I'm from the closet where you left me when you were done. I looked for myself in motel rooms that were dark as wombs. I'm from secret spaces: behind the house where skunk cabbage blooms and the yellow tent full of earwigs.
I'm from the sky. I flew there, untethered.
I'm from wanting too much for my kids and giving them my blood and wondering where I went wrong.
I'm from running scared and hiding.
When I'm from away, other people slide in behind my face.

Looking at the mountain peak I would stand taller, But I feel like I'm falling,

A thousand feet deep

The world seemingly smaller, From my point of view

Reoccurring life events

Some images

Seem way too intense

The emotions of currents Stay and go

The relief in the rivers I cry, Washing my soul.

The trees that surround me Standing still and tall beside me. Remind me to breathe,

As I sit for a moment, In perfect silence.

The passing of the fog Lashing my face

Are like years I wasted in Some other place.

How time flies blew it all like the wind .

The sun shining upon me reminds me to grin

To Live for today

As the story begins The birds that fly free Show me how to live

As I look out of this earth Telling me more

The universe is telling me that the power is yours....

I am my mother’s daughter and the apple of my father’s eye. I used to trip and falter at the same stumbling block every day for years. I used to celebrate and commiserate in the same way, stick the same substance in my body to remember as well as to forget.

My mother isn’t in my life anymore. I had to break the habit of hoping and wishing that she would be different than she is. She loved me as well as she could, but she never seemed to be able to put her children’s needs before her own. She was an addict. She needed chaos and chemicals and whirlwind romances and to forget that she didn’t like who she was. She taught me that I could blot out discomfort and fear and pain if I only kept moving, kept chasing, never stood still enough for any feelings to land.

So I ran. For years I ran to and from good relationships and bad, from one dealer to another, from one substance to another, and the only times I ever stood still were when I found myself in the hospital for detox or for a mental breakdown, and I never stayed long. I can’t count how many times I checked myself out of rehab or the hospital after two days, when things inside my head finally became intolerably painful. So I would run away and forget for a little while longer, until the money ran out and I didn’t have any more moves to make.

I stopped using drugs for a while after being arrested and put on probation. If I used and tested positive at probation, I was going immediately to jail. And I knew I would kill myself if I got locked in a cage with myself. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand being still, with no escape except suicide, so I stopped using drugs. I kept cutting myself and starving myself and binging and purging, anything to drown out the voice in the back of my head saying I wasn’t good enough, never good enough.

I ended up going back out after I’d been off probation for a little while. I had followed the advice everyone had given to me about not using, and believed the promises made to me that if I did that, I would find a new freedom and happiness in my life. All I found was that the thought of five minutes-- let along five hours, five days, or five years—without using filled me with so much fear and dread that I came to the conclusion that I wasn’t like other people, that I wasn’t made for this world, that I would never be able to live my life without using.

So I gave up again and my life looked like it used to: good days or bad, morning, noon, or night, I only knew how to survive if I was high. I wasn’t happy, but the storm in my mind was quieted and that was something. Then one day I met someone who was happy in recovery in a way that was magnetic. I really liked this person and he made me laugh. I enjoyed the moments of my life when I was with him, and I began to wish I wasn’t tied to this substance, that being without heroin for eight hours wouldn’t bring me to my knees, sweating, crying and raging against the world and against myself.

I got into a methadone clinic and stopped having to use every day. I had a partner and friend who supported me and loved me- flaws and all. The furious storm in my heart started to quiet and I moved a little more peacefully through my life. I started to like myself a little bit and like my life even more.

The girl that woke up warm and clean in her own bed in her own apartment this morning, who got her beautiful, smiling son out of his crib and laughed and snuggled and smothered him with kisses with an untroubled mind, does not feel at all like the girl who lost years of her life to heroin, chasing oblivion one high at a time. I can’t believe I am the same person. I can’t believe my wonderful life today was born from that chaos and fear and pain. I am so grateful that those frantic years of running brought me to this moment. I am the mother of  the most beautiful little boy in the world, and he is the apple of my eye.

It took me years to realize I’ve spent most of my life wishing I wasn’t alive. Actually, truthfully, it’s more like I just wanted the pain to end. Nah, that’s not it either. I just wished I could feel something other than fear and pain.

I saw my first counselor at age 19 when my live-in girlfriend (I was in college) had a “nervous breakdown” and had to go live with her family in Long Island and attend outpatient counseling. My fear was I’d caused her problem. The nice guy in the white coat at our local HMO convinced me otherwise.

At 23 I attended my second counseling session with my then-wife. She didn’t make to the following session. Neither did the marriage. But I continued to see this guy until the pain faded to a dull roar.

At 34 I got sober. At 35 I visited my next counselor because the program I was in that was helping me stay abstinent from alcohol wasn’t doing much for the crushing anxiety that was starting to prevent me from doing my work. The pain was excruciating, but we made it better.

Soon after I turned 56, the problem I’d been running from my whole life manifested in the form of a world-class case of PTSD that had remained hidden for 48 years. It was as much the cause of my fear and pain as it was the petri dish for the survival skills that got me this far.

And then I had my cliché experience. I discovered a concept of life beyond the human existence and I realized that all of my pain served a purpose and that I’ve been here on Earth as a human by my own choice. Or, rather, as the choice of whatever entity I am that’s beyond human. I am not a victim of someone else’s agenda or cruelty. I’m here on a specific mission, the details of which are not available to me. That became my core belief.

When that happened, suicide came off the table as a method of pain relief.

I have a full range of feelings now. Some are new. The new ones were painful at first. The old ones were familiar, so I held them closely. But with practice, I now feel them all. They pass through me like neutrino particles from the sun. Well, okay, they do affect me. It’s part of why I’m here. With this capacity, I feel like I’m more myself than I’ve ever been in my life. And, more importantly, I know how I got here and I’m being trained to help others to do the same.

And that’s why I’m not giving up.

When I first saw it I was confused. The creature looking back at me seemed to be too. I was curious about how it seemed to not be afraid. It stayed in place up until I left it alone.

I visited almost everyday and it was always there. As I grew up I would continue to visit the creature. The creature had changed. It grew taller and looked a little different. As years passed I was getting annoyed at this creature. It never looked how I wanted. It was too fat, too ugly, and too sad looking. Others said the creature was beautiful. 

I didn't agree. 

My younger days of visiting a creature turned into days of seeing a foul beast. I stopped visiting all together. I decided that if the creature wouldn't do as I wanted then I would punish it. A revenge of sorts. The creature would go day in and day out with new scars and more reasons to die than reasons to live. 

Time went on as it usually does. My life went on rollar coaster ride after roller coaster ride. Through it all this creature stayed with me. I had thought about getting rid of it, I even tried a few times, but I knew inside me that I needed this creature. They had stuck with me through everything. They adapted, grew stronger, and became a champion when dealing with anything thrown at them. 

I still visit the creature everyday. I take good care to make them look nice and to let them know I love them. 

That creature is my reflection and when I first saw it I never knew how much it would change and how strong it would be. 

That creature is me.

In Blank I can be me

you, him, her, that, this

then, now, hard, soft 

In Blank I'm great 

In Blank I'm never alone

The characters here are all

familiar faces with the same

attitude

In Blank I have dreads 

that run down my back 

as I sit in my sunflower garden

(Make that mammoth sunflowers. There, that better?)

I love Blank

In Blank I can visit those that predeceased me 

and we hike and smoke our favorite tobacco 

laughing in Blank

My brother owns a white wolf 

who only obeys him and growls at me 

If I get too close, Bill thinks that's funny 

In Blank we wear our best clothes

In Blank the colors are much more vibrant

than anywhere in the world

In Blank I am the one I see

In Blank I laugh

I really need to spend more time in Blank

Because the here and now is Blank

In Blank that place we all 

can go where we control

our breathing

close our eyes

and we are there. 

In Rutland, Vermont, people

seem nice. In Rutland, Vermont

the parks are warm and dry 

In Rutland, Vermont the 

shadow of this big black guy

seems so nice. 

In Rutland, Vermont the generosity

is common like a group of birds

that sings in the sky

In Rutland, Vermont the libraries

of intelligence shows mercy

upon my face

In Rutland, Vermont the children

are playing and don't know why

In Rutland, Vermont I walk and 

listen to the sound of the cars that roll by

In Rutland, Vermont my home

a new place for me to start

all over

In Rutland, Vermont I'm glad to

show my skills as I plant

my new family tree. 

The person who is my secret weapon isn’t even really a person but rather

just an embodiment of energy that comes from within.

The energy that comes from being quiet and observant and having

something profound to say.

The energy that is constantly fed but never satisfied.

This energy finds its way into my life and takes over in the best of ways.

At the end of the day, I don’t always remember what happened because

I’ve had this odd, sorta-in-but-mostly-out-of-body experience.

And that’s okay.

It’s okay that I don’t remember every detail because I got through another day.

Another day where I can say I’ve survived the human existence.

This spirit energy, vibe-ish mojo-y thing got me through another minute,

which turned into an hour

Then a day,

A week,

A month,

A year,

And now a lifetime.

So I don’t mind that it doesn’t have a name

Or identity

Or whatever

Because life is fun when you don’t know everything

I’m not a bad guy

Like two birds that fly nearby

I’m not a bad guy

I’m cool, calm and collected

And easy to get by

I’m not a bad guy

I’m strong and lean

Who can lift weight real high

I’m not a bad guy

I am me in my skin

That dress real fly

I’m not a bad guy

I’m like a school with knowledge

That brings you on by

I’m not a bad guy

I’m not a bad guy.

I’m not a bad guy says who

You not me, me because all the things I have done to those who were around me,

When the time was right I should say wrong

I’m not a bad guy.

I tell myself as I get older to enlighten

The fact I exist in a place made of cement and metal,

I’m not a bad guy I just do shitty things

For the fuck of it,

Maybe I wanted to be the bad guy

Joker to Batman

Green Goblin to Spider Man

Or maybe I’m not a bad guy at this moment in my life

I’m not a bad guy

I swear on what you ask

No I just curse a lot.

I’m not a bad guy

I just play one on tv

In a big world things can seem so small at times.

You can feel like you’re on the top of the world at times as well.

In a big world you can travel and explore

See things and do things that some people may never do.

In a big world whoever thought I’d be the one to take a father’s life and leave his kids with no dad, for the rest of their life.

In a big world I can run and hide from all my problems and pretend they’re not real, but what kind of person would I be if I did. I’m not a bad guy.

In a big world I can make an impact on people’s lives. I can share my experience and the struggles I’ve gone through.

In a big world I still have a chance to forgive myself.

In a big world I’m not alone.

In a big world I can change.

It’s better that way.
Better for who?              
People don’t like it.
But, that is what it is legally.
People don’t like it. They’re not comfortable with it.
Well what about us?
It was a conversation I had with my father-in-law.
Although, I guess I should just call him Bob.
I do anyway.                                                                    
He isn’t anything like my father.
And the legality of it doesn’t seem to work for him.
So, Bob it is.
He is a good man in many ways.
He would fight for you.
He fought for his country.
But don’t flaunt who you are.
Of course being who I am is part of what he fought for, sort of.
My freedom.
I used to want to fight because I was right.
Now it isn’t that I don’t think I’m right.
I just don’t want to fuel the fight.
I’m confident in who I am now.
Sobriety plays a huge role.

I want to go back
to a place we use to be
where i knew nothing and spoke so much
you were so delighted with me

chords were meant to be pulled
and timing was about showing up
there was never too little
there was always enough

make the days of rain my sun shine
make me your queen of sleeting snow
no judgment no right or wrongs
no  come baby put on a real good shown

take me back to my wristwatch
when a second waiting for you seem like a day
I would change my clothes a dozen times
and then you would tear them away

Has the river of our own wants
ran the river dry
Have we done to much in the name of each other lies
You lost the woman I lost the Guy

The guy of my dreams
The guy of my heart
The guy the would wait, wait, wait
In the dark

I see you with my eyes
You have a song on your mind
I have another disguise
to hide your disappointment

Bring me back to our hollywood lights
of only you and me
both clever and kind  in our own rights
we both had  dignity

I taste that memory
of love in the afternoon
a day of doing nothing and we would write a song
You loved me and I loved you 

How do I shade the disappointment I see in your eyes
You say no but I feel the need to cry
I am not fraud, I am not a lie, I have been me all time
just me myself and I

Let me run my fingers up the scale of what is left
find the notes of harmony in my whispered breath
dark needs light and light needs dark
the same as I need you and you need me......

right ?

I want to tell you something IMPORTANT...
But I am fearful...
You don’t listen ... really listen...
You hear, look attentive... but...
DISMISS ME!
My thoughts
My feelings
My actions
My words.

I actually am no longer fearful...
I just know:
YOU DON’T LISTEN
You won’t listen
You don’t want to listen.

You play king...
But at the expense of me...
And often the expense of others too.

The Emperor’s New Clothes...
I can see them on you now...
You won’t change...

You DON’T  WANT to understand.
So I have to....
I have to change my acceptance of your behavior.

I love the emperor, but hate your wardrobe...
AND ALWAYS HAVE!!!

The first time I can remember ever drinking, at least more than just a single small sip for taste, given with "permission", I was the age of ten. I can remember going over to my friend's house We'll call her M. M & I played computer a while, but grew bored. Tried going a walk, to realized yet again that there simply wasn't much to do in the small town of Palmer. Back at her place, she suggested we try a bit of her mother's Kahlua from the fridge, mixed with some low-fat milk. It was good, sweet and creamy, with a very mild alcoholic taste to it. I drank until my head felt light. I drank until I felt funny. I drank until I couldn't stop laughing. I drank just until I knew I'd want to do it again when given the chance. Which didn't take much for a 10-year-old female under 5 feet.

It was 10:30 and into the room arrived a beautiful, tame canine. His short hair shown every shade of brown when in the sunlight. He was not too large, nor too tiny. He had a friendly, somewhat calm, but also quite playful demeanor. He picked up a small pink stuffed elephant gently with his pointy yellow teeth, residing in his strong jaw. He brought unto me this little toy, and looked longingly at me with his big chocolate eyes, almost as if to ask me to throw it across the room. I proceeded, and the good boy quickly chased it; catching it just before it hit the wooden floor.

I am the one who is often too quiet. I am the one who can get so in-my-head that I have a social anxiety attack around the same friends I should feel perfectly comfortable with by now. It's not in the way that some people break down and have "real" anxiety attacks; but instead it's in the way that I simply freeze up. I can't remember how to articulate words, sentences, my thoughts. Can't remember how to make eye contact, nor even control the faces I'm making (i.e. unintended dirty looks). Sometimes, when it's at its worst, I can't even remember how to listen to the person talking to me. Odd, because other times I can do all of those things without effort. Why is that? And what can help? Sometimes drinking helps, especially when paired with weed. Acid's great too, just one tab or two if it's weak. But somehow other times that seems to be what makes it even worse. Is it ADD? Hopefully one day I'll be able to fix these flaws about myself.

I am from a place

Where the drug of choice

Is the smell of salt on the sea air

Stigmata of jellyfish

And aching calves from sand walking

The ocean rocks me as I lie down to sleep.

The old ones say it didn’t used to look like this

But spindly plants in the dunes still hold the earth together

And jagged sand still hurts sunburned faces.

The word in Italian for when an object hits the water is Patatunfete.

The word in English for when an object hits the water is Splash.

Does patatunfete sound like an object hitting the water? Yes it does.

Does splash sound like an object hitting the water? Yes it does.

Does patatunfete sound like splash?

We listen with the same ears

How differently we hear.

Chasing and yet never catching.

Waking again on this lifeless treadmill designed to do and accomplish one goal.

Chase the dragon & feed the hunger of crack and heroin addiction

Maybe 24 hours, maybe 3 or 4 days.

I've been up and moving through those grey days before, for, almost a week.

Anyway the only colors I see are the flames touching, heating, crackling transparent glass

the color of blood red.

Have not seen sun, sky, moon or stars. Only the flame.

Everyday praying its the last day