Me-Anon

Love again

2010-06-12T15:18:00.003-04:00

I see the way you men
look at me
and I get it
You all wanna fuck me
but I just don't have the energy
to keep up with the demands
you make of me
my self worth is
the one thing
you won't take from me

i've been living my life
based on the principle
of scarcity
like conservation
and consumption
are parts of a process
that apply to everything
and that belief blinded the reality
the abundance that abound
and resounds inside me

love is a battlefield
love is a four letter word
love is the saddest story
i ever heard
love is a desert
but also a lake
love is a casting call
for a role you may not want to take

but really, let's be real
since the alternative is to be fake
isn't it possible for your greatest accomplishment
to also be
your greatest mistake?
i tried to keep it inside of me
tied it up so it couldn't leave
and i curled myself up in a ball
afraid that life without love
wouldn't be worth living at all

but... if you love something,
let it go
if you love someone,
fucking let them know
because fuck money
fuck politics
fuck war
love is the only thing
worth loving for

i mean we were spirits
before we had bodies
and we were happy as babies
before we owned anything
and then we learned so many words
we confused how we were meant to feel
so lets just stop to clarify
the sensations that are real

there's hungry
and tired
there's sick
and then love
we're just babies that got bigger
and learned words
we couldn't make sense of

so come,
sit down next to me
rest with me
and then let's make a meal
because love is the only thing
within our power to feel

6/6/10

2010-06-10T10:00:00.000-04:00

Today's your birthday
and I wonder if
you felt like me
you used to say
you were born on Doom's Day
did you always feel a little incomplete?

did you feel like you shouldn't have
been born at all?

like no matter what you did
would never be enough
to make you belong?

you were the only one
i thought could possibly understand how I felt
and then I stood
alone and scared
as I watched you
retreat
withdraw
surrender

no explanation would ever
be good enough
for me to understand

because I loved and admired you
big brother

and then you tripped
slipped
off a slippery cliff
I stood shocked -
staring from the precipice
my footing wobbled
I gasped for air
not a clue
what i could possibly do
for me
or
for you

but somehow you survived the crash
all limbs intact
it's been a long, steep climb
from up a deep ravine
it hurt to watch you struggle
I almost wished it could be me

you fought your way
back up to the top
and here you stand
on firm ground
your chest out proud

you are a rare man
who knows the darkness beneath your soul
and how to find your way back

all this time
i spent
racking my brain
dreaming up ways
to help you with your climb

and the thing i never realized
you needed me
just to be
standing, holding your place
so you could see me
and find your way
back to your family

Electricity

2010-06-09T10:00:00.002-04:00

My clarity's the only thing
that's not clear
My reality's been getting
a little too real
So stop talking
This isn't a business deal
I don't have to negotiate with you
For the right to how I feel
I said sit down
and shut the fuck up
I'm the one giving orders today
While you drive me around
in my pink garbage truck
picking up pieces
of what I'm about to say

You're a man
I'm an army
So please just get out of my way
If you thought you could destroy me
employ me to stay
You saw me walking on a tightrope
and thought that was my big plan
a thin string to stand on
what you failed to see
was the intricate web that hung below me
you see
I can't fail
or fall through
or ever go hungry
because of the love that I've found
is all around me
surrounds me with its
sparkling intensity
a force field of strength
fortifying me

And the real reason
you failed to see
this massive power grid plugging into me
sadly
is because you cannot feel
love's
subtle
divine
electricity

5/24/10

2010-06-08T10:00:00.000-04:00

It's just me again
finding my way
in my own body
I thought it was a desert
and I was dying
of thirst
but now i know
it's the Caribbean Sea
that's inside of me

pure blue water flows through my veins
my bones are fine white sand
My heart used to be
my own worst enemy
a sea anemone
and I had claws for hands

but now my heart's a starfish
sunbathing on a rock
and what used to be my clenched fist
is opening to God

maybe i believed
the tale that i had spun
a fish out of water
frying in the sun
doomed to an eternity
of gasping "marco"
to no reply
yanked from one world
to another
just to die

but then there was a river
and then it was a lake
and then it flooded over
and i realized my mistake

i've been floating in the waters
of my very own sea
coarsing through my veins
the true version of me

Untitled - 5/9/10

2010-05-28T09:00:00.000-04:00

When is a house not a home?
When will your archive be complete?
Is this a snapshot
or a memoir...
How do you know
you're not obsolete?

have you been here
gripping your bowels
gritting your teeth
all you need to do is
stop

let gravity do
what you've been trying to defy
the fear the grips
and clenches you
does nothing to help you survive

it's easy to pretend
that it was watching over you
it felt like a close friend -
one it's time that you outgrew

nobody has the right
to dominate you
ignore your best intentions
tell you what to do

it's time to say goodbye
even close friends move away
or sometimes just move on
when there's no need to stay

Untitled 5/9/10

2010-05-27T09:00:00.000-04:00

It's the month of May again
but I'm chilled to the bone
the wind is making a scene outside
and I'm watching from in here alone

I could have left the house today
but I chose to let my body rest
my mind's been running marathons
my heart's been pounding in my chest

i had to slow the whole thing down
and focus on what I know
I'm alive and sane
enough food in the fridge to last
until summer
and I'm finding my way

I'm fortunate
I'm blessed
with the lot in life I have
and sometimes it takes time
to regroup and attack

Untitled - 5/18/10

2010-05-26T09:00:00.000-04:00

I got wrapped up
in another insanity
another man's plan
but once again,
I found me

I am mine
and mine alone
not a child
or a waitress
or a shiny toy you own

I have organs,
tissues
and bones
I come from the water
and I never walk alone

I'm a heat
from my belly
I won't be overthrown
You've been trying
to tempt me
I'm not your dog
or a bone

I'm a daughter
and a sister
with a purpose
and a place
My ancestors were Vikings
see the scars on my face?

I've had visions of my Future
and it sparkles like the sun
you're a mere mortal
and my journey's just begun

I'm the mother of a world
you won't even see in dreams
I'm pregnant with a fate
that's hard to be believed

and you are just one step
on my path from here to there
so don't forget your role
and I won't forget to share

Untitled - 5/22/10 and 5/23/10

2010-05-25T09:00:00.001-04:00

Today's your birthday
I used to think
you were born
to protect me
you made me
a canopy bed
of blue and white checkers
and I remember what you said
that the sheet that hung
from up above me
was there to protect me
from all the bad things outside
getting in
and i believed
truly believed

never felt so deceived
so utterly lied to
like the strength of one man
was enough to rely on
I lay there in awe
as one by one
my demons surrounded me
held me down
and raped me
in the very same bed
built for safekeeping
slipped through the checkered net
leaving blue bruises on my neck
it was easy to blame you
for the mess

Finally, I took it down
declared myself
a big girl now
If there are any demons out to get me
then I want to see
them coming.

It's the day
after your birthday
and this time I remembered
I've been your daughter
your mother
your wife
you needed so much help
and yet it didn't help at all,
did it?

Some things are just too painful
to face
it hurt so much
for so long
i didn't even notice anymore
going through life
an open sore
i've had you and lost you
you've loved me,
then stopped
you protected me
until I got hurt
and then gave me the blame
turning on me
you changed the game
became
someone else
and now look at me-
i need your help

we're on this planet
at the very same time
and after all of our near misses
here we are - still alive
so there's a reason you're here
and i am too
instead of you protecting me
maybe it's meant to be
me protecting you

Silence - 1/10

2010-03-24T09:00:00.000-04:00

Silence is a sound
that only some can hear
it's a language
and a moan
it's the memory of fear
it isn't golden
or bronzed
sometimes it isn't even true
it isn't glittered or adorned
but it's a promise that i made to you

it's the torn up bits of paper
it's my secret shining through
and i'm glaring with my eyes
to get this one thing out of you
i've met people who were strangers
until they shared my point of view
i'm the child of my mother
and that is always true

A memory - written today

2010-03-14T11:58:00.005-04:00

That's just the smell
of rotting wood
and a memory
from childhood
we used to run
out to the creek
catching tadpoles
in a mystery world
it was magical and beautiful
it was the only place
that wanted me

I wanted to live there
in the boughs of a tree
that held me firmly
in its embrace
never pushing me away
I nailed 3 boards
to a branch
before abandoning my plan
my 8-year-old hands
didn't yet have the skill
to construct a home from scratch
and when I went out
to the creek to play
those crooked boards
stared down at me
mocking me
in my inability
to construct my own
reality

Untitle 4/5/02 (At 19)

2010-03-12T10:40:00.000-05:00

The lights were blinking
I put down my cup
I ran outside quickly
I thought I'd throw up
someone said something
that made my friend laugh
he filled up his cup
and asked her to dance
the girls were being girls
while the boys were being boys
and something spoke to me
amidst all the noise
like the lights all stopped
and the people all dropped
and a new revelation escaped
we're utterly confined
by the molds in our mind
so let's fucking get out of this place

This was written in college and just illustrates how different I felt then and always have. It's getting better now though. I don't feel like an outsider in social situations anymore.

Flame (at 13 or 14)

2010-03-10T10:45:00.000-05:00

From behind a rainy window
My thoughts turning to the streetlight
I desperately search for you
Eyes skimming beneath the bright

The string connecting us just snapped
Flinging backwards, it stung my face
Wishing you were a chalkboard
and with a swipe you'd be erased

Has anyone ever told you people are real?
Not just pawns in your personal chess game
I hope someday you learn how to feel
So it burns like hell when you go up in a
Flame

My dad - reflecting on the last 12 months

2010-03-09T09:30:00.000-05:00

It's been almost a year since my dad was hospitalized. May will mark the one year anniversary of me beginning recovery. I spent a lot of the last year feeling sorry for myself and resenting my lot in life. I think it was something I had to go through and I'm happy to report that I really feel like I'm coming out of the other side of it. I was so focused on all the things I didn't have or never had growing up, that I wasn't seeing all the amazing blessings in my life. For one, my dad is alive and getting better everyday. He's going to visit my brother next week in Nevada, which is something he never did when he was drinking. He called me to say he wants to come out and visit me next. I started crying after I get off the phone because he was never able to plan and actually make the trip.

I feel blessed by the people and friends who have given me support through all of the drama the last year. I really know who my friends are now and who I can turn to, and having that knowledge is a gift.

Blessed to have me... I am proud of myself and that through it all I've come out of this so much stronger. I know if I can handle the events of the last year, I can handle what else life has in store for me. And I take comfort in knowing that most of the years ahead of me won't be as bad as the year that is now finally behind me. I see myself in a positive light for the first time. I never realized how negative my relationship with myself was and now I'm going much easier on me. I can laugh at myself and pat myself on the back instead of always feeling like I'm coming up short somehow. I respect myself now. I made an appointment with my boss last week and told him very clearly how certain aspects of my job were just not working for me. I stood up to him and stood my ground. Ultimately, even if I don't get what I'm asking for, I'm so proud of myself for vocalizing my needs.

I can finally see that this last year, as painful and intense as it was, has had some very positive and amazing effects on me and my life.

"I thank my lucky stars everyday for indoor plumbing." - The Blow finding blessings in everyday life

Untitled - 3/15/02 (At 19)

2010-03-08T22:37:00.003-05:00

but the mud inside my head
doesn't seem to come out
when you're reaching through my ear
squeeze until i shout
wring it till i cry
numb me with the pain
make your presence known
leave your imprint on my brain
sometimes i don't know
what it is i vocalize
the path from brain to mouth
becomes this compromise
so why not go ahead
open me up and look around
cause that's what i mean
that's how i feel
and that's our common ground

It used to be a lot harder for me to identify my feelings and then to express them verbally. but it is getting easier for me now. It's not exactly second nature, but I find my reactions popping out of my mouth a lot quicker, which is a good thing for me.

Snowfall - 2009

2010-02-28T20:32:00.001-05:00

Snowfall is so silent
it deafens the ears
as its solitude descends
the landscape disappears

it's nothing like
the pitter patter of the rain
the splish splash
or the
rat a tat tat
on the window pane

if it didn't erase
everything it touched
we wouldn't even know
what came down while we were sleeping
slippery
silent
snow

Instinct - 2/4/10

2010-02-19T00:55:00.004-05:00

then there's just one thing
i'm sure i never knew
but here we are in 2010
so where does that leave you?

i've been pretending like
leaving you
didn't feel like rejection
i've been hiding in the shadow
of hurt and deception

i'm a woman scorned
and a woman burned
and running from that house ablaze
was no act of consciousness
or strength
or pride
that was instinct
saving my life

You Say - written today

2010-02-16T22:15:00.001-05:00

you say
I can hear the street traffic from your window
the skidding tires
the raucous horns
the growl of the accelerator
I say
well i'm just glad to know
i'm not the only one
going somewhere

you say
I can hear a baby screaming
in the apartment next door
wailing and moaning
I feel vibrations in the floor
I say
well it’s nice to know
I’m not the only one
who cries

you say
I can see the remnants of other people’s days
when I walk down your street
bare chicken wing bones
used metrocards
sunflower seed shells
I say
well there’s the proof
that we are alive

you say
people in this town don’t walk
they run
and more often than not
it’s into me
or over me
I say
that’s science
atoms and particles collide
to make life

you say
I don’t know how you do it
I could never live the life you lead
I say
I like knowing other people live in this world
aside from me

Back to the Blog

2010-02-15T14:56:00.004-05:00

I've been away from the blog and away from the country. I got back from being away but haven't wrapped my head around getting back to my life and the blog. I'll be posting some new things in coming days and weeks. I've been doing a lot of thinking and self reflecting and sometimes it's best not to share that internal work. Anyway, back now and will be sharing some new writings soon, but here's an old one for now.

The Crowd 7/22/99 (at 17)

Here is what
they need...
sharp smiles, angular at best,
in the crowd a subtle jeer,
a bad joke,
another hot towel to drape over
their eyes
a clique to base an identity upon
i want
them
want them to see
how much they will not mean to me.

Strong - 12/14/09

2009-12-28T12:00:00.000-05:00

this is a poem about me
i'm alive
and i know it
i feel it in my veins
i'm busy and tired
but never more sane
i'm excited and ready
for action or pain
cause whatever is coming
won't get in my way

this is my life
and the hand i was dealt
was meant for me
so i must be at least as strong
as I need
as strong as it takes to live
the life I lead

Untitled 12/14/09

2009-12-22T14:00:00.000-05:00

I'm tired of feeling tortured
and feeling alone
the pathways to my brain
are sensations I can own
and redirect
or intercept
until they find another home
but I can't keep giving solace
to thoughts I can't condone

Letting Go

2009-12-18T15:15:00.004-05:00

And I happen to love this post on letting go. What does letting go mean? Letting go is an elusive concept to wrap your mind around, and this post from Recovery is Sexy gets to the heart of it.

What does Letting Go Mean?

End of the Century 12/15/09

2009-12-18T14:46:00.002-05:00

It's the end of another century
and now you know my name
I'm offering a memory
that never looks the same
and in my heart
I locked it up
so I would never see
I've lived in fear
but now I know
that wasn't really me

I can be calm in confusion
still in a storm
if that's what I choose to do
I've learned to respond
in so many ways
without responding to you

I wrote this poem this week and it touches on something I've talked about with a friend. 2009 has been crazy and painful in so many ways for me. Hands down the worst year yet, but hitting my bottom brought me to Al-Anon and recovery, so I can't discount the merits of the year. But at a particularly low point, I was tempted to go with F.E.A.R. (Fuck Everything and Run). My family was having all kinds of drama, I was unhappy at work, I had to find a new apartment and I wasn't in a relationship for the first time in a while. I told a friend I wanted to pick up and move to Spain or travel the world. He said something very wise.

He said, If that's what you choose to do because it's right for you to take that action, then I will totally support you. But if you're doing this as a reaction to what's happening, then I don't think it's the right move for you. I've been thinking a lot about the difference between acting and reacting. I've lived most of my life reacting to situations around me, and being passive when there was nothing to react to. Now, I'm seeing that I have choices and control in my own life. I recently initiated a conversation to discuss changes I wanted to make at work with my boss and I got a raise! Instead of skipping the country for good, I opted out of spending Christmas with the family and am headed to Australia and the warmth instead. It's still very scary for me- acting and being active in my own life, but I must say it feels really great too.

Phone - written at 16

2009-12-17T11:11:00.003-05:00

You called today
and it hurt a little less
to hang up the phone
with the wire connecting us

Yeah, I still threw it down
after you hung up,
but I got over it quickly
got a drink of water,
thought of someone else.

I thought of someone else.
But it wasn't the same,
because it wasn't you
And after I've tallied the
count of terrible deeds that
you've committed,
I still hope
hope that you will call.

And after I recover
from all of your abuse,
I still long for the hurt.

And maybe one day I'll be ok
maybe I'll be happy alone
But that day isn't today
and I'm still waiting, staring at the phone

I wrote this poem about my first real boyfriend in high school, after we broke up. I file this under the "repeating the cycle" category. Children and adult children of alcholics will continue to seek out unavailable partners for romantic relationships unless they recover. Until I realized my own habits and tendencies and where they came from, I was unable to stop myself from the allure of unavailable people. I can't say that I've fully changed my wiring, because I'm still very attracted to aloof or unavailable people, but at least I recognize it now and can understand where it comes from and why it's not good for me.

I think this attraction comes from the need to win acceptance that started at home. My alcoholic father and co-dependent mother taught me that love was not unconditional, and that it had to be earned. I grew up trying to win their approval in various ways. I assumed the responsibility for making them love me and figured if they were angry or not giving me what I needed, that I had to try harder or adjust my behavior. In the past, when men have showed me attention and affection, it has been a turn-off for me, because I've felt that it shouldn't be so easy to get people to care for me. This whole thought process is very sick and destructive, but I know that there are many people like me, and that gives me comfort. Now I am able to deconstruct it, look at it honestly, and ultimately re-wire my programming.

Wagons of a Different Sort - written at 12 or 13

2009-12-11T11:04:00.003-05:00

What is this
What does it mean
in this bliss
Have you come clean
I can't say
I know of what
Bring will this day
Your openings shut
"No illegal shit"
And I heard your lie
Enemies telling it
You used to cry
Stop or die

I've been thinking a lot about my brother, "John." He started using when he was 13, went to rehab by 16 and finally joined the army at 25 as a way of getting clean. I've thought a lot about how my dad's addiction affected me, but now I'm realizing how much John's addiction affected me as well. He got a letter last week from the army recalling him, and he has orders to report in a month and deploy to Iraq. It was totally unexpected. He is going to school, has a wife and son and another baby on the way, so this news was devastating to all of us.

He asked me to write a letter on his behalf stating that he is the only one in the family that can take care of my dad, so that he can get out of these orders. As I sat there writing this letter, which is basically a lie, because I've done more than anyone to care for my dad, I had a deja vu moment. I had a memory of being in high school and forging a doctor's note for him to take to court. I've been trying to help him get out of things his entire life - lying for him and enabling him. Although this situation is slightly different, it felt oddly familiar. I am okay with writing this particular letter because I disagree with the Army's policy of recalling soldiers who have completed their service, but I am not consumed with pity for my brother. He chose to join the Army in the middle of a war rather than go to rehab, and this is one of the unintended consequences. I'll write this letter and hope for the best for him and his family, but I don't have to let the burden of this drag me down. I have a choice in how I react and respond to crisis. Here's a poem I wrote on the subway last week after getting the news that John had orders for Iraq:

I guess I'm more in tune
when I'm alone
like the waves from my brain
are a product I can own
This world is senseless
It changes all the time
from misery to suffering
from pitiful to blind
I can't keep riding these waves
Hoping they crash on some shore
I can't crawl out of the pit
I dug myself in anymore

I'm tired I'm wasted
As I'm sure you can see
Tearstained eyes, a meek smile
are all that's left of me
I don't feel that I have
More blood left to spare
It's all been spilled
It's overfilled
the test tubes of despair
Like some vengeful leech
Just can't get enough of me
Like he's getting off
on my endless misery
So I'll just drag my carcass home
Lock the doors and cry
Crisis will come knocking
But I'll offer no reply

Not belong - written 12/4/09

2009-12-08T12:58:00.004-05:00

Do you ever feel
like you must just not belong
like the day that you were born
was a moment that went wrong?

Like every step you take
isn't yours to claim
like any move you make
could never justify your name?

The people who surround you
somehow earned this time and place
but you float up above them
consuming air
and wasting space

I've been thinking about this "terminal uniqueness" that we discussed in an Al-Anon meeting a few months ago. All of us felt that we were unique, isolated, different from everyone else. And sometimes from that perspective, it seems like everyone else is different because they are happy or lucky.

I'm trying to break out of that mold of thinking and come to understand that others have their problems too, and that when I feel different, I isolate myself from others and it becomes a self-perpetuating state. Others may think that I'm snobby or too good for them because I keep people away sometimes, but the reality is that I don't think I'm good enough in some way and that's why I do it. I've been better at reaching out to friends and saying yes to them since starting recovery. Last night I even said yes to someone who invited me to do a solo dance in the middle of a circle in African Dance class! When you say yes to people who have invited you into something, you build connections, trust, and break out of isolation.

All Out - written 12/7/09

2009-12-08T12:52:00.001-05:00

Just go all out
balls out
before you go

Let them be the ones
to tell you no

Untitled - 12/30/96 (at 14)

2009-12-07T15:31:00.006-05:00

When the air hurts

too much to taste

or feel or touch

then blood crystalizes

and feelings are such

that no one feels at all

and no one takes the time to call

Everything is in the mind of the beholder

Lies are not born;

they just keep getting older

This poem speaks to the sense of betrayal ACoAs have. The reality of what I felt and observed didn't match the messages I received from my parents. I was told that our family was happy, that there weren't any problems, and furthermore, if I didn't agree, that I had a problem. Because of denial, and the family's need to cover up the problem with a capital P, it felt as though I was living a lie, and quite literally we all were.

Untitled - 12/4/09

2009-12-04T13:46:00.004-05:00

everytime you touch me
i disappear
my heart leaves my body
it feels insincere

like this moment was
faked or staged
like this was a plan
and not a promise you made

and what is it you're hiding
behind your cryptic eyes?
what is it you're holding?
your hands run me over,
constructing alibis

is it nature or nurture
that gets in the way?
you call me here, you pull me near
and then you pull away

When I started reading about ACoAs, I found it interesting how we form our ideas about love. We learn love from our family, and however love was expressed is how we come to understand it. And in an alcoholic family, love is expressed in very strange ways. I always knew that my parents loved me, but then they often didn't want to be bothered with me, and they sometimes put me down and pushed me away. So, that dynamic is how I came to understand love - a push and pull. I sought out other people who shared my idea of love and predictably, it's always ended in disaster. I'm trying to re-define love for myself and seek out others who have a healthier understanding of it as well in my friendships, and ultimately in a romantic relationship.

Everything - written at 13

2009-12-03T12:50:00.001-05:00

Let it all out...

Your lost screams
Your broken dreams
And Everything
that ever seemed
to mislead

Let it all out
because this will be the
Last time
You can express emotions

Since Everything you are
will soon be
stuffed inside my
tiny soundless bottle

Where no one can hear your cries
In my tiny soundless bottle
that will be carelessly tossed
Into the ocean

Where the waves will smash your being
Your emotion
Your commotion
and Everything will rest
amidst the Ocean

Until...
Your anger, rage and venom
overflows my
tiny soundless bottle

The cork will pop off,
celebrating your hatred
that will dye
the ocean red.

Red with slit veins
Red with spilt brains
Red with everything
that tops insane

The blood red bubbling contains
Your hardship
Your heartache
Your headache
that never goes away

And your voice will rise
above the cries
inside of my
tiny soundless bottle

Your voice will cry
that Everything we told you was a lie
Everything hearty has passed you by
All that is left of you is an empty sigh
And naturally you want to die

Your voice will ring
with Everything

The Trip Home 11/26/09

2009-12-02T13:35:00.004-05:00

Is that all I am to you?
Something to react against?
Someone to stand up to
And exercise your self defense?

I'm looking forward
to the time it takes to get somewhere
I'll be there tomorrow
to give you the time it takes to prepare

I'm a long way from home
Living alone
Way out on the other side
of the country
the moon
the day
and you
It's the best place I've found to hide

I'm not excited but I'm not scared
of the trip I'm about to take
I'm not running but I'm not hiding
And I can't say I've made a mistake

You Talk - written 9/28/97 (at 15)

2009-12-01T11:40:00.001-05:00

Other people's
Dirty laundry
I don't know you
I might like to
They say you're always gone
But then they're always wrong

Awkward eyes
Maybe they're right
You look surprised
That I would lie
I do it all the time
Dangling arms
and a slanted walk
I wish I could see
The way you talk

Tears Form Rivers (at 12 or 13)

2009-11-27T08:00:00.000-05:00

Pleasing everybody else
Except yourself
Your desires stored on a dusty shelf
So their trust is nonexistent
Yet your pain is scarily real
And you get stuck with the crap card deal
So who are your friends
Are they really enemies and foes
They don't seem to care
And how things turn out, who knows?
Talk about themself, that's all that matters
Stripped and ripped - my soul in tatters

Today I'm grateful for

2009-11-26T08:00:00.000-05:00

- a mild autumn so far
- the realization that I'd be happier if I cooked less
- understanding what it means to take care of myself
- the Indian and sushi places that deliver to my apartment
- recovery and that I can spend time with my family and not go crazy
- that recovery has taught me to have boundaries
- that my dad is alive
- that I am alive
- being able to recognize the different and rewarding relationships I have with people
- a job
- my own apartment (the couch will come when it's ready)
- a president who doesn't make me want to throw things at the tv when he speaks
- a community (Brooklyn) that is conscious and progressive
- the subway
- indoor plumbing
- computers
- Hulu
- writing
- the opportunity to learn about myself and who I am - some people never get it or they don't take it
- the trip I'm taking to Australia to spend Christmas and New Year's somewhere warm
- being single
- cheese
- my friends and the fun things we do like flea markets and brunches and just hanging out doing nothing together and cracking up
- love in life and in me and for me
- chocolate
- trashy books that are fun to read on the subway
- the journey and that I have accepted the challenge to be on it even though it can be scary and painful and so difficult that sometimes it seems like I won't make it through this path in life that forces us to examine ourselves and deal with the past... I am on this train and will hang on for dear life to wherever it takes me

Needs

2009-11-25T14:01:00.003-05:00

Great post from yesterday on the I'm Just F.I.N.E. blog about needs and how as children of alcoholics, we didn't get what we needed on some level. Whether or not we were physically or sexually abused, or neglected, our emotional needs were not met. It's not possible for an addict to meet the emotional needs of his or her children.

What was confusing to me about my family was that until high school, my parents were married and my dad was a successful officer in the Air Force. He was around - we had a big house with a pool and everything seemed so picture perfect. But he was not present. He was there, but not present. He always found odd jobs to do around the house and in the yard so that when he was home, he was always "busy." Either that or he was "relaxing" on the couch drinking and we weren't to bother him either way.

So, we learn to be comfortable not getting our needs met. Not that it's ever really comfortable, but we learn to deal with it in some way. And not getting your needs met isn't healthy, so how can dealing with it be?

Asking for What I Need
from I'm Just F.I.N.E.

Untitled - (at 12 or 13)

2009-11-25T08:00:00.001-05:00

Watching hands on the clock move
Isn't my favorite hobby
Wasting time and my hope
Dilluting the life left inside me

Two months and counting
Don't be like my formers
Seems I keep getting locked
and lost in your corners

The path to you winds too
Drastically to follow
Are the feelings that I gave you
Just too thick to swallow?

Untitled - 11/19/09

2009-11-24T08:00:00.001-05:00

i guess it's a talent of mine
knowing what it is people want me to say
and i guess it's just a habit now
once i sense a preference, i have to obey
i can be the one you love
if that's all i have to say
i can be that girl you fuck
like acting cool will make it ok
like forcing an action
could create the feeling
like reading the lines
will provide the meaning
i just need someone
to rub my belly
and scratch my back
read me a story
draw me a bath
cause I'm tired of
figuring out how I feel
so soap me up,
dry me off
and cook me a hot meal

Invocation - 6/1/09

2009-11-23T22:59:00.001-05:00

I'm already ready for a better next year
I'm already clearing the way
Hope is a feeling, but not only that
It's what gets me through the day

My Name is Just a Word (written at 12 or 13)

2009-11-23T22:07:00.002-05:00

If I had a name
and it was Visigoth
Would you call me Jane
Just to piss me off

If I had a name
Would you call me by it?
Would you still call me girl
I don't doubt it

If I had a name
Tell me what would it be
All titles are the same
Isabella, Priscilla, Harmony

If I had a name
Would you even care
Do I make a difference
I don't make a difference there

If I had a name
It might be Kelly or Joan
But I don't worry of these things
I'll never have a name of my own

Untitled - 11/6/09

2009-11-20T08:00:00.001-05:00

i'd just like to say
that i know how you feel
how your mind can take you
where your feet can't
when you're face down
on the ground
it can give you a pillow
for your head
to soften the blow
your brain doesn't even
have to know
just keep marching
through a dreary haze
live in imagined
better days
or crawl out
of your symbiotic ways
i want to speak
but love
doesn't learn
it's a prescribed
self-destructive
girl

over the years - written 5-18-99 (at 16)

2009-11-19T08:00:00.000-05:00

I had forgotten
the blows you dealt me
the blows you dealt me
over the years
it hurts to remember
it numbs to forget
i had forgotten
over the years

Untitled 11/6/09

2009-11-18T08:00:00.002-05:00

Someone broke the door down
and then something rolled in
a ball
or a bomb
a balloon
they'll all pop one day

i'm taking off the layer of clothes
i used to wear for you
undoing the knots and bows
that used to so please you

and the flush on my face
has faded to white
i'm sure you wouldn't know
that my sparkling eyes
have turned quite flat
as has my unearthly glow

i'm a mere shadow of
the woman i was
shivering in the cold
my body is boney
my throat is sore
and let's face it - i'm getting old

i see pain wherever i go
like some some sort of heat censored light
people disagree
when i say what i've seen
but deep down i know that i'm right

it's not the same world
i saw with you
the one i see clearly now
it's dark and broken
with dreams all askew
and bitterly run to the ground

the dust of the hope
i once had for you
settles now on the shelf
and a damp musty scent
of cigarettes and booze
from the days when you haunted
yourself

no it's not the same world
i woke up in
that night when i slept in my bed
and you slept across town
in yours
wondering what it was you had said

Police Man - writeen 4-19-99 (at 16)

2009-11-17T08:00:00.000-05:00

moments
a clock measures the moments
and each one i could hate,
but remember it later and fall
in love with it
each second the clock measures
holds its own colors, smells, textures,
temperature, sounds
that all make up a moment
the clock - the police man
constantly warning, beating
you over the head with its message
I ignore
The moment is passing.
I close my eyes.
This moment never will be again.
I take one last sniff of your
blue sweater
before the second hand kicks me
out the door.
Never will be again.
Moments.

Cold Out 10/26/09

2009-11-16T23:25:00.003-05:00

This must be a second coming
you must be the one
won't you take my number?
i'll sing you a song
we can go on our way

i've been braiding a
crown of thorns
just waiting for someone like you
now it's time you tried on
the apparel i've constructed you

i can't even keep up
with the things that need
to be done in a day
i'm afraid i'm exhausted
by just waking up
nevermind
finding
a role to play

i'm sure there's a way
i don't have the will
to try to find something real
if it wasn't so cold out
maybe i'd join you
and maybe you'd see how i feel

Untitled - Written 2/22/97 (at 14)

2009-11-14T17:00:00.000-05:00

the color of rain
is so much like
this life -
a book i never
finished reading
because the wind
kept turning pages,
closing it shut

now i know
your voice will surface
once a day or so
and i'll let sickening
sounds seep into my skin
absorb you
again
while you close
your eyes to me

the color of pain
is the shade of my eyes
(lately)
an undying ache,
eternal agony
keeps me awake
i want to die
for my sake

Untitled 10/29/09

2009-11-13T17:00:00.000-05:00

I'm the luckiest girl
who makes the most mistakes
There's someone picking up the pieces
Everytime my heart breaks
Didn't you see it coming
Down the hall
in the air
Didn't you see the truth on my face
When I spat in yours and screamed
I DON'T CARE

You could give me a chance
and give up your name
walk down the block
you'll still feel the same
it's not a path
it's just a hallway
where you thought you were going
brought you back to yesterday

I got dealt a hand
I didn't know how to play
If you remembered playing yours
then we could both be on our way
This isn't my choice
This is just another day
Another way to pass the time
Another time to make your way

I guess you could say
I'm a little bit damaged
And that I'm a bit confused
I'm a little bit of a lot of things
the least of which is amused

Truth Kills - written 1/27/97 (at 14)

2009-11-11T11:55:00.002-05:00

Exhaustion
stubborn limbs
lying in
without a sin
taking out
what i wanted to win
leaving everywhere
i've been

without a thought
or even a mind
i blocked the wind
i blocked your kind
i took off all the
feelings scarring me
slipped out of a
familiar suit
wanted everything
to be
the way it was
without the truth

Untitled 11/10/09

2009-11-11T11:41:00.002-05:00

We don't have to talk to know that
You're going this way
And I'm going that way
No it doesn't take much to show
A subtle yawn
Another day

It's been warmer
than the coldest day of the year
I guess that much is true
But that's no reason
to keep living in fear
bracing for another you

The layers of skin fold around you
Protecting you from the air
But don't stop breathing it in
That's your second skin
Still taking care
of you

Living Alone - 10/4/09

2009-10-25T20:00:00.000-04:00

envelopes of emptiness
i'm sending you a letter
i'm counting down the days to my
return to sender
i'll be hiding in my home
shades drawn, ears perked
and there's nothing you can say
to make me take the garbage out
i'm living alone
so i don't confuse
wants with needs
requests with pleas
me with you
and i'll put up my pictures
where i damn well please
i wish you all the best

Pretended Concern (at 12-13)

2009-10-24T18:00:00.001-04:00

Everyone thinks they know
Everyone thinks they see
All that is jaded
All that is shaded
When they can't find
Their own key

All of them want to believe
All of them pretend to care
About my stain
About my pain
Or anything
that lingers there

No one understands
No one really cares to
Set me free
Let me be
What you have done
You cannot undo.

Untitled - written 10/6/09

2009-10-23T17:00:00.000-04:00

feel the things you need to feel
acknowledge them to make them real
it's the only way they'll go away
or else they sit and stain and stay
look them in the eyes
and tell them what they are
they need to be identified
they need some sort of mark
and then you'll find
they'll be on their way
and you can rest assured
nobody wants
what nobody saves
and now your life is yours

Stardust (at 12-13)

2009-10-22T17:00:00.000-04:00

Swimming in the moonlight
of a purple sky
I wish I may I wish I might
Sprout wings to the heavens I'll fly

Star light, star bright
I want to soar
Above my fright
An open door
Closing the night
Don't die now
I need your light
Into the aquamarine
I will take flight
I will be seen
yet out of sight
The blue abyss
Amidst the night
A gentle kiss
From the clouds snuggling tight
Make me a new day
Bring me into the light
I wish I may I wish I might
Have the wish I wish tonight

A line that strikes me from this poem is "I will be seen/Yet out of sight" because I've been thinking about that idea lately as I'm remembering my relationship with attention as a child. Attention wasn't a good thing in my house, so I tried to avoid it. If my parents' focus was on me, I was in trouble. So instead, when I got home, I went straight to my room and closed the door from a very young age. My mom used to say that I could entertain myself for hours even as a young girl. She never had to do anything to keep me busy.

But the funny thing is I would lock myself up in my room, stay out of everyone's way, and daydream about being the center of attention - whether it was being a princess or an actress or an award-winning author. I wanted so desperately to be seen, and to get some positive attention, but since that wasn't available at home, I isolated myself from everyone, yet dreamed of being connected. So the line "I will be seen/Yet out of sight" really resonates with me, now that I understand exactly what I meant by that.

Living Under Betrayal's Roof 1996 (at 12-13)

2009-10-20T22:15:00.004-04:00

Spoiling me to shut me up
Whose fault is it anyway?
Are you sorry you ever met?
If you could, would you erase that day?

Do you wish we hadn't happened?
Or that we were dead?
Because it seems likely
According to what you've said

Disease inflicts our happy family
Invading any bliss
That lingers here
That now exists

We fade into a picture
That captures futile relations
Is neither black nor white
Ingnoring the posative sensations

Note: Typos have been included to preserve original form.

This was written the summer before I started high school - in 1996. That was the summer my parents separated before they divorced.

A friend 8/2009

2009-09-21T00:15:00.001-04:00

A friend
is not
a threat or
curse
a bullet or
a rose

A friend
is not
a prophet or shrink
a psychic
who just knows

A friend
is not
a tearful smile
a hand or
a mouth

A friend
is not
a promise or
oath
a secret you found out

A net
a warmth
a steel pole
that runs through your core
from head to toe
suspended between the earth and sky
a friend doesn't end
she keeps you alive

Spowlil (at 12)

2009-09-18T15:00:00.000-04:00

Eternal pillows
Floating Freely
The feathers slip out
and fly away
Eac feather a soul
Being lost on its way
I am one of those
I falsely believe
We are none of those
I comprehend sheepishly
The feathers are flying souls
that have reached their destiny
Flying souls
that have been set free

Motorcycle Meditation 8/2009

2009-09-16T20:00:00.001-04:00

It's a motorcycle meditation
on a still and pleasant day
the way the engine growls and stirs
my head responds in foreign ways

I've seen you on this street before
slouching by with head in hands
didn't anyone tell you
not just anyone can understand?

There's a breeze now in the park
it carries a message from me to you
just as your hair starts to stir
you feel the meaning seeping through

I spelled it out with cheerios
and left it on your table
you say that faith will bring us closer
but I don't believe I'm able

Nature and I (at 12)

2009-09-15T23:30:00.000-04:00

I speak to the stars
And laugh with the sky
I dine with the planets
People wonder why
I express my feelings to the moon
And turn my back on the sun
People wonder why
I explain that it's fun
I listen to the soil
And embrace the trees
People wonder why
I am friends with the seas
I lunch with the flowers
And brunch with the clouds
I have special powers
People wonder why
I console the dust
and reminisce with the sky
I cry with myself
No one wonders why

Daddy 5-7-98 (at 15)

2009-09-14T22:00:00.001-04:00

I pushed my hand inside my mouth
wondering what would come out
you threw me up against a wall
said I'd no respect at all

The Story of Me (at 12)

2009-09-13T23:25:00.002-04:00

Me
a question
an answer
a being
living and
loving
hoping
wishing

Me
a word
a definition
a meaning
wondering and
wandering
questioning
realizing

Me
a life
a death
a span
passing and
asking
leaving
regretting

Me
a book
a movie
a novel
pages and
cages
in my life

Golden Doors

2009-09-12T20:00:00.004-04:00

Just got back from visiting my family in California... saw my dad for the first time since he left the hospital. He's moving very slowly, but he's walking with a walker and able to maintain a conversation just fine. He still has his sense of humor and remembers everything perfectly clearly, so I'm grateful for that. He said that when he was in the hospital, he remembered a room with golden doors and they were calling him from behind the doors, saying it was his turn. He refused to go in the room. He was curious to find out what was behind the doors, but at the same time he didn't want to know. I'm glad I was able to visit with my dad and hear about his fascinating near death experience. I told him I thought he was still here for a reason, and he agreed. He said he was thinking about going to AA meetings, which would be great because he's basically a dry drunk right now.

I retrieved more of my books of poems and journal entries from home, so I think my collection here in New York is now complete. I have more writings to share from my experiences growing up in an alcoholic home now and will be posting some in the coming weeks.

Bonfire - 8/3/09

2009-08-27T11:00:00.001-04:00

I was huddled in the corner
teeth chattering
white eyes
terrified of what I know
but mystified

I've been battling my demons
on all fronts
I invited them to tea
I invited them to leave
I want to hear what I want

Somewhere I knew
what I needed
but no one showed me how
the desire just receded
and I just shut my mouth

Time stacks the regrets
like rotting corpses in your heart
and you have to inhale the stench
before the bonfire starts

Embrace - 7/30/09

2009-08-25T20:50:00.000-04:00

i was laying on the floor
and in the corner, huddled
a little girl
dirt on her cheeks
tangled hair
hiding something
between her hands
clutching desperately
didn't want anyone to see

a dirty, tattered ragdoll
i went to swipe that dreadful thing
right out of her hands
her girlish grip
would not loosen
white knuckles
bared her teeth
i tugged
she pulled
heels grinding into the ground
i let go
her black eyes bore back at me

this creature
so sad,
so set on holding on
to this faded toy
maybe it's the only one she has
maybe it's the only one she's ever had
i open my arms
to offer a hug
she opens hers to me
and the doll falls from her hands
embrace

Too Far - written in junior high (at 11-13)

2009-08-17T17:00:00.000-04:00

Water clouding my clear eyes
The weather to match my mood
And now I guess I realize
That this whole world is screwed

When you can't tell
The difference between your tears
And the cold raindrops streaming down your face
You know it's gone too far

When you can't tell
The difference between
Your friends and enemies
They must be make-believe

And you, a dim shadow
Beneath a dim, dying light
Might want to know
That I cried for you tonight

3010 - 7/26/09

2009-08-14T20:00:00.000-04:00

We were standing in a meadow
You handed me some fruit
you must have heard me wrong
what i asked for was the truth
there's a creek that trickles by
it reminds me of my youth
imaginings and trapped tadpoles
but what's that got to do with you?
it feels the same somehow
the way it felt being at home
the silence the sadness
the shame surrounds what i don't know
i guess this means it's time to go
cause it's too soon to remember
go through all that again
a good time for me is never
but let's re-convene in 3010

Capacity - sometime in junior high (at 11-13)

2009-08-13T20:00:00.000-04:00

The tears will easily wash away
But the pain always remains
Filling me up with emptiness
Everywhere it goes, it stains

Bleeding from the inside out
Hollow and incomplete
Conspicuous and abstract
If only it were discreet

They say the sun will always shine
The moon will always glow
But perhaps for a Time
In search of nothing they will go

I was obsessed with the sun and moon around this age. I wallpapered my room in sun and moon patterns, bought journals with the sun and moon on the covers, and wrote about it a lot. I'm trying to figure out what that was all about. I'm thinking something about a mother and father to me or some consistency in my life that they provided... I don't know. I'm still sitting on that one.

Current - 8/3/09

2009-08-12T23:23:00.003-04:00

Sleeping with a wet rag
I want to feel a dream
I've been overly exhausted
and towed downstream
currents push and then they pull
my body's an open sore
my past just keeps on surfacing
I can't ignore it anymore
the deeper it gets
the uglier the wounds
the more I forget
the more I get confused
didn't anyone love me?
did anyone even try?
I was a lonesome girl
with a propensity to cry
and now I'm struggling
just to stay afloat
my dream to swim upstream
feels impossibly remote

My mom's little girl

2009-08-06T18:30:00.000-04:00

So I asked my mom to read some ACoA lit, so that we could begin to talk about the elephant in the room - our alcoholic family. My mom left my dad when I was around 13, and she did a lot of work on herself to the point where we have had a fairly good relationship, but we haven't discussed or healed from our painful past. I decided to give it a go by asking her to read some books to inform herself. I felt that was the best way to broach the subject and I was so angry at her that I didn't trust myself to give her the information in an impartial way. I wanted her to learn about alcoholic families first and make her own connections.

So, she called me Sunday and said she read the first book I suggested, Adult Children of Alcoholics Syndrome by Kritsberg, in one sitting. She said she went through a whole tissue box too. All those years she thought she was protecting us, she realized she wasn't. She said she saw me and my two brothers throughout the book. She apologized for getting help for herself, but for not getting us help and for not seeing how much pain I was in. When she asked how I was doing, I shrugged and said I was fine, and she regretted not probing more and taking my responses at face value. She hopes I can forgive her. I told her that I do too, but I have to feel the anger that's been coming up before I can forgive her. I said I wanted to continue talking about it because it's not the type of thing that's resolved in one conversation. She was open to that and even got online to look up Al-Anon meetings. All in all, she responded better than I could have hoped to all this. I've been trying to turn it over, but must admit I've been feeling a lot of anxiety about how our relationship will play out now that I'm in recovery. With one brother not speaking to me, I feared losing another relationship in my family. I know people have survived and recovered without the support of their loved ones, but I also knew it would be very painful for me to experience that lack of support from my mom.

She also shared with me some fascinating details about her past that I never knew. She said reading the book made her realize and remember a lot about her own childhood. She said her dad wasn't an alcoholic, but he had a very volatile temper. She remembered him throwing her and her sisters on the bed and beating them. She relayed a painful memory of her older sister going out with a boy she wasn't supposed to in high school and when she got home, her dad was waiting for her on the front porch. He beat her with a belt on the front lawn and then dragged her inside and continued to beat her. My mom said the next day at breakfast, nobody said anything or talked about what had happened. She didn't want to tell me those stories about her dad because she wanted me to love my grandpa, who died 10 years ago. She shared that two of her sisters were molested by her younger brother. Her family was totally dysfunctional. She said that she was always walking on eggshells and reading the book made her remember the constant fear she grew up in.

This conversation with my mom definitely filled in a missing piece in my story. I was wondering why my mom would have been attracted to my dad, and why she put up with him for 25 years. She grew up with the same rules Kristberg identifies in alcoholic families - denial, isolation, silence and rigidity. I wondered if my mom had become a co-de through living with my dad, or if she found my dad because of her co-dependency. It was a chicken or egg conundrum that I wanted resolved - and now it is. My mom wants to talk to some family members to find out if her paternal grandpa was an alcoholic, which would mean that my grandpa was like me, and my paternal grandpa, the adult child of an alcoholic. She also shared that one of her uncles was an alcoholic who died of liver complications. I think knowing that my mom was also once a little girl living in fear will help me to get over the anger I have towards her. My mom has an inner child too and it seems that she's never done the work that I'm doing now to heal her, so maybe this is something we can experience and share together.

I really recommend Adult Children of Alcoholics Syndrome. It's a great, easy read that really breaks down the dynamics of alcoholic families. I think it's a good read for adult children, co-des raising children, and recovering addicts alike since all of us probably have similar upbringings and without recovery, we re-create the rules and roles we learned as children when we start our own families. See review of the book on Guess What Normal Is.

Untitled - 3/16/97 (At 14)

2009-08-05T22:59:00.003-04:00

Bitterness
an infected confection
deriving
from lack of affection
anger and pity
self-reflected
lonesome desire
long neglected
I took some time
to resurrect
the plants that
died of pure neglect
You just watched,
standing erect
recalling words
you now regret
But thoughts and words
won't soon connect
We'll forfeit all
that we protect
You never gave me much
respect
And now it's my turn
to collect

I think the line "plants that died of pure neglect" is interesting because it made me think how you don't have to do something horrible to a living thing to kill it. You can kill something by not tending to it. I wonder if that's how I felt about my feelings and self-worth, etc. Sometimes the harm my parents did to me wasn't physical or antagonistic, but the pure isolation and sense of abandonment alone were killers.

At the end of the poem, the tone turns vengeful. I carried a deep sense of victimhood with me and I fantasized about getting revenge and proving everyone wrong. I even sometimes fantasized about getting kidnapped or hit by a car so that my family would regret the way they had treated me and show me some love and attention. I came to see by example that the way to get people to show their love for you was through having a crisis. I wanted to have one of my own so that everyone would revolve around me for once. When I really did have a crisis with my father last spring, I felt uncomfortable with all the love and attention, because it didn't feel right being at the receiving end of it all. I didn't want people to worry about me. I felt like I was putting people out and monopolizing conversations when my friends called to check on me. Hopefully, this is something I'll be able to accept from people as I recover.

Untitled - written 9/4/07 (At 25)

2009-08-03T10:45:00.001-04:00

some unsettled sand
slipped under the bathroom door
somewhere someone screamed
and someone begged for more

can't believe the things we see
and the ones who we adore
some sort of shifting light
darkens the parts we long to ignore

i've seen a lot in this here life
quite sure i'll see some more
some unsettled thoughts
slipped under my front door

Nothingness - written 3/25/99 (at 16)

2009-08-02T12:00:00.000-04:00

There is
nothing really i should say
I've never felt so ordinary
in such a lifeless way.

It's not just the way
I've looked or dressed
but the way I feel:
plain, thoughtless, depressed

i'd love to talk
of my nothingness
and write it down for all to see
except I'm ashamed of who I am,

and who I'll never be

My dad

2009-07-31T14:00:00.001-04:00

My dad got pneumonia and was admitted to the hospital in March. He quickly suffered multiple complications, went into septic shock, and suffered strokes. After being on a ventilator and unconscious for 2 months, the doctors told us it didn't look like he would improve much beyond his comatose state. We came to terms with the idea that our dad was going to die, but then he began to recover unexpectedly. I had spent a month in California meeting with doctors, monitoring his progress, coordinating the dissemination of information on his health to family and friends. I was in a haze, as my brothers and I also coordinated shifting the caseload of his law practice, paying his utility bills and basically doing all the things it takes to run a person's life.

When my dad started to come to, he couldn't talk because he had a tracheostomy. He would grasp the nurses' hands and look at them intently and mouth out "Thank you." He didn't say that to me, although he did kiss my hand. He gained more consciousness and awareness with time. One day I went to visit and a friend of his was in his room, waiting to meet me for coffee. When I walked in, I was arguing with my brother on the phone, who wanted to sell the furniture in my dad's apartment, and give up the lease to save money while my dad recuperated at a rehabilitation center for around 6 months.

My dad was angrily trying to say something to me. I moved closer to read his lips. He mouthed "waiting for you." I said "Who?" And motioned with his head towards his friend who was waiting for me and gave me an exasperated look. I was early to meet the friend, but that's not the point. The point is that you can never do enough for an alcoholic. After all the time and energy I put into caring for him. I sat by his bedside, holding his hand and talking to him while he was unconscious because the doctor said it might help. I brought his CDs from home and played them for him. I told him stories and when I ran out of things to say, I just told him about what flavor of frozen yogurt I would eat when I left the hospital. And when I left to come back to New York, a friend of his asked him if he missed me and he made a talky motion with his hands and rolled his eyes, as if to say that I talked too much.

It was really painful for me when I got home to feel like all my effort was not recognized or appreciated. But it really shouldn't be surprising, because it never was. So many nurses, doctors, friends and associates of my dad told me how lucky he was to have a daughter like me when he was unconscious. And I kept finding myself hoping that they would tell him that when he came to instead of me. But it doesn't matter if they all told him that, it doesn't mean that he would hear it.

I am so grateful that my dad is alive. It means that we have the opportunity to work on our relationship. I know I can recover from all of this pain and damage done to me and my thought processes and feelings without anyone in my family's support. But in order for my relationship with my dad to recover, he would have to recover too. He's only sober right now because he's still in a rehabilitation center and now he has cirrhosis. So, it's exciting that for the first time in my life, my dad is sober. But it's also scary. I am just grateful for the opportunity. However it plays out is not something I control. I can try to have conversations with my father and he can choose to do whatever he wants with that.

Untitled - written on the back of a playbill 2002 (At 20)

2009-07-30T21:00:00.000-04:00

smoked a cigarette
a man told me it's 12:22
sitting with my head in my hands
and nothing left to do

i'm waiting for the bus now
it seems i always wait for something
and this is just one day -
another way to wait for you

oh i can talk -
i can tell myself what I want to hear
and I know how to believe it too
but that doesn't change
or preordain
the reality that still surrounds you

now something is hurting
and somewhere i'm sure you know you're hurting too
and that to me is a just a luxury
of people with plenty of clothes,
enough to eat, and a heaping,
steaming portion of tv

so i'll just go (just so you know)
this is how i feel
everything is wasted and
you just may have tasted
the only thing that's real

we never really are returned
all the things we give
if that's the way life goes,
then that's the way i'm forced to live

Now that I'm reading Co-Dependent No More, I see this poem from a different perspective. The last stanza about giving is such a co-de thing - to give and give and give and give and then resent that it never comes back around. This poem was about this guy that I had an on and off thing with in college. He had a girlfriend who went to school out of the area. We used to spend a lot of time together and I hung out with him and his friends - unless the girlfriend came to visit, and then I wouldn't hear from him until she left. In retrospect, I let my feelings and expectations get all tangled up in this guy who firstly, wasn't faithful, and who secondly, called all the shots. If he wanted to see me, I was there. If his girlfriend was around, I disappeared for him and never said anything to him about it when it was my turn again.

I'm trying not to judge my former selves, because I know that's not going to be productive. But sometimes I think of these things and feel disappointed or ashamed at myself for not stepping up more. But I guess it's hard to have boundaries and self respect without being taught it at home or by a community of people who have gone through it. At least I have the latter.

My Me - written 4/19/09 (At 16)

2009-07-30T14:00:00.000-04:00

And furthermore
I could be perfectly content
in a cabin, in a cave, in a hole,
on an island, in a bathroom stahl

Away from faces
it is the faces
that will thrust themselves
on top of you
strangling the only thought that
you hold dear:

there is no thought
not a thought in her head,
not a thought in this world
but i can't explain it
of course, no not when
you're around

i can't think about the
absence of thought
because i'm swallowed, submerged
in your world
and that thing to rely on -
is gone.

As though the thread that is me
was somehow braided and
tangled with everyone
else's

And there's no clean way to do it.
Not a nice thing about it.
I want mine back.
Snip.
We'll have to cut, rip
everything
and then I'll have my me

This poem speaks to how I feel a lot of the time around people. In my head I am screaming things I want to say, but I hold them back and then I always feel like nobody really knows me. I guess I've always felt this way.

Untitled - written 7/20/09

2009-07-29T23:35:00.000-04:00

wallpaper
a floral design
dainty taste
of stained lace

family portrait
the corners roll up
haunted faces
before we were grown up

hollowed cheeks
absent eyes
do as you're told
so we all donned smiles

just to make sure
just to be certain
the neighbors believe
we're a nice family

so the flash goes off
now quick close the curtain
before they look in
and get a chance to see

Untitled - written 1/20/1997 (At 14)

2009-07-29T14:30:00.000-04:00

So much emotion,
so many pleasures,
that i can't feel
because they cancelled
each other out,
and i wanted them
but couldn't take
needed them,
for my sake.

This poem was written when I was 14, but it reminds me of something that happenned when I was in college. I lived in the dorms the freshman year and then sophomore year I signed up to live with 3 other friends in on-campus apartments. There was a tight lottery system because there were far more students than apartments. We got an early pick, but we wanted one of the best apartments on campus, with views of the canyon. When it was our turn to choose, we didn't know if our pick would be taken. The moderator of this whole process announced that it was available and my 3 girl friends started screeching with joy and jumping up and down. I stood there watching them, perplexed. One of my friends exclaimed, "Aren't you excited?" And I said yes, but I'm not sure that I really was. That unabashed, girlish enthusiasm is not something that I expressed as a child, so it certainly doesn't come easily to me as an adult.

I think I protect myself from getting too excited about things because I have a sense that anything good could so easily be taken away. I've always described myself as "chill" or able to go with the flow - no high highs or low lows - just even. Now I'm learning being able to go with the flow isn't always a good thing, especially when the "flow" is unhealthy. So much unlearning to do...

What Love Looks Like

2009-07-28T23:49:00.003-04:00

I was out with a few friends tonight in Brooklyn and one of my friends just found out that her boyfriend of about a year cheated on her while she was away. She said that something that has been hard for her to come to terms with in her relationships is not comparing them to her parents' relationship, because they are very much in love. She said she grew up seeing that love was hard work because her parents argued, and worked at things, and supported each other through the bad times. She worries that she will never have a love like they do.

Another friend in this conversation, we'll say Kevin told her that his parents are also very in love and he has the same fear. He told her something his mom told him once when he expressed this fear to her. She said that his love will look different from hers because it will be a different kind of love, but that he has the good fortune of knowing what love looks like because he saw it between them growing up. She told him not to compare his relationships to theirs, but to use what he knows about love to find someone.

I thought it was very sweet that Kevin shared this with my friend, but it also made me very sad to hear two friends discuss their functional families. I envied the open communication Kevin had with his mom and the idea of growing up in a home without a distorted love. I know all families have thier problems and that there is pain in any family or relationship, but I also know that there is a stark contrast between the type of home I grew up in and a home with love and without alcoholism. There was and is love in my family, but it has always been distorted, fleeting, and usually unfulfilling. I am truly happy for my friends that they have that model, just as much as I'm sad for me that I don't. I struggle with love and I have to say that I don't know what it looks like. And that's okay. It's another thing to explore. I'll add it to the list. And it's kind of a relief to think that whatever relationships I've had previous to this were not love. So whatever it is, it can only be better, right?

Your Little Boy - written 7/8/09

2009-07-28T16:32:00.000-04:00

For James

You said you took a lot of beatings
when you were young
but you weren't a bad kid

Well I wasn't either
but I took a lot of shit
I believed it when I was told
I was selfish, rude, irresponsible

Now I know
They were calling me
All the things they believed
about themselves
and when they punished me
they were punishing themselves

I asked too many questions
I noticed too much
I used to go on the roof
and cry
until they blamed me
for the leaks

Where did you go
to be alone?
I know you had a place
I can picture you
tears welling in your brown eyes
before falling down your freckled face

I just want to send my little girl
to give that little boy a hug
we would have been fast friends
We could have protected each other
from the world
We were so fragile
so young
If only we'd had each other then
who knows what we would have become

Adolescence - written 9-19-1999

2009-07-27T23:30:00.000-04:00

This poem kills me. I wrote it 9-19-99 at 1:10 AM - I've always been a night-person, as my mom called it. Others call it insomnia. I was 17. Here goes:

Adolescence

I have vowed to remember
remember my youth
because forgetting is death
and I owe my children something

I have vowed to remember
bringing outlawed clothing
stuffed in my backpack
and changing in the bathroom
before school

I refuse to forget
the names I was called
in angry moments
by those who conceived me
(how could you berate me?)

Always in my mind
the way you thought you owned me
I had no privacy
I was only an ungrateful tumor -
it was a part of you

I take it all,
remember it.
I owe my children
that much.

Wow. I was 17 and held with me the reality of my childhood and my particularly painful adolescence. And then, despite my vow to myself, I forgot it. Denied it for years. I really feel sometimes like these poems I wrote when I was living at home are direct messages to my adult self. It's so odd. I feel like my younger self has so much to teach me.

Family Roles

2009-07-27T11:39:00.000-04:00

Just uncovering some more stuff from my past in thinking about the roles we played as a family. My dad had the starring role as the alcoholic. What's fascinating to me is how that upsets and distorts everyone else around the "star." So my mom was frustrated, angry, negative, stressed and controlling. The oldest child in my family, "Peter," was the so-called perfect child. He was an athlete, went out with pretty girls, and got into a prestigious university. So then the middle child in my family, "John" was a drug addict. And little old me, the youngest was the peacemaker, the scapegoat. Whatever.

My mom was so angry and unhappy about her lot in life that she took it out on me. But why me? I just realized. Peter was far too perfect. How could you take out your anger on someone who was such a perfect child? And John, well he had a very serious problem. How can you take your anger out on someone who is so sick and especially considering that you're worried about said child ALL the time? The range of John's problems ran the gamut from run-ins with the law to running away to expulsions from school to being stabbed and winding up in the ICU. And then there was me. I wasn't a straight-A student and I didn't have a huge problem to compell everyone to take it easy on me either. So I was an easy target. My brothers followed suit in directing blame and anger towards me - the bottom feeder. I was punished far more severely than John for minor infractions.

Going across the street to McDonalds when I said I would be at Taco Bell -grounded 1 week

Failing 8th grade math - grounded the ENTIRE summer and I had to make the class up in summer school. And now that I am recovering, I wonder, how did my parents allow me to fail a class when I was only 13? I shouldn't have been allowed to make that sort of a choice for myself. They had no idea what was going on at school.

Making friends with a few girls in junior high my mom didn't like - banned from seeing them. They were not allowed to my house and I was not allowed to meet up with them outside.

And yet I saw my brother tell far taller tales than which fast food chain he ate at. I saw him get kicked out of schools and skipping classes and he didn't get punished at all. I saw him hanging out with friends who used with him. I grew up with a sense of very personal injustice. I quite literally could not do anything right. And when John did everything wrong, there was no consequence. The phrase "It's not fair" is like my mantra. I know I need to change that. I'm not a victim and I want to break the cycle of being comfortable in relationships with people where I feel undervalued and unjustly blamed.

Anyway, these roles in my family still persist today. John, after going to rehab at 16 and relapsing until he was 25, finally decided to join the army. He spent a year and a half in Iraq and these same dynamics were perpetuated. Everyone was worried sick about John and Peter got his MBA and landed a lucrative finance job. John is now out of the army and going to school on the G.I. bill. When I visit home, everyone is so enamored with Peter's super-success, his travels, his quest to buy a home. And everyone is so relieved that John is alive and well after all the ways it could have turned out. And my mom still takes out her anger on me. It's amazing how the saner you get, the more insanity you see.

My Place - written 9/4/07

2009-07-27T00:13:00.000-04:00

Isn't it over yet?
Hasn't the birdie taken the bait?
You said, shut up little girl
impatience is for those who wait

I stomped my foot
and I shook my head
you said, quiet foolish girl
you keep fussing
I'll put you to bed

So I bit my mouth shut
and turned red in the face
now they say, speak up girl
but I already know my place

This poem is interesting to me, because I wasn't in recovery yet in 2007. I'm often surprisingly unaware of what my poems are about, so I bet I didn't even realize it at the time, though it seems so obvious now to be about denial and repressed feelings I grew up with and how it continued to affect me as an adult.

In a Time

2009-07-24T12:00:00.000-04:00

I wrote this poem sometime in junior high. I'm always kind of amazed at how wise I seemed as a tween, and how naive I grew with time as denial sunk in deeper and deeper. This poem seems to track my more careless childhood and then identifies its abrupt ending and the onset of isolation, and ends on a note of numbness, which is where I ended up and am just now working to undo. I noticed from going through my junior high and high school poems including this one that I directed a lot of animosity and anger at my friends, blaming them for not identifying with my pain. Looking back, I feel more understanding towards them. They were just tweens and teenagers worried about boys, makeup, and what have you. It wasn't reasonable to expect that they could have supported me in what I was going through living in an alcoholic household. My parents or other adults in my life should have been the ones to recognize the pain I was in and provide support.

Note: I am preserving the formatting and typos of my old poems. I feel as though they were written by another person and it isn't my place to alter them in any way.

In a Time

In a time
the sun always shone
upon my happiness
I ran from nothing
and never cared

In a time
I listened to you
I never wanted to die
Until my life was through

Now I wish for an early ending
To come to me
Take me away from this
And somehow make them see

In a time
All that mattered
was pleasing you
With that hope shattered
Leaving everything blue

In a time
The days were short
My friends were real
Not lying chameleons
But now I can feel

The pain, no gain

When all that hurt was physical
And falling down
had a different meaning
All my thoughts are circling round
And where they stop is void
of feeling

The shallowness of not caring anymore
The waves are crashing a nonexistant shore

Burning It - written 7/19

2009-07-23T23:31:00.003-04:00

Burning It

Burning it back to life
and not to numb the pain
it's a different sensation
I'll follow you today

I've been on a warpath
all breastplates and javelins
like some sort of viking
but nothing ever really happens

Warpaint smears my face
and drips into my eyes
planning top secret sneak attacks
the greatest enemy is compromise

so i guess you could say
it's not working out
it's something i have to admit
so if we're gonna do this your way
I'll need a little time
and a lot of gentle encouragement

Chaos Living - from the Swarmite

2009-07-23T21:47:00.002-04:00

I love this post. I'm the child of an alcoholic, but I've never had problems with addiction. But the more I read about addict behavior, the more I see myself in the descriptions. Even though I never got into any substances on a prolonged basis, I have all the emotional characteristics of addicts. I completely relate to this post about living chaotically. When I moved into my first apartment in college, my roommates must have thought I was crazy. I didn't unpack for months, I collected glasses from the kitchen in my room, left my stuff everywhere. I literally didn't know how to take care of myself. It still crops up and the key, as the Swarmite says, is confronting it. So true. So hard to do. But it feels so good when you do. Check it out: Chaos Living

Repressed Anger

2009-07-23T21:32:00.000-04:00

One of the things that really hurt and surprised me as I began to go through the recovery process - well first a word on recovery. So I'm new to all this stuff and am just now embracing the word "recover" at all, and here's my understanding of it so far.

First, I was open to learning about Adult Children of Alcoholics and curious about the idea that growing up in the kind of home that I did could have had a lasting effect on me today in relationships, work, and life in general. Then, I educated myself through books, websites, and after I got the nerve up - Al-Anon meetings. As I educated myself, I began to remember things and put them into a framework of things that families of alcoholics do and feel. I was able to look at my memories in a new way and think, "That was my mom in denial." Or... "That was my dad and his alcoholism demanding perfection from me." It was really liberating to be able to understand so many interactions by thinking of them from an educated viewpoint instead of from the viewpoint of a little girl who had no idea why these people who were supposed to love and support her were always so angry.

And then I started to feel really angry and sorry for myself. Most of my anger was targeted at my mom, which was weird to me, because she wasn't the alcoholic. But, since we now have what I would have previously described as a close relationship, I had blocked out a lot of my memories of her and the hurtful way she treated me. My dad's problems were more obvious to me, as was my anger toward him. I was angry at him most of my life, but as I've gotten older, I've felt more protective and sympathetic toward him, so maybe round 2 of repressed anger will be for him. We'll see. As these memories came back to me - sometimes hazily and sometimes in razor sharp flashes, I remembered how unavailable my mom was to me and how much it hurt growing up.

My dad was an alcoholic and the younger of my 2 older brothers, "John" was a drug addict by the age of 13. Clearly, my mom had her plate full, and around the time they sent John off to Hazelden in Minnesota for rehab, my mom decided to leave my dad. My mom told me recently that she started going to Al-Anon meetings around 1990 and eventually left my dad in 1996, between the years I was in 8th and 9th grades. Needless to say, this was a tumultuous time at home for everyone.

What really angered me though, was that my mom sought help in a fellowship and got herself out of a toxic relationship, but I feel that she left me behind. I split time between my mom and dad, and after my dad got physically violent with me one day, I stayed with her for most of the time from when I was around 16 on. So, it's not that she left me behind physically. But, she got help for herself, and she got John help through counseling, expensive rehab programs, etc. and it felt like since I didn't have an urgent diagnosis, I didn't get anything. It was as though by removing herself from the situation, she solved all the problems, but that didn't do anything for me and my relationship with my father.

She never offered to get me a therapist or bought me a book about alcoholism or even really sat down to talk to me about how I felt about everything that was going on. I know she mentioned Alateen to me and asked if I wanted to go, but I was so lost inside myself that I didn't have any idea what I needed and I just told her that I didn't have a drinking problem - dad did. I know I was stubborn as a teenager and she told me so many times herself. But now looking back on it, I didn't accept things that she offered because I harbored a lot of resentment and pain. I wish she had tried more, pushed more, because now I'm 27 and I've never dealt with any of this and I'm learning now that it doesn't go away on its own. I was the scapegoat of the family - more on that later. But basically my parents blamed many little things on me instead of accepting responsibility for the elephants in the room.

As I thought more about my interactions with my mom growing up, I couldn't remember a single positive thing that she had told me from the 6th grade on. She said I dressed like an orphan (grunge was in), I was an embarassment to the family, my friends were rude, my room was dark and messy, I was irresponsible (got that one a lot), I didn't put on makeup correctly, I was selfish, etc. The same messages came from my dad too, but I had forgotten how much my mom played into the negativity. I'm not as angry now as I was when I first started having these memories, but it still brings tears to my eyes as I write this.

Ex-Files

2009-07-22T23:18:00.004-04:00

So I traded some e-mails with my ex and he explained his negative, nasty behavior during the end of our relationship (and a time when my dad was critically ill) by saying that he was sorry for it and that there was no excuse, but that he treated me that way for "many reasons" which included him feeling that I was being malicious or vindictive towards him.

If you're an ACoA, then you know how easily people can flip your feelings and understandings on their heads. Partly, I think this is because we were often told the way we felt was wrong. Another reason I think is that things were never as they seemed at home. There were secrets the family kept from the outside as well as secrets between members of the family. I found out after my parents divorced that my mom had been married before marrying my dad. My oldest brother got in trouble for selling weed from the public pool he worked at in high school, and I didn't know what he had done until years later. I remember that period of time because my parents were upset and they had many top secret meetings with my brother. The atmosphere was tense and no one told me what was going on. I came to expect that there was more going on than I was aware of in situations and relationships.

So, when my ex said that I was malicious and vindictive, I tried the accusation on to see if it fit. Did I engage in unhealthy behavior with him? Yes. Did I argue and yell and participate in a negative, co-dependent relationship? Sure. But malicious and vindictive are words used to describe a person whose sole motivation is to hurt another. And that certainly does not describe me or my actions towards him. And as long as that's how he perceives me, then I don't need to have any type of contact with him. Why would I want to keep someone in my life who sees me so unclearly?

So, I told him as much. I said that if he wanted to be "friends" or keep in contact, that he would need to give me an unconditional apology that assumes responsibility for the way he treated me instead of passing it to me. So, he wrote back and said that he apologized wholeheartedly for his "behavior" and that I am a kind, loving, noble person who never deserved it. What?! How did he change his tune from one day to the next? Manipulation, my friends. Oh, okay so the whole blame you for everything tack isn't sticking? Well how about groveling and complimenting you? Will that work? And how about him apologizing for his "behavior." What does that mean? That means I don't know what I did wrong, but I have another motive so I'll give a blanket apology and hope that covers it. This is what manipulators do. They don't explain their real motives. Instead they interact with others in the way they see best to achieve a desired effect. So, it makes you crazy trying to figure them out because they don't state what they really want. Yeah, I definitely don't need that in my life right now. I haven't even responded to his last e-mail in which I was exhalted on high. No time, energy, or space for this in my life.

Repetition of a Dream

2009-07-21T03:22:00.000-04:00

Here's a poem from a book of poems I wrote in junior high called "Repetition of a Dream"
Repetition of a Dream

I swim through a pool of deceit
And sleep in a bed of regret
The ground I walk on withers my feet
Before they have a chance to get wet

I stand on concrete mixed with falsehood
And run on asphalt based on a taunt
If you had the chance to do what you should,
Would you ignore it to do what you want?

I wish on stars that will soon decay
I've wished on stars that were long dead
Everything I have to say
Has somehow already been said

The line "The ground I walk on withers my feet/Before they have a chance to get wet" just kills me. It's just so sad to me now to think of a girl coming of age, who hasn't gotten her feet wet yet and they're already withered. To me, this poem refers to the idea that in an alcoholic family, nothing is as it seems. It's like a house of mirrors. The concrete - the most solid, safe substance for humans is mixed with falsehood in the poem. And the asphalt, another substance strong enough to support our weight is based on a taunt. It's like everywhere I tried to go and stand on as a person couldn't support me, or couldn't be trusted. And then at the end of the poem I just seem resigned. I don't know if I'll ever be able to read these old poems of mine without feeling this sadness.

Adult Children of Alcoholics Bill of Rights

2009-07-20T12:23:00.000-04:00

I love this... from Realistic Recovery

Adult Children of Alcholics Bill of Rights

Moles

2009-07-19T23:53:00.000-04:00

So, my ex-boyfriend has been e-mailing me lately. But, first a word on the ex... After moving in together toward the end of '08, he became increasingly disconnected and when he passed out drunk on the floor for the second time in as many months, I literally started packing. I couldn't believe that I was back to where I started as a child - watching a full-grown man getting drunk and feeling like I needed to do something about it to help him take care of himself. The first time he passed out on the floor (in the hallway in front of the door to the bedroom), I woke him up and helped him to bed. The second time I left him there. I worried all night laying in our bed that he would vomit and choke on it and die and then his mom would be so pissed at me and on and on, but ultimately resisted the urge to go wake him up from his stupor and get him to bed. I was intent that this was not going to be my lot in life. My lot in life is not to be the caretaker of these men.

As a child, I couldn't wait to leave home. Where I lived in suburban Sacramento, you needed a car to get anywhere. When I was 12, I asked my mom to get me a bus pass just so I would be able to get around and get out of the house without depending on anyone. She said no. Literally the day of my 16th birthday, I was at the DMV taking my driving test. (I failed the first time). And when I left home for college, I never went back longer than a few weeks for the holidays, and even then, I always found a temp job to keep me occupied. And when I graduated college, a week later I moved to New York and have been here for the last 5 years. So I'll be damned if I did all that just so that it would be physically impossible to take care of a man who it seemed so desperately needed taking care of only to re-enact the very situation I was running from here in Brooklyn.

And the week I was supposed to move into my new place was when I got a call from my brother saying that dad was in the hospital. So I was in California for a month, grieving the imagined loss of my father, because the doctors basically told us after a month that he wasn't getting any better and at any point if we made the call, they would "discontinue care." We were planning for the funeral, going through my dad's house when he started to recover and luckily, has continued to do so. That experience brought up all these old issues with my dad and family and when I started reading about ACoAs and attending meetings, I started grieving the loss of my childhood - don't think I've finished that one yet.

And now it's July and I haven't even had the time or ability or whatever to grieve the loss of this relationship and deal with all that. And I'm just so tired of grieving. This is like that carnival game where the moles pop up and each time you smack one down, another one pops up. So here goes... the thing that hurt me the most about our break-up was not the actual break-up or the reasons for it, but the aftermath. We were fighting and accusing each other of all kinds of things when I was getting ready to move out, but when my dad got sick, I thought that that would hit some sort of pause button and that my ex would put everything that was going on aside because of what I was going through. It suddenly didn't seem so important to me. But when I told him I couldn't move out as planned because I was going to California to be with my family, he responded by saying that I would have to help him out with the rent if I stayed any longer. The night before I left, he was aggressive towards me, instigating a fight, and I just didn't have it in me to respond, I was so upset. I literally said nothing as he continued to come at me with various accusations and snide comments. I cried myself to sleep and on the way to the airport the next morning he sent me a text asking me the name of the hospital where my dad was. No apology. No explanation. I didn't respond. He tried to call a few times while I was in California and stopped when I didn't respond.

When I got back and actually did move out, he was cruel, insulting me in e-mails and threatening not to return my deposit. It was ugly and at the point in my life where I was the most vulnerable, weak and broken. I was beyond disappointed in him. Breaking up is one thing but being human is another. I was mad at him almost as mad as I was at myself. How could I have been in a relationship with someone and invested so much into it, only to find out in the end not just that he couldn't "be there" for me when I was going through some shit, but that he couldn't even be civil.

So, then after all that without any further communication between us, he began sending me friendly e-mails in the last couple of weeks about events going on in Brooklyn that I might like or a video of some little girl on YouTube that allegedly looks like me. And I'm just like, what? So I was marinating on how to respond to this newfound goodwill he apparently has towards me, and so I e-mailed him and asked him what I was wondering. I said, what are your expectations of our relationship now that we aren't together? Because initially you were negative and insulting and now you're acting like we're friends. So I need some clarity on what your expectations are so we can discuss it. And I turned it over before I sent it because I wasn't really sure what I was going to get back, but I decided that I don't want him to have the power to reach out to me when he's thinking of me if I haven't agreed that that's how I want our relationship to be.

He actually wrote a pretty honest response. So you never know. I was really prepared for the worst. But I'm learning that people can surprise you when you put your real intentions out there. He said he thinks about me a lot and that he never let anyone so close to him before, and that he's had trouble just writing me off despite his best efforts. He said he would like to be friends, especially considering the fact that I have maintained a relationship with his 8-year-old sister with his consent. (I'm looking around my room to see if the timekeeper is going to call time on me yet). So, I feel that if we are to have a relationship at all, that there are some things we need to talk about and deal with. But I'm not sure I do want to have a relationship with him at all. So I just wrote him back to say I was going to think about it. I guess I have a new issue to marinate on. These damn moles.

Poem from an old girl

2009-07-17T23:37:00.000-04:00

I've been writing a lot ever since my dad got really sick and was hospitalized in spring. I had all these feelings I didn't know what to do with (again) and started writing poems and a novel. I wrote this poem "Rocking Chair" on 6/1/09 shortly after the life-changing revelation: I have issues?!

Rocking Chair

haven't you heard it?
the what?
the girl
she talks she whispers
what does she say?
no one knows
she's too afraid

that girl
she sits
peering from behind her eyes
curled up in a rocking chair
holding herself
hugging herself
willing her lips to smile

it's a sad story, really
she's been sitting there for years
trying to rock herself to sleep
trying to rock away the tears

Poem from a little girl

2009-07-17T21:26:00.001-04:00

The way I dealt with the isolation of living in an alcoholic family was through writing. It has always been a subconcsious exercise for me. Sometimes I thought I was just writing nonsensical words, but when I would go back to read what I had written, I'd realize I was referring to a specific event or person that I wasn't aware of as I wrote the piece.

After reading Adult Children of Alcoholics, I went back through my books of poems from when I was a living at home. I feel enormous gratitude for the gift of these poetry books. If photographs are a snapshot of images, writing is a snapshot of feelings. One night when I first started realizing how much my ACoA issues were affecting me, I poured a glass of wine, got a box of tissue, and sat on the couch reading through my childhood journals. I sobbed spastically, desperately wanting to reach out to the little girl that wrote these poems, give her a hug, hold her, and tell her she wasn't alone and that I love her. I carry that little girl around with me, so I keep trying to reach her to give her my message. I wrote this poem "Pull Me Down" sometime in junior high:

Pull Me Down

Blurred vision
distracts my thoughts
The page in front of me
Blurred with ink blots
Tears slip
And then they smear
All that's left in me is fear
Drunk with hate
You swallow more
Viciously pointing out
What you used to ignore
Calling me
What you know you are
With that in my soul
I can't fly far

I'm surprised at how clearly I seemed to see things when I was younger, and then after I moved out of the house, I didn't want to look at all this stuff anymore. I went to school in San Diego because my parents said I had to go to school in state if I wanted their help. So I went as far away as I could get from Sacramento and still stay in California and in the country. I pretended up until this year that none of my past experiences living in a dysfunctional home had a lasting effect on me. When I go back and read what I wrote at the time, I admire how in tune I was with my feelings and about what was going on around me and I wonder when I lost it...

Intro

2009-07-17T20:15:00.000-04:00

Where to begin? From the beginning? Oh, god, that would take far too long. Okay, let's start from the beginning of this year. I had moved in with my boyfriend of about a year and as that relationship quickly deteriorated, I found myself looking for places again by March. Looking for apartments in New York is hellish. I'm sure it sucks anywhere in the world, but New York realtors are a particular breed that magically turn hallway closets into "1/2 bedrooms".

Anyway, that's when shit really went down. On March 23rd, my dad was hospitalized for pneumonia, but then suffered multiple complications and ended up in the ICU on a ventilator and unconscious for about 2 months. I went back to California for a month to be there through this time. The doctors gave us a very grim prognosis for my dad, saying that he would probably never be able to live on his own again, if he survived at all. Thinking and preparing for the thought of my dad dying brought up a lot of issues, memories, and conflict. My dad is an alcoholic and was drinking actively to the point of his hospitalization. I was in close contact with my mom and 2 brothers who all live out West. Being around my family again and trying to work together on issues around my dad's affairs was difficult and painful.

When I returned to New York, after my dad started to recover (thankfully), I was having a very hard time living my life here because of conflicts with other members of my family and because of the pressure and concern for my dad's health. A friend mentioned that some of the issues I was having were very typical of co-dependent relationships. I flinched at the word, thinking of it in its application to couples who live in their couple bubble. But she explained it as the type of relationship people often develop with addicts and she suggested I do some reading on it. Let's call this friend Hope, because she has helped me through so many tough times, and I'm sure I'll be talking about her a lot.

So, I did some reading (and a lot of crying) and I completely identified with the feelings and experiences of co-dependents. I picked up Adult Children of Alcoholics and must have read it in one sitting. Well, the rest is not quite history because that was only a couple of months ago. I've since started attending a weekly Al-Anon meeting and I continue to unpeel the onion of recovery. I know now that I'm far from the only one who has my problems, but I've always been a writer at heart and lately I have a lot I'm thinking about that I want to share with others. I can do this in a number of ways - through connecting with friends, going to meetings, and through this blog. I'm looking forward to connecting with people like me out there, since I now realize there are a lot of you and I would love to hear from you and about your experiences.