permaneo.

Posted by on Jun 9, 2014 in blogging, depression, happiness, health, life, lupus, personal, random, thoughts | 2 comments

Practice-11 (640x447)

per (“through”) + maneō (“I remain”)
1. I stay to the end, hold out, endure; last, survive, continue. 
-Wiktionary 

I was born early, a bird-legged baby fed with a dropper.

The doctors said I wouldn’t survive, but I did. I like to prove people wrong.

Throughout the years I’ve faced many challenges, some physical – many emotional. When met with the options sink or swim, I’ve always found myself choosing (even if at the last moment) to swim: paddle hard as hell, darling, and keep your head above water. Tears, sweat, scars – all worth it, really, but you never see the worth of adversity when you’re in the middle of the haze; you rarely see your inner-growth while still tossing to and fro about the waves; you don’t catch the sun until there is a break in the clouds.

But it comes. Always. 

When we choose to stay to the end, hold out, endure? We can do nothing but last, survive, and continue.

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choosing my confessions.

Posted by on Jun 4, 2014 in blogging, confession, cryptic, depression, happiness, health, life, lupus, lupus flare, lyrics, personal, philosophy, ramble, random, thoughts, vulnerability | 8 comments

Photo by Zole4 @ Free Digital Photos (Click image to go to their site.)

Photo by Zole4 @ Free Digital Photos (Click image to go to their site.)

oh life, it’s bigger
it’s bigger than you
and you are not me
the lengths that i will go to
the distance in your eyes
oh, no i’ve said too much
i’ve said enough

Sometimes life gets too personal to share. I suppose that’s what happened over the last while: stuff that’s too personal.

Mostly.

See, I used to be more open about my struggles with health and wellness. I was open because it was cathartic for me, sharing my story, shouting out to the world from my own little corner that, dammit, life is not fair (but entirely livable and lovable). I shared to remind myself that there are hard moments, but – in the end –  they’re only moments. I shared because I wasn’t alone, because other people suffered just as much, suffered more, or simply suffered somehow, and I wanted them to know it was okay: suffering is inevitable for all of us, but it’s how we choose to suffer that matters.

But I lost sight of that.

I lost sight of myself.

that’s me in the corner
that’s me in the spotlight
losing my religion
trying to keep up with you
and i don’t know if i can do it
oh no, i’ve said too much
i’ve said enough

I didn’t lose faith in humanity (though tempting at times).

I didn’t lose faith in family or friends.

I didn’t even lose faith in the medical professionals trying to help me, with their pokes and prods and endless questions.

But gradually, over the days and weeks and months, I lost faith in me. When I sat down to type out posts of hope and the fighting spirit and such – even when I sat down to type out posts of angst and disgust, I found I was empty.

i thought that i heard you laughing
i thought that i heard you sing
i think that i saw you try

The thing about emptiness? Sadly, we all experience it. Some more than others.

And most of us don’t like to share that emptiness, because we get it into our heads that no one else will understand what it’s like because emptiness is, like, way empty, you know? Or something lame like that. We become guarded and superficial and weepy behind closed doors; we wear a smiling mask, while our heart is as dry as a fig; we go about our business as though nothing is wrong, nothing at all – when inwardly we’re giving a big fat middle finger to every. single. minute. of the day, because it feels so damn meaningless…

Until one day you look in the mirror and see that you’re not just broken, you’re shattered.

every whisper of every waking hour
i’m choosing my confessions
trying to keep an eye on you
like a hurt, lost and blinded fool
oh, no i’ve said too much
i’ve said enough

“I don’t know how to write anymore,” I said.

“Why? What has changed?” she asked.

“I’m no longer capable of vulnerability. There’s nothing left to give.”

“Maybe it’s not that there’s nothing left to give,” she offered, “Maybe it’s just about healing quietly for while.”

So, that is what I did. Done.

Quietly healed.

consider this
consider this, the hint of the century
consider this, the slip that brought me to my knees, failed
what if all of these fantasies come flailing around
now i’ve said too much

And though bits of me are still mending, I find the words slowly returning: my confessions of a simple life stringing together, letter by letter.

i thought that i heard you laughing
i thought that i heard you sing
i think that i saw you try

but that was just a dream
that was just a dream

(Lyrics by R.E.M.)

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