Live in Color

I might start just writing in verse every Thursday. Verse Thursday.

I.

Starting new is the strangest

thing –

double spaced becomes something

different to me

“we won’t have to be scared”

is that really a quote, or

something closer to something

everyone screams in their lifetime?

everything revolved around college

for a time –

how’s it going?

people would ask and i would frown

wishing they would be quiet and

leave me be for once


but now things are different

i wish i had read more about

attrition rates before even going

all of my friends are graduating

and while i don’t feel left behind,

it’s something like that.

II.

here comes the rain –

it’s something we expect but aren’t

hoping for

I trust the sky a bit too much

I don’t trust the ground

I’m too afraid of it falling out from

underneath me

why am i living in the same color

green as Alaska in spring?

why is everything blooming?


if there’s spring in a place that most

would deem unfit to have one

why can’t there be spring in me?

am i forbidden from blooming?

must i understand the happiness

within me?

I wish I could help the people who

need to bloom.

my husband is in his jail of an office

doing far too much tech support work

than any human should.

he’s a bud who has been in the dark

for too long

and he needs to come into the light.



III.

I am neon pink

coming from black and white

I don’t deserve to be shot in grays

I need to live aloud,

live in color

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Shame

It feels like I’ve got nothing left.

I’m almost ashamed to write today because there are other ways I can see myself using my time. I have too much time and I don’t want to find solutions today, I don’t want to make plans, I just want to sit in it. I don’t think this can be done, though, because there is stuff to get done and trying to do it on my own time isn’t fast enough. I know the world goes on, but the world is going on without me. I’m not sure if I even want to catch up.

I’m ashamed of myself for giving myself advice to take, doing my best to take it, and still backsliding. I wonder if I’m incapable of any kind of lasting change. I know you may say “look at what you have been doing here“, and you would be right, but I’m certain this is the inner bully wondering this and not allowing myself to see the changes I have made. It’s kind of a “you did this, but what about all of these other things you didn’t do today?” that makes me feel horrible. If I could do other things and blog, I might feel less gross about myself.

I felt better when I made a list breaking each big task into little ones. I’m going to do that again. It feels so stupid right now and resistance is high, but I find that calling someone I love and doing a chore at the same time helps, too, list or no list. It fulfills my social need along with getting the task snowball rolling. I’m able to call this one friend of mine and knock my chores out of the park at the same time. Same goes with my Nana. Nana and I can talk for hours.

This post is short, I know, but this is what I needed to say.

Until next post,

Meg

To Laugh at Death

Disclaimer: I’m okay. I have support, I’m on the mend, and the storm is passing.

“I just want to laugh at death

and for once sleep through the night without waking.”

Hello, gentle readers.

I wrote these lines a few months ago after I noticed that people who have come close to death tend to laugh at the idea. Several of my friends and family have struggled with depression, and they laugh at their experiences. I found that extremely unsettling at first. Why would someone laugh at something so sad and awful?

Then I had enough experiences of my own to sometimes laugh at death. I learned that it’s not death that I fear, it’s pain, and what death takes away I can never get back. More specifically, I fear loss.

If I were to die tomorrow, I wouldn’t fight it. Maybe it’s the depression that still lurks in me, but it’s not something I fear. I refuse to take my own life, but at the same time, I don’t want to exist for longer than I have to. See this tirade for more information on that.

It’s loss that I fear most. That, to me, is like death while still living. Loss is the worst pain I have experienced. Tomorrow is the third anniversary of my dad’s death, and throughout these last three years, I think I learned what Hell feels like. I miss him horribly. It’s like someone stole my arm in the middle of the night with no explanation. I freaked out at first, but then I got used to only having only one “arm”.

Then come the times where I have to lift a very heavy box, and I break down. I can’t do it on my own. So I call for help, and those who are more able bodied than I come and assist me.

Then there are some who have also lost their metaphorical limbs, and only those of us who have lost limbs of our own can truly understand their pain. Together we learn to walk through Hell and someday learn to laugh at Death in our own way.

I like to think that the more hard stuff we go through, the better we are able to assist others who are going through the same things. When a friend of mine also lost her dad, someone wrote “chin up!” on a card. I was angry. I understood where they were coming from, but they hadn’t lost an arm like we had. That, to me, is why people get so angry after a fresh loss. The people around them don’t always seem to understand – truly understand – their pain.

I’ve been dealt a few crushing blows, and I want any readers of mine know that they are not alone. You are never alone. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve felt that crushing loneliness where it seems like all light and hope have gone from my life. Were it not for my best friend, who lost an arm of her own, along with others who understood, I would not be here today. I would not be here today without people who relate to me. They are teaching me to have faith that I can survive and maybe even laugh at death myself someday.

Until next post,

Meg