’t. And all the frustrated crying in the world can’t change a damn thing, but you let it out anyway.
So I’ll live each day in a dichotomy; I guess sometimes there’s pain in pleasure. And I’ll keep dreaming of scenarios in my head that may never happen, but I’m hopeful. Or am I just stupid? I guess being in love is like that…
Feels like being ripped apart from the inside
Right in the solar plexus
Who do you talk to when the person you would normally talk to doesn’t want to talk?
You talk to yourself
And what do you say?
You try to make sense of it even when nothing makes sense
You could lose your shit but what does that do?
It can’t change anything. It certainly won’t make it better
So you just keep holding on
What do you hold onto?
Yourself. Don’t lose yourself
This phlegm in my throat chokes me up and I can’t speak for days
Truth is there’s so much I want to say but you’re not always there like I need you to be
I try to think of all the good times but the bad is bad bad
Like I want to run and never look back bad
But you keep holding on
And so do I
Why do we both keep holding on?
Image by Robert Armstrong from Pixabay
You said you were happy it happened—how could you say that?
Extasy
I’m pretty sure that’s when I obtained
One night—two hours—ecstasy
And we didn’t even know until it was too late
You were an asshole—first rate
Stressed me out and made me feel like I wasn’t perfect—even though you told me before that I am
And then there was the drinking
And the smoking
Was it your fault or mine?
You said you were happy it happened—how could you say that?
It was like being stabbed in my pelvis with a skewer
For a week—every day
I thought I just wasn’t drinking enough water
Until I saw the fragments floating in the water of the porcelain bowl
Blood clot—a little heart
Gray tissue—a little face
White tissue—tiny limbs
You said you were happy it happened—how could you say that?
And when the passing was finally over
I was so relieved until I had to scrub the blood stains from my underwear
And I was reminded all over again that all the love and support I needed were flushed just like the life that once lived inside me
That was our baby. My baby. Your baby.
Your child.
You said you were happy it happened—how could you say that?
Beautiful disaster
There’s a version of you that I love and adore
And another one that I hate
I don’t think it’s your fault
But you have to be ready to let yourself be free
I know you said you like that feeling but do you know what being free really feels like?
Because I don’t think you’ve ever healed from all of your pain
And you can take as many trips as you like, but they’re not going to get you any closer to your destination
The experts say narcissists and empaths are actually the perfect pair
But I think that only applies if both are up to the challenges they’re going to face
And they’re both ready
It always drove me a little crazy that you knew me so well, so I can understand why it drives you crazy that I can see right through you, too
It’s terrifying to be so transparent, isn’t it?
Most people I know can’t understand my feelings towards you
And I think that’s only because I’ve seen your soul where others are stuck on your exterior
You were right when you said we’re all alone in this world
But I’m starting to see that everyone is at least a little damaged
And it’s still possible for two lonely, damaged people to come together and get things right where everything else was always wrong
I’m being a little hypocritical right now because while that’s my hope, I’ve also lost hope
I’ll be alright, though, because I’ve been fulfilling my own dreams for a long time
I am a fortress now
Like the cement marker at Clinton Lake—right now I’m watching the waves crashing against it and yet it’s unmoving
I so badly want to go out and stand on it so I can be one with my metaphor
I don’t know who they are, but they say two people who are meant to be together will always find their way back to each other
I always wondered how that’s possible because the world is so big
But it’s really not that difficult to find who you’re looking for if you’re determined
You can find anything on the internet—especially once you know someone’s real name
Yes, I know everything, and yes, I’m still here
I don’t hate you
I just hate what you’ve let other people make you
You’re better than that but it doesn’t matter how many times I say it, you have to believe it
But, for good measure, you’re so much fucking better than that
Don’t be lost. Don’t be gone. You’ve been found—now find yourself
Catch a wave and ride it into the sunset, and if you ever get yourself together, you can come find me
Featured image by Markus Distelrath from Pixabay
