Humanity: Raw & Unfiltered
The word recovery has always frightened me when it came to my own mental health. How do I recover from something that is with me for the rest of my life? When I was first made aware that I had a mental illness at 17 years old, I spent the Read more
You are right, like always. I will not take one other step without said approval. I only want to be on your road but look and see – you haven’t invited me – so I float and scamper saying this and that, trying to get your attention, and the attention Read more
This isn’t a poem or a blog post. This isn’t a satirical article or a cry for help. It’s just a simple question. “What will be the price you pay for complacency? To what end will you run me rampant and into the ground, head first kicking and screaming? How Read more
I don’t know why I drink. For the way it makes me feel I guess – like so maybe the bad things don’t feel like they are all my fault. So that if I hurt you, I will remember it fuzzy-like. Like maybe you had asked for it; or perhaps Read more
I’m not complaining about being sober. The benefits of sobriety alone completely outweigh the losing prize waiting for me at the end of the bottle but fuck if I can’t sleep, I’m a miserable bastard. Sleeping sober is a trying and enduring problem of mine, and these troubled roots go Read more
Five-year gap It could have been ten, I was so young then Just sixteen, you were just ‘old’ Policing my youth, like you always knew better Me and Molly, your mall rats We partied late into the night and brought you coffee at sunrise You scolded our morning-after-those Wildberry Vodka Read more
I’ll never know if my mother thought that she might have had a cross dressing pre-teen son, or maybe she just thought that I was just a theatrical kid. After a quick costume change out of my denim bugle boys and into her brazier and favorite silver and turquoise jewelry, I was the most fearless little girl on the North Side of the Bronx, and that helped keep me alive.
I can be like a boat passing by and flowing onward or get mired in it trying to make it what it is not, and whirl around and around wandering in an endless thought process of, “If only.” I then get stuck on the rinse and repeat cycle, living reactively all the time, falling blindly into the holes of my history, until I give up altogether and get stuck on the riverbank of hopeless despair. OR, I can see. Recognize. Steer clear. Float over. Dance through. On, into the vast river of life. Mistaking the whirlpool for the river, I am doomed. And yet the only way out is to realize that the whirlpool and the river are made of the same substance, dancing. I am whole.