Day 8- Dream Catcher

My dreams are violent, morbid and often reoccurring. Rarely do I have a dream of sunshine and puppies, celebrations and successes.

A friend shot in the neck through a screen door.

My mom ran over by a train.

My two youngest children have gone missing.

Panic stricken, anxiety-ridden dreams that have me out of breath, crying in my sleep, crying when I wake. What a mess.

I suppose I could have lied and said that my dreams are infinite in their glitter and unicorns. But I’m just not a very good liar.

My dreams are a constant reminder of how my anxiety and depression seep into the recesses of my brain.

Even when it feels as though I am conquering it all, my dreams are there to remind me how fucked up my sub-conscience remains. Damn it, I try so hard. You know, think good thoughts, think good thoughts.

I do. I swear it. How can these dreams be when my soul is happy, my spirit is grateful? I don’t want to catch these dreams. I want to send them straight back, like bats out of hell, to where they came from and shout that I won’t stand for the infiltration.

I won’t stand for trying and seeking goodness, and wanting to BE goodness only to have to surrender unwillingly in the night.

 

Advertisements

Day 7- The Rocket-ship

I imagine a rocket-ship that has one-way travel to a kinder place.

A place where we don’t need to explain how black lives matter, why transgender people and immigrants make us great and why the poor deserve equal access to education and resources as the millionaire high on the hill.

This same rocket-ship takes me away from my dysfunctional relationship with my ex-husband and children’s father-away, quickly. Grappling with emotional weariness is daunting, at best. Escape is often the most reasonable solution in my head.

I won’t lie: I have contemplated irrational escape…as a teen, as a mother, as a wife. There’s disappointment in realizing there is no rocket-ship to take me away. Disappointment that this life requires work often without reward, compassion without reciprocation, consideration while doors are closing in your face and the driver in the next lane cusses you out….

I’m tired. I know so many people who are tired, weary, depleted…there is no rocket-ship.

Somehow, we have to learn to fly, and to fly right, on our own.

Day 6- Eye Contact

This was a really tough word prompt for me…..

 

She made sure their eyes met. After all, she had a point to prove.

A defining moment, confirmation she was being heard yet questioning if she was understood.

Averting her gaze after just a few moments, he couldn’t fathom why she was so angry.

They hadn’t spoken in years though they’ve shared so much.

The respect is absent. Love is depleted.

The desire to meet somewhere in the middle left that winter of 2008.

Now they just meet on the curb, never sharing a word.

The eye contact is fleeting and sporadic, awkward and confrontational.

She keeps attempting to lock eyes so he won’t forget.

She keeps attempting to lock eyes so he can’t forget the time when love was real.

 

 

Day 4- Dancing

(I have to double-up today…I missed Day 4 yesterday…dange it.)

Dancing used to make me sweaty and happy at least four nights a week.

Dancing used to provide a much-needed release to what I thought were monumental woes, jam-packed into what truly was a worry-free life.

Dancing stopped when I became an emotionally, verbally abused wife and mother.

Among the ruins of my first marriage, dancing was dying too.

Somehow, my insides have always known how integral dancing is to my happiness.

Now the dancing I do is in my kitchen while four little ones bounce around me, giggling and more excited as the song plays on….

Now the dancing I do is in secret, in my bathroom when my outfit is especially cute and my lipstick is right.

Now the dancing I do is out of freedom and love, out of rebirth and redemption.

Day 2- The Unrequited

Its startling when you realize you have been devoted without hope of that love being returned. Knowing from the very start that your heart would go unmatched, unclaimed. Realizing that regardless of how hard and deep your love runs, it can also be the tie that binds you up and keeps you from truly shaking free.

There has been shame in loving without warrant, without reciprocation. A provocative quest to change minds and shift intention. Stepping into the battle of unrequited love a warrior looking to conquer; only to walk away battered, bruised and reluctant.

These scars become sacred. These scars are revered. These scars give way to a transcendent yearning, a most perfect, willing love.  Indebted forever to those unrequited loves who taught me to first to love myself.

 

Day 1-Outside My Window

I used to write like my life depended on it…then life got in the way. At the encouragement of my husband, my mother and my boss, I have decided to get back in the swing of things and write everyday for a year. I have carved out 15 minutes a day to get started. It is my hope that I can stick to my plan and achieve my goal of simply writing again, and writing well. I have 365 writing prompts ready to go…if you follow along this journey with me I appreciate your feedback and inspiration along the way. -N

Outside my window life is moving as though the world is not crumbling.

Outside my window it’s easy to pretend. Pretending can change your perspective, they say. I have always been stubborn and believe my perspective doesn’t need any changing.

Outside my window the birds are chirping. One of my tiniest joys, the birds sing even while the world is crumbling. Birds are singing when bombs go off in Afghanistan and no one stands shouting in the name of love and peace. Birds are singing when young brown men are assassinated in the streets that raised them and called them their own.

Outside my window the sun is shining. Forever grateful for the wash of bright light and the clean feeling of hope that sunshine can give. There’s a lump in my throat even as I smile at the sun. I believe in healing. I believe in what cannot be seen.

Outside my window an American flag blows in the breeze. My insides churn as I wrestle with what I know America to be and what I wish it was…there aren’t enough of us to combat the America we know these days. There aren’t enough of us. There just isn’t enough.