A poem from Mar 10, 2013

I Can't

Maybe I’m not the person
Everyone always told me I was.
They were always kind to me;
Predicting wonderful, magical things
For my life. Telling me I would
‘Go down in the history books;’
That they’d be looking for me there.
Praising my intellect, my wit, my charm
My smile – splitting my unassuming face in two.
I was the teachers’ favourite.
I was the youngest and the lone daughter
Of parents overflowing with love.
I was told I was beautiful – so beautiful!
My superbly-intelligent brother told me
I must absolutely have a higher IQ than him.
They said things like: you have the potential
To be an opera singer – gosh!
You have a lot of potential as a figure skater –
We’re bumping you into a higher class.
You could win an Oscar someday! A Nobel
Prize! You will be a doctor, a lawyer.
Why aren’t you taking physics? You’re
My best student! Why didn’t you accept
That journalism scholarship? You’re not
Pursuing English? You’re not pursuing
Chemistry? You’re not pursuing My
Subject? But you’re a star, you could shine!
You will excel! You will be unbeatable!
You are so special, we will miss you,
I will remember you for the rest of my life.
Keep in touch, you mean so much to me.
You’re so unique, you’re so interesting,
You’re so important, you’ll do so much.

Guys – I’m so fucked up.

I’m a victim who’s become so comfortable
In being a victim, that I perpetuate the title.
I’m uncomfortable when I’m not being pitied;
When I’m not being seen as so broken that
I can’t gain balance on my own two (very
Stable!) legs. I’m so hard on myself
That I force myself into terrible situations
Terrible health; terrible fear. I’m the
Absolute monarch on punishing myself.
This is nothing new – it’s a habit I started
When I was being hurt at so young an age
And wasn’t sure how to call attention
To my pain. Somehow I’d convinced myself
That if I could only make my life worse
And worse and worse, that maybe
Something will break. And when I’m
So fully broken, so completely shattered;
Everything will reform into the brilliant
Shape of a brilliant life. What a lie!
There is no Saviour waiting to make
Beauty out of your shards. Your pieces
Are your own to re-forge; and if you’ve
Sacrificed your very arms to the image
Of brokenness, what hands will pick
You up and reshape you?

Maybe my potential was there. Maybe
Their words were true; or maybe they
Were simply projecting their own
Wishes and desires from their own
Wasted lives on what was assuredly a
Blank canvas. I think in those days
I was so dedicated to sweeping myself
Under a rug, that perhaps I was
Anyone and everyone. An unformed
Character in search of an author. And
They were lining up to compose who I
Would be.

I did not know who I would be, and
I do not know who I will be. I do not know
How to be. How to be me, how to be
Whole, how to form myself. I do not know
How to access my potential – of which
I have so much? I do not know how to
Breathe. I do not know how to even
Climb out from under my duvet.
This is my sad little cave; a makeshift
Sanctuary that is meant to keep me safe
But only exposes me to horrors, and threats,
And a crumbling life that I will never get back.

I know this. However you may judge me on my
(In)actions, I am not a fool. I am too self-
Aware. Too much so. I know every wrong
I am doing to myself. I know my every flaw,
My every trauma. I know the source of
My every tic. I know why, at 2pm, my
Pyjama-clad legs are huddled under the
Oppressive warmth of my too-long-
Unwashed bedcovers. I know why I
Could neither bring myself to attend
The match I was assigned to today,
Nor notify my team captain I would not
Be coming. I know why my heart jumps
Into my throat every time I hear my
Flatmate stir. I know why I’m more
Afraid to contact a friend of mine than
To crumple in devastating loneliness.

I know how and why I am so wasted.
I know exactly how (and how simply!)
To crawl out of the abyss. But—
Damn it—

I can’t.

A poem from Nov 4, 2010

My mind goes to dark places sometimes

My mind goes to dark places sometimes
Grief, and self-doubt, and insecurity, and
All those sad little places
But sometimes my mind goes to someplace deeper
Darker

Everything around me disappears into blackness
And all there is is me
In this little bubble
Where there is nothing but
Despairing numbness

There’s no survival instinct
If I were on the ground
And someone were kicking me
I wouldn’t curl into a fetal position
I would just lie there

Not really aware of the implications
Or the consequences
Of being kicked
One minute I’m weeping so hard
It really feels like my head will explode

From the pressure
Capillaries bursting everywhere
And the next minute I’m so silent
I’m nearly unconscious before I realize
I’ve stopped breathing

The next minute
I’m in a panic attack so horrifying
I feel high from the oxygen
Though my throat has entirely closed up
Just me and pillows and nothing

I’m afraid to let people see me
And if they hear me, the tears start again
I’m in this dark, dark place for the first time in a year
And I had to ask two friends of mine
If you can die from crying.

A poem from Mar 11, 2010

Love, Mommy.

For months after I died,
You wrote to me. As often
As I used to call you,
To keep me updated, to keep
Our bond.

You would seal each letter
Carefully (like I taught you)
Into a sketchbook that you bought
Just for me,
And write the date in the bottom right corner.

You haven’t written to me in months, sweetheart.
You’re afraid to. I know you need to,
I know you need to talk to me
To imagine my face as I read your words
But your courage and resilience have turned to fear.

I know you changed your desktop background
To the last picture we took together
But you keep windows open
So you never have to look at it.

You blew up an old picture of J*** and I
And postered it onto your living room wall
But I see you when you look at it
You look at your father,
And not me.

I’m gone, sweetie.
I know you don’t want it to be true,
But it is.

But you need to remember something:
You may not feel me anymore
My arms
My voice
My hands
My hugs
But that does not mean I am not with you.

I made a promise to you:
I will be there for
you at every turn in your
life – good, bad and everything
in between. Don’t be afraid.
I will be there for you
through all of this.

Do not think that
Because my breath was stolen from me
Because my body failed me
Because my heart is unbeating ash
That I lied to you.

I will be there for you
through all of this.

I am here for you.
Through all of this.

I know it’s easy to say
Don’t be afraid,
So I will let you. You don’t
Need to look at my picture,
Sweet Tee.

And I can survive for as long as necessary,
Not receiving another letter from you.
Take your time. I don’t resent it,
I don’t blame you,
And I have all the patience you need from me.

Just please remember:
I am there for you
through all of this.

You have your brother, and your Auntie
To give you hugs, to give you voice
And to hold your hand. But you are
My Daughter.
I am there for you.

Death does not stop a mother’s love.
You know how stubborn I am.
And you know how much
Your Daddy and I
Will always fight for you.

I love you, Tee.
(and I love you too)
I am here for you. Through all of this.
So, please:
Don’t be afraid.

A poem from Jan 12, 2010

I wish I could have told you

I wish I could have told you:
You were the greatest father
The best daddy
The most wonderful papa

And it didn’t matter
How much money you made
How many orders you got
How often you could strike up the will to make calls

It didn’t matter
What mommy thought of you
What D***** thought you felt
Whether or not you had the snow shoveled before we woke up

I never cared if you messed up the pancake recipe
Only that you made them
And let me put on as much syrup as I wanted
(You always did)

I never cared if you bought the wrong brand of whatever
Only that you’d go out and buy it for me
Just ‘cause I asked
(You always did)

I never cared if you could get your book published
Only that you didn’t give up writing
And kept telling us stories
(You always did)

I never cared if you couldn’t take us all on a trip
Only that you wanted to
And that you’d spend time with us even just at home
(You always did)

I never cared if you couldn’t teach me math the way I needed to learn it
Only that you tried
And that you cherished the chance to try
(You always did)

I never cared if you could give me a ride or not
Only that you had my back
And would help me in a pinch
(You always did)

I never cared if we had the biggest house on the street
Or the most elegant one in the best neighbourhood
Or if we could pay our mortgage
I only cared that you were there living with us.

I wish I could have told you:
You did everything right.
Everyone was jealous that I had you as a dad.
If I were them: I would’ve been too.

I love you,
And I know you love me.
I just wish I’d had the chance
To tell you all of these things.