NPM Day 27 {Roundabout}

This poem used to give me chills. They were sort of good chills, sort of bad chills. When I wrote this over seven years ago, they were my only way of processing one of the biggest fights with a friend I've ever experienced. I honestly can't even remember what the fight was about, but it went on for several months longer than I felt capable of enduring.

All I had were these words. 

And I've avoided this poem over the years, but it doesn't have power over me anymore. 

So here you go.

Roundabout

February 12, 2010

You are the friend of my conveniences,

coffee cups cold with petty sympathies.

You are a walk in the dark,

the translation of my nightmares,

and you lay your hands down on me

like a sacrificial beast into the flames.

You bear the knife in clammy palms,

breathing out my fate like a grudge

that holds on hopelessly.

You are the arrow that misses my heart

a thousand times too many for pity.

You stab me in the back

and apologize. You are so sorry.

Patterns go roundabout, but maybe

you will hit the target next time.

You are the accumulation of ice,

the shivering abandonment of reason.

You stab me in the back

and apologize. You are so sorry.

Patterns go roundabout,

yes is a maybe and maybe means no.

You stab me in the back

and sympathize. You are so sorry

that I am such a sorry sight.

You stab me in the hand

and put the blade in my bloody fingers

and you scream for me.

You say I did it to myself and

you say it's all my fault and

you stab me in the heart and

patronize. You are so sorry

that I don't see it your way.

NPM Day 19 {Pretty With a Pistol}

I wrote this back in 2009, concerning a certain terrible breakup. I posted it as a "note" on Facebook. My poetry professor, and English adviser at the time, casually commented, "Is this written by you? It's great. The aridity has its own values and assets and we profit from the Moroccan Street experience, don't we?"

I didn't ask him to read it, but it wasn't the first/last time he commented on my poetry. It was the exact kind of validation I needed. I thought I wanted validation about my failed relationship. I wanted people to tell [unnamed terrible boyfriend] that he'd made a mistake, and we should get back together.

Ya'll know me a little, by now. I get invested in people rather quickly. Even 8 years ago, that was true.

I was just barely beginning to allow myself to be angry about the situation when I wrote this poem. I'd spent almost an entire month simply wishing I could still be with [unnamed terrible boyfriend.] I managed to fly home to Washington for spring break just a few weeks prior to this piece being written, and at my mother's Bible study I asked everyone to pray that I could "get him back." (I was young and INVESTED, okay? I want all of my relationships to work out, no matter what. I don't give up easily. I'm gonna end these parenthesis before this blog is like 50% excuses for loving the wrong person.) And after all the talks with my friends, even amidst a thousand other encouraging voices, I recall my friend Marianne (may she rest in peace) shaking her head and explaining how silly that was. She said he had treated me poorly, that he didn't deserve me, and that if he didn't understand how artistic and incredible I was he wasn't worth my time. But her most important sentiment: "I'm angry at him for you, even if you aren't!"

So when I look back on it, I am kindly reminded that my heart was being heard above the nonsense of my sadness. In a time where I felt confused, disappointed, and rejected there were trusted people outside the situation who knew what I needed to hear, even if I didn't want it at the time. I needed to feel angry about how I had been treated, not about the fact that we'd broken up. (I am, obviously, glad we broke up. I married Joey, after all.)

So here you go. The Moroccan Street experience.

Pretty With a Pistol
April 1, 2009

Today is one of those blue-sky, wide-open types.
Just a reminder of how much I love the desert,
the sandy wind all abrasive against my skin.
I miss the spice in the air and rattle snakes
warning us to never go into the long grass.
Days and nights blended under that sun.

We don't have to go stay at that city, though.
I could never make anyone enjoy that heat
as much as I did. Your heart is much too closed.

But maybe we could go somewhere else for a while.
Let's go to Moroccan Street, just you and me.
Brick houses will shade us where there are no trees,
and everyone will greet you with a foreign smile.
We'll dress up and sweat in the dusty afternoon.

I've always wanted to wear a fancy gown
and drag you into the incense-flavored sunset,
to dance and fade into a cool midnight.
You never gave me the chance, though.

When I look back up into the blue canvas of sky,
and look back down at the gray slab of cement,
I am reminded that I'm not going to the desert again.
But if I could go and we danced in the sunset,
I'd dance you into the middle of the burning dirt road

and I would shoot you straight through the heart.

NPM Day 9 {Suki (On Being Both)}

I channeled my nerdy side for this one. Only a few dear friends will get the reference (hopefully) but as hard as I tried to deflect these nerdy words toward some other topic... it just couldn't be helped.

I am what I am, I suppose.

Suki (On Being Both)
February 21, 2017

These are solid reflections
on being both
one thing and another but
they are facets,
not opposing forces.
I am one thing, but
also another.
I have always been a fighter,
sometimes only fighting
to belong in the fight.
You think I am not able
to have courage and comfort
in the same breath,
but you can touch me,
you can feel my heartbeat,
and you must know
that I am a rhythm filled
with both passion and aggression,
love and rage, all withheld
until I am certain of my mark.
I am both nurturing
and combative,
a mother and a murderer,
and in the same daylight
can thirst for revenge
or find myself tender
in the wake of another’s darkness.
I am a warrior, but
I am a woman too.
And this body longs
for blood or retribution,
for a caress or a companion,
and what relief it would be
to be understood in my ability
to hold a sword or a hand
and still be known.

A Second Unapology

During the past year I have had some incredibly "interesting" responses to my public thoughts on having depression and anxiety. Most of the responses are positive--and I'll be brave and say that most of the people who respond believe their response is positive.

People really, really, really enjoy giving unsolicited advice. Have I talked about this before? I mean, I thought I had. Except, after doing a little research, I know I haven't, because the world also responds SO TERRIBLY when I say it out loud. I have written at least three posts about advice and never published them simply because the backlash would be ridiculous.

I did, in fact, go back to one of those posts and try to edit it to be tactful and gracious, but I am seriously no longer feeling tactful or gracious about this. 

And.... I'm not apologizing anymore. ;) Y'all are grown ups now, you can handle it.

So I'll start by saying a few important things to remember:

There is a lot of information floating around about mental illness, and how it affects different people, and how you can best support them. In spite of this veritable library of informative articles, books, etc. on the subject, people (and by people I mean you, and me, and everyone in between) still have some misconceptions about mental illness and how to approach it. What I'm going to write today will address both of these issues in addition to how you can properly/appropriately offer love and support to your friends with any sort of mental illness.

You might find reading this tedious, but that's only because most of what you read about this issue is objective and non-specific. It deals with the general idea of mental illness and doesn't pertain to anyone you actually know. There's nothing wrong with general information, but in order to really be supportive you have to understand that everyone needs something different--additionally, you also have to overcome your own misconceptions about mental illness in your own special way.

The most common misconception I encounter is that any mental illness is voluntary. Uneducated individuals often believe that if a mentally ill person would only do "_________" or stop doing "______" they would surely be healed from their ailment(s.) The phrases "happiness is a choice" and "you're just making yourself anxious/depressed" are frequently heard, and are about as helpful as giving a baby a wristwatch to aid in the potty training process.

But to really hit the nail on the head I'm going to tell you exactly what people have told ME, specifically, in response to my mental illness.

"Have you tried losing weight?"
"You probably just don't drink enough water."
"You don't exercise enough."
"You need to read your Bible more."
"I have this great health product you should try!"
"Well, it could always be worse. Count your blessings."

And here is my response to that load of crap.

I have struggled with depression for more than half of my life, and with anxiety for probably my entire life without being aware of it. It has been an ongoing issue, regardless of my body size, regardless of the money in my bank account, regardless of how many hours of exercise I get each week, regardless of the amount of Bible verses I read or gallons of water I consume.  I am an avid lover of vegetables and fruits. I grew up eating homemade food and home-grown produce. I have taken a daily multivitamin (or 2, or 5) most of my adult life. I have a membership to a gym and both of my jobs require a great deal of prayer AND physical activity. I'm have an extremely active church life and my spiritual health is quite stable. I have done all these things, I DO all these things, and anxiety and depression are still something I have, they are still something I deal with. It is present in good times and bad.

So, no. I would not like to try your expensive and unnecessary health product.

No, I do not want to read the article you sent to me about becoming a raw foodist.

No, going to an extra prayer meeting is not the answer.

Getting a different translation of my Bible is not the answer.

Going on a mission trip to a third-world country is not the answer.

Eating more kale, doing a juice cleanse, or practicing yoga is not the answer.

But most importantly, taking your unsolicited advice is not the answer.*

I'm not sure when it started, but at some point we decided, culturally, that offering advice to someone is the best way to help them, no matter what the circumstances. If they don't ask for advice, it doesn't matter--give it to them anyways! I could go into all the different reasons it's harmful to give unsolicited advice, but I'll let ya'll google it. People hate unsolicited advice. I promise.

Personally, I hate it for a lot of reasons, but I'll give you the most important one.

I must learn how to ask for help when I need it.

I must, at all costs, try something myself. I must fail, and try again, and fail, and try again. It's how I learn. (I'll tell you a secret--it's how we all learn.) It's what I need. I need to figure things out for myself, but I also need to know when enough is enough, to know when to let go of my pride and say, "Help!" I need you to let me ask you for help, instead of allowing you to force it upon me before I'm ready for it.

And I know it's hard not to give people advice. Like I said, it's part of our culture. If we see someone struggling, we want to tell them how to fix it. But that's not your responsibility. Your answer is not their answer. Your solution is not their solution. What helps you will not help me.

And what helps me will not necessarily help you.

So let other people fail, if you can. Help them, if they accept. And instead of forcing your advice on them, offer them this phrase: "What kind of support do you need from me?"

The answers may surprise you.

*****A Brief Disclaimer*****

1.When I say "advice" I mean verbal advice about an idea/concept/situation. I am not talking about immediate, life-saving advice, such as: "Don't walk over there, it's full of poison ivy!" or "You should go to the hospital because you have a temperature of 105." So don't get ideas about playing devil's advocate and claiming that I don't want help ever in my life because I said "no advice."

2. I'm not saying that all advice is bad. The Bible tells us to "seek wise counsel" and I agree. However, not every situation merits the "seeking" of counsel and, in turn, not every situation merits the "giving" of counsel.

Resolved

Happy New Year, world. I promise it's a good one. Or, at least, we'll find out.

As one year closes and another begins I am full of separated thoughts. First off, I dropped the ball with those Thanksgiving posts. Sorry about that? We had an odd Thanksgiving which involved someone else's car and then driving back home in the middle of the night to avoid a snowstorm. Second, I am overwhelmed with odd reflections on 2014 and also odd reflections on this whole "holiday season" in general.

Did you know it's been 15 years since Y2K? Fifteen years since that period when we stored jugs of water and canned goods in basements, and people built fallout shelters "just in case." I don't recall many details from Y2K--I was in 5th grade, after all. I remember the Christmas card I got from Ms. Trudeau (my favorite teacher, ever) and the knowledge that "Y2K" might make all the electricity go out in the entire world. Otherwise, I was happily oblivious. I wasn't afraid of the mysterious Y2K and I probably went about my Christmas break as usual by opening presents and playing outside and making some childish resolutions in January.

Ah, resolutions. As children we are taught that the New Year is a time to make these so-called resolutions, to make an alteration in the way we live. This concept is usually pushed more by teachers than parents, because those New Year resolution art projects are just so gosh darn cute. We stop learning about it around the time we become irritable/irritating teenagers. However, for at least a few years during elementary school we are persuaded to believe that every January we should find something to change about ourselves.

Yeah. That's kind of messed up.

It's not messed up because children are perfect--they are human, and therefore imperfect. It's not messed up because teachers shouldn't have the right to offer kids time for self-correction and reflection--they do, in fact, have that right, in many aspects. It's messed up because it's arbitrary, and leads us to the assumption that January 1st is prime time for changing your life, instead of changing it during some more appropriate moment.

From a teacher's perspective, it's also messed up because there is no follow-through. We give the kids this assignment, the "pick something that's wrong with you and decide to make it better" project, and maybe we talk about it for a few days. But for the remainder of the school year and into the next, no one dares mention a resolution.

And that is how kids are lead to say, "I'm going to do all of my homework before the weekend!" (not knowing that in a few years your homework will reach its deadly claws into your precious weekend.) They say, "I'll be nice to my sister." (Such a specific, reachable goal.) New Years resolutions done wrong (which is most of the time) teach kids to be idealistic and then forget their ideals, because, hey, no one is going to ask you about this for another year.

I'm not saying this because resolutions are bad. They're not! But they can be so much more than some blithe statement you make each January. Even if it's not a blithe statement--even if it's a statement you really mean--it's unlikely you'll remember it past March. People take themselves far too seriously when they make these resolutions but some reason it's inconsequential to give up the decision you made under such strain. If you make a resolution, don't take yourself too seriously, and try to be aware when you give up.

One last thought before I go. Anybody ever think about how a resolution usually signifies the end of something, and we tend to make resolutions at the beginning of the year? It's almost like saying, "Let's get started so we can get finished!" I have literally never been aware of this before.

So, my resolutions this year, which I will not take too seriously, and will probably forget half of by the end of March, are the following:

-Read more books
-Play less Tetris
-Drink more coffee
-Clean out my inbox more often (532 unread e-mails and counting...)
-Be more patient
-Smile at people
-Get more sleep at night (so, less daytime napping)
-Make more art
-Write more poems
-Sing (loudly, and often)
-Cuddle with my dog
-Love my husband (even when he buys me a box of chocolates and eats the only piece left in the box that I wanted to eat because I was saving the best for last.)
-Be introverted
-Be extroverted
-Be peaceful
-Be FEARLESS

In any case, here's a toast to the old year and the new one. This makes for an incredible life.