Thoughts Running Freely Through My Head Without Commas.

In summer when the rain comes down in loose, free-falling bursts it’s always unexpected and sudden to me…it’s like the moment before a dam of emotion breaks, and I wonder how far the rain falls before I can feel it? How quickly does gravity pull the water droplets from the clouds and can I look up and predict the shower, before it cleanses me…splatters against my warm skin? I like to believe that the rain travels from many many miles farther up in the sky than the ethereal edges of a cloud. Like maybe it comes from Heaven? When I look up all I can see is sky, and scientists and astronauts have clearly proven that beyond the earthly atmosphere there’s a universe…a lack of oxygen but an abundance of burning masses known as stars…planets asteroids blackness and a moon that follows you in all that vastness, wherever you may tread your feet. I like to believe that precipitation comes from God after the dam of emotion explodes because even though He’s God He still cries sometimes…and since He’s God He could hold it all in, even if there’s a bursting blooming billowing paroxysm of water and wind welling up in His eyes because His heart is broken… Even though He’s God, His heart is broken and I’m no theologian saint preacher angel, maybe not even a Christian but I believe despite all my juvenile stupidity that His heart is fragile for us…even in its extravagant splendor… I know this because I’ve done it… Broken the heart. And I wonder how do I always rebel against the Love that delivers me trash the Love that saves me vandalize the Love that heals me? Maybe because God is there but He isn’t. I know He’s there but He’s on mute or low volume. And there’s a life laid out before me but it’s an earthly life, not the Light of Life. How do I find the Life you speak so highly of…the Life you constantly crave…the Life He made you desperate for? Maybe I’ll be made desperate too. Sometimes I feel desperate. Obsessive, crazy… But mostly I just ache. I ache for something real tangible breathing living…a heart beating… Maybe just for someone who has ached like me…someone to touch me and not shrink away or fade or turn their back or close their eyes to my intensity. Is it far too much, to ask you to love me? I’m a difficult person to love and I’d never expect anyone to but a girl can hope… Then again I was never that girl who dreamed of a white flowery wedding or a blue-eyed baby or a man or a happy ending or a picturesque sunset… All I really wanted was to be remembered and not forgotten…to die and remain immortal… To touch another person, touch someone in a way that they could never feel with their own family of origin or anyone else around them, for that matter. Strangers to strangers, hearts to hearts, pain to pain, humans to humans… Let’s examine what’s real. Let’s examine that thing that causes that ache within that heart, and let’s talk about it and reveal it in new ways that no one else had ever seen experienced pondered tasted… Maybe we can even heal in the process, who knows…
Back to rain how far does it fall before I can feel it before it cleanses me and renews the life on this earth? I know that rain is just rain not God’s tears…it isn’t sadness, it’s scientific rather…but then again so is God…

National Eating Disorder Awareness Week 2012, Day 3.

My heart is a blazing fire. Its flames will never be satiated.

What drives

fuels

consumes

you?

It’s National Eating Disorders Week, and I want to consecrate some time to reflect on it. Only…I don’t quite know where to begin. There’s so much that I could say, but I feel like it would all be meaningless. But I suppose I could try to write anyway. I’ll start with this:

My heart is a blazing fire.
Right now I’m watching my neighbor (not literally, because that would be creepy) go down a path of darkness. I can’t help feeling like it’s similar to one I have taken. When she was younger, I used to babysit her, and she reminded me so much of myself. So much so that I feared for her. I remember coming home from her house and I hoped that she would never have to face the same pain and darkness that I had struggled with at a young age.

I sensed a sadness in her soul…but there was a tenacious strength within her that I couldn’t deny. It was as if her tender, precious heart was surrounded by it. Her heart was protected by it. I’d like to believe that we share that same strength.

Now, a few years have passed. She still lives next-door. “So close, yet so far.”

I know there’s nothing I could ever do to rescue her. And maybe even if I could, would I shield her from the world? I can’t answer. But I’m scared for her.

My heart has been set ablaze. The flames will never be satiated.

If you were to ask me what drives, fuel, and consumes me… This would be it. That helplessness when you watch someone go down the same path that you did.

What else drives fuels consumes? How about the image of a ten-year-old on a feeding tube?

It’s ugly. I call it Hell.

…I’m sorry that this blog post is scattered everywhere. I can’t get my thoughts together.

There is just so much that I could say in reflection on NEDAwareness Week. I could talk about helplessness, my own struggle with an eating disorder, Project H.E.A.L., my passion for helping other sufferers, etc.

So…maybe I will write another post tomorrow for NEDAwareness…

“Just like the butterfly, I too will awaken in my own time.” ~ Deborah Chaskin

National Eating Disorders Association symbol.

 

 

Help me.

I’m not enslaved to your silence, but it feels as so.

I stripped down to my bare-boned soul and  flesh. You took the first bite, and I gave it willingly.
I gave until you had your fill.

I am that girl…

 

You Little Tease.

When all is said and done,
(as it is now)
you drag out the silence.

Well, you’ve seen it all and you’re full to the brim. Sitting fat and happy.

Your carnal desires have finished me off, now it’s just time to wait to die.

I hope you know you left me empty.

Boys will get what they want, and they’ll take what they take.
(I was your table scraps.)

I’m sorry I’m not her.
She was always your first-time indulgence, wasn’t she?
I’m surprised that you remember back to your pre-teenage glory.

But I suppose I got everything written in the contract.
(Girls that play with fire, get their fingers burned.)

Still, I call you a glutton.

Keep stealing.

Used up and Thrown Away.

Once you’ve seen it all, you’re done. Well, I’ve opened up my world, and I’m afraid you’ve fallen in.

I knew you didn’t care, but, honestly, did I either?

I wanted the whole world resting on my hips.

Even after all that glory, darkness falls again.

I am a glass bottle… Not so shatter-proof, easily recycled. Recycled. Recycled. But only if there’s luck.
I am a piece of trash.

Well, I’m used.

Now you’ve grown awfully bored, yawning in the presence of my skin’s sallow glow. All-revealing, all vulnerable.

You’ve seen it all, heard it all, touched two-hundred before me. Tasted everything forbidden.

I stepped in a minefield.

Walking on egg shells, cracked from the very conception, my dangerous idea.

I was never so disillusioned that it would be perfect, just something better than this.
Is it because I’m a girl?

Well, I’m emptied clean, nearly. But even so, I long for your touch.
Oh, how the emptiness rings again.