How Do I Go Deeper?
How do I go deeper?
When I gave birth it was too early. I had never felt so soft, so vulnerable. I learned to be strong young. Strong meaning hard. Hard like not letting real emotions show. Caring about something or someone made me vulnerable. My father was a bad man. I know bad men. Men who prey on youth and beauty and light. This knowing that 'men are bad' is like knowing 'there is a god' or 'school is good' because that's what they told me - all the voices from everywhere. The experiences I collected. Jadey left Griffin and I after two weeks in Kapiolani and I wasn't equipped. I was a mess. My baby was in an incubator - didn't look like a baby at all. I watched a monitor every day as alarms went off. Praying, praying. Aren't you supposed to rest after giving birth? I never did that. Jadey told me I was strong enough. But I wasn't. I was falling apart, I had just found out I had a heart condition and my baby came too soon and how could he think it was right to leave? But I believed in his leaving, because family disappears. I am here alone. I've felt alone forever. And I believe it's my fault, something inherent. My whole life is a litany of leaving. And this just reaffirms "I am a victim". I am powerless. My only strength is to survive, but I'm tired. I'm worn out. I exhaust others because I am exhausted and I want sympathy or maybe company. I feel like everything I write is a damn transformation line. How do I go deeper? I sat in that NICU for months thinking about how to shine. How to be hopeful, how to bear hope. I was a mess. When I was little I never picked up my toys - I had too many and was lazy and overwhelmed. I feel sorry for my mother - I didn't respect her. She left me alone in empty houses, alone with empty people, alone in unsafe schools and in other states to figure it out. To survive. I am a survivor. Like a dandelion or cane grass. I keep coming back. Why do I keep peeling back these layers of thickened skin? I remember sunsets in the country and the bug noises at night and quiet trains and empty sky and green silk sheets and contentment. I craved the city and it's drama, it's story. I pursued Tulsa like a hunter. Now I'm in the country again but there's loud noises here too and parts are missing and I still don't know how to recover.
When I gave birth it was too early. I had never felt so soft, so vulnerable. I learned to be strong young. Strong meaning hard. Hard like not letting real emotions show. Caring about something or someone made me vulnerable. My father was a bad man. I know bad men. Men who prey on youth and beauty and light. This knowing that 'men are bad' is like knowing 'there is a god' or 'school is good' because that's what they told me - all the voices from everywhere. The experiences I collected. Jadey left Griffin and I after two weeks in Kapiolani and I wasn't equipped. I was a mess. My baby was in an incubator - didn't look like a baby at all. I watched a monitor every day as alarms went off. Praying, praying. Aren't you supposed to rest after giving birth? I never did that. Jadey told me I was strong enough. But I wasn't. I was falling apart, I had just found out I had a heart condition and my baby came too soon and how could he think it was right to leave? But I believed in his leaving, because family disappears. I am here alone. I've felt alone forever. And I believe it's my fault, something inherent. My whole life is a litany of leaving. And this just reaffirms "I am a victim". I am powerless. My only strength is to survive, but I'm tired. I'm worn out. I exhaust others because I am exhausted and I want sympathy or maybe company. I feel like everything I write is a damn transformation line. How do I go deeper? I sat in that NICU for months thinking about how to shine. How to be hopeful, how to bear hope. I was a mess. When I was little I never picked up my toys - I had too many and was lazy and overwhelmed. I feel sorry for my mother - I didn't respect her. She left me alone in empty houses, alone with empty people, alone in unsafe schools and in other states to figure it out. To survive. I am a survivor. Like a dandelion or cane grass. I keep coming back. Why do I keep peeling back these layers of thickened skin? I remember sunsets in the country and the bug noises at night and quiet trains and empty sky and green silk sheets and contentment. I craved the city and it's drama, it's story. I pursued Tulsa like a hunter. Now I'm in the country again but there's loud noises here too and parts are missing and I still don't know how to recover.
