Dear (Friend),

We’re getting old and I miss you.
Sometimes I miss the days where we were curled up in the fetal position, orbiting each other and everyone else like wounded satellites. Too broken to fix anything, too beat to care.
We’d roll around on dirty floors, in dirty jam rooms. Nap on thread bare couches with tears resting in our eyes. We’d walk the cold streets of a city I can’t name in our shredded shoes, our big hearts resting in our throats and trying to strangle us. We’d search, aimlessly trying to figure out how to breath again. How to breath deeply and with meaning.
How to breath through the cigarette smoke and smell of dirty laundry. The dumpstered jokes and food bank treats rotting next to the compost bin. How to breath through the oppressive smell of our sweaty dreams shouted out like threats all over this city. Threats used to cover up the fact that we’re cowards as we roll another smoke, roll another bitter joke over our lips, roll another piece of paper into a ball. Another piece of paper containing a failed letter to another failed friend. Again and again, because practice makes perfect. Ball your fists, balls of paper. One better than the other to throw around, one better than the other to fail at I suppose…

Dear (Friend),
We’re getting old and I miss you.
Sometimes I miss the nights were we spread our arms wide and yelled out at the dark. Our thoughts falling all around us into ideas and dreams as we believed in anything we could wrap our minds around. Our hearts exploding with hopes and desires and caring.
Sometimes I miss the idea that things could be that way again, before you were broken, before you broke trust with me…

Dear (Friend),
We’re getting old and I miss you.
Nothing will ever be the same again, and for that I am grateful.

Dear (Friend),
We’re getting old and I miss you.
Please stay strong. (I’m trying to forgive you)

Emo night, no cover.

Sometimes I get hit by a wave of sadness so hard and fast that it feels like a sucker punch to the gut. Taking the wind right out of me and leaving me disoriented and in pain.

There’s so many people I’ve loved over the years, and now I’m sitting here in my room at 2:44 on a Friday morning wondering how so many friendships just faded or went on hiatus.
How so many people can fail each other. How much someone (me) can miss because shit went sour and then went even worse.
I’ve made mention to leaving, to change, to running away.
I was so fucking broken when I left that I didn’t know what else to do. I spent three years drunk as fuck and shit got bad. Sometimes it was better but worse than before. Other times it was just worse.

I came out of those years yet again wondering what the fuck happened. Again destroyed even further with hurt, pain, lies, abuse.
I came out of those years with a fucking drinking problem and a concussion.
Some more scars and chips to put of the list of shit I’ll never, ever fucking let happen again.

What ever friendships I had saved from before those years really struggled to survive them. I lost more friends because I was broken and becoming more broken. I was hurt and becoming more hurt. I was losing myself and for all I fucking cared I was about to drowned in the bottom of a 20 pack of Caribou green and set my self on fire with a pack of Canadian Classics. Preferably every night. Or die trying. Hopefully.

And now I’m sober. I’m trying to give up smoking.

I’m starting to see folks around that I haven’t seen in years. It looks like a lot of people are moving out this way. People I used to be closer to and miss dearly. I’m terrified to open back up again, I’m not sure if anything has actually changed. Some of them still hold parts of me. Some of them I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive. Most of them probably don’t give a fuck about me anyway.

I miss so many people so fucking much, but maybe it’s better off like this?
Maybe some of the bridges need to stay burnt.

Tonight is a night of sadness and loneliness.
Of remembering the ones that are lost to me, but not gone.
Tonight is for missing you and wishing I could erase the hurt.
Wishing you would come and hold my hand like you used to.

Tonight is for mourning parts of myself that are better dead.
For believing in my ability to find strength even in my darkest times.
Tonight is for honouring the feelings I have and respecting that I can miss people who hurt me deeply in the past.
It doesn’t make me a contradiction to have feelings, It makes me human.

Not Sorry

Today I woke up at Chase’s house and realized it’s 2017. How much has changed over the years. How many parts of me have come and gone and how many things are different.

It’s been 6 years since my exodus to the western seaboard. 6 years since I tried to leave a lot of hurt and pain and suffering behind. A lot of things have happened. A lot.

I woke up this morning with the words “I’m sorry” on the tip of my tongue and tears staining my face from dreams about shit that happened so long ago and about things that happened in the space between these last 6 years.

It’s been 6 years since I tried to leave an abuser and tried to remove a toxic community from my life, but the reminisce and reminders of abuse never really leave a person. They change us, somewhere down in our core, for ever.

I’m not sorry.

I didn’t do anything wrong.

I tried to believe in something and got sucked into more pain and hurt than I had bargained for.

I left to try and get better and it happened again, but in a different way. And that time too, it snuck up on me while I was trying to believe.

So yeah, I believe the sentiment “If you keep doing the same thing and it keeps going wrong, then you’re doing it wrong”, but not all the time. Because if I believed that as an absolute I’d have to stop trying to believe in people and things and I don’t think that’s right. I think that sounds like giving up.

Fuck giving up.

So fuck no, I’m not sorry. I’m not going to say those words. I’m going to try and stop feeling them and thinking them all the time too. I didn’t do anything wrong and the things I’m afraid of that make me feel this way aren’t even real most of the time. You just made me believe they were.
It’s 2017, you’re gone and might as well be dead. I won’t forgive you or believe you’ll ever change and I don’t have to. Knowing that is one of the most positive parts of my healing process.

Forgiving any of you is not my responsibility.

I am only responsible for myself.

Wake up if you want to

I’ve realized that I’m pretty afraid to go to my friend’s memorial on Sunday.
I’m afraid my ex partner will be there.
I’m afraid that I’ll feel too many feelings all at once and I won’t be able to keep myself together.
I haven’t been sleeping very well.
Parts of me aren’t doing so well.

I had a dream where you asked me to show you my life, who I am and from what I have become. My memories and what the places inside my mind look like.
That was the feeling of it anyway.

So I took your hand and started walking, leading you to where I begin.
Taking you through the edges of myself on the streets of a place with no name, the things that I share easily with people. It looked like the old archatecture of southern ontario. Century buildings mixed with more modern store fronts. Mixed residential. Weird side streets.

We climbed a retaining wall and the place turned into Owen Sound, Ontario. I know where we were. I knew exactly where we were.
We had slipped through and into the places inside me that aren’t so easy to get to. You held my hand tighter.
You wanted to hold me, I could tell, but I kept walking, determined and focused.

I’m not totally sure what happened next, but I became afraid and anxious. Some dream details can never be remembered.

I ended up in a confrontation with my ex partner. He was drunk and being dangerous, unpredictable and terrifying. (I wonder now, what depths of hurt is he capable of?)
In my dream he pulled a knife on me. He tried to stab me and was laughing about it. He was laughing at me for being there. He fumbled and dropped the knife. He laughed it off like he was just kidding. Laughing as though, even if he wasn’t kidding, i’d deserve it all anyway. Even if he hadn’t fumbled, he would of laughed the same.

You were angry and sad and hurting. You were worried and scared for me. I could feel what you were feeling. You didn’t want me to have to be inside this part of myself, but you can’t protect me from my past. You pulled me close to you and held me. You told me that I could wake up if I wanted to, that I didn’t need to be here. I could smell you and I could feel you.
I woke up.
You weren’t there any more but I could feel the memory of you next to me.
I was sad and angry and waking with those feelings helped me realized how some parts of me still feel that way. How some parts of me are just now learning how to be those things, how to be sad and angry, and that’s ok.
I woke up and I missed you and I hated my brain for crossing those two different parts of myself.
I’m healing.
I’m realizing that nothing is truly separate. If I’m processing my past and you are part of my present, these things are part of me right now and they have intersectionality.  I shouldn’t feel bad for that. It’s just a fact of how time works.
I wonder why I’ve had so many dreams with you in them. And I think about the different ways you’ve helped change me. When you were here, I got to a point where it felt like I was dreaming with you every night. Now you’re gone and I’m dreaming during the day.

Just to become. 

September 20th

At times I feel like I need new eyes, these days have passed me by.

And if patience is a virtue and a virtue is a grace, then I lack civility today.

I saw them, sparks shooting up from the prairie grass, while I was speeding past.

I don’t remember the fireflies. I forgot the dew scent of the Midwest.

Tired days and endless nights.

Memories are a strange thing, how quickly they are made. I try to hold fast, relive the past, while all the good decays.

Now time slips by in different ways.

I promise this time everything has changed.

I saw them, sparks shooting up from the prairie grass, while I was speeding past.

I don’t remember the fireflies, I forgot the dew scent of the Midwest.

Tired days and endless nights.

Today:

You woke me up in the night and asked to hold my hand. I can’t remember another time where something so simple had offered change.

I always remember that once, years ago, I saw a thunderstorm hugging the horizon so tightly while my ride rocked rhythmically on its ties. The full moon and prairies rolling by. My skin felt cool to the touch in the August heat. I wanted for nothing. Even in a time where so many everythings had overcome me, I could still find tranquility. One chance at a momentary peace.

You brought me back from the spaces inbetween those memories and held my face in your hands. Those hands have helped me become again in different ways. You called me back from hiding and looked into me. Your eyes have helped me see things differently in a new way.

I am greatful. I am humbled. I am real.

30 Days

30 days. No smoking, no drinking, no coffee. (I also didn’t have any sweets today!).
It’s 12:13am, day 31.
I ran away to Vancouver early to be around sober-quit everything pals. Also because I just needed to be around certain pals,and some of them feel like they need me.
I had horrible dreams last night. Similar to the ones I used to have a few years ago in the time following being assaulted by a person I was involved with and also leaving an abuser. It was a hard day of re-living a lot of shit I just don’t have the energy or strength for.
It was a hard day just trying to exist and feel real.
I’m going to America soon.
Everything will be alright one day.

I know I’m getting better,
because there’s no other way.

By turning my insides out,

I come into full view.

And using myself as a megaphone,

All who hear me might look my way

and see

I am all I will become.

 

Another essay about my daily life as a neurologically deviant survivor.

I’ve been thinking a lot. (says me, every time I’m about to say something)

Where do I want to be? What do I want to do? How did I get here? Where do I go from here? What fucking planet is this?

I’ve been thinking about abuse dynamics, trauma and sexual assault, my own history, how things effect me, where I’m at in my (life long) healing process, if I’m doing enough, if I’m being too hard on myself, if I’m not being hard enough.

I’ve been thinking about work and how I just turned down a lot of hours (and money) with IATSE at a job I enjoy and can maintain. How I might actually just have to quit this job because it doesn’t seem like I can emotionally afford it. I have no idea if my ex partner will be on the calls I take. I have no control over the situation. The safe solutions I’ve tried haven’t worked. How it doesn’t seem to matter how I feel because he will always have first right to take what he wants.

How it feels like no matter the distance I put between the abusers and perpetrators that have directly effected my life, I will never be with out them. That sometimes I feel so far and distant from it all, and other times, like recently, I feel like I can never, ever be out from under the weight of it. How sometimes I just feel distant from everything, even myself. How, sometimes I really struggle with being a survivor of multiple trauma and I don’t really know where to place myself in this world. How some days, one thing can bring up all sorts of stuff that I don’t want to think about anymore. All sorts of memories and pain from a lot of different spaces of my life. How thinking about giving up this work feels more like mourning a part of myself that’s being lost to another aspect of abuse (and I thought it was over). How sometimes, I don’t even know what-the-fuck about anything.

Am I’m crying over work? Am i sleeping because I said “No” to protect myself? Am I moping because I’m hard on myself? Am I hiding because I’m so fucking sick of being angry and scared and sad? I don’t know how to talk with out crying. And I don’t need to give these tears to fucking anyone. Crying feels like a sickness, and I don’t know where it came from. Is this healing? Why does it hurt, why does it feel so lonely?

I’ve been struggling the last few days. I feel like slept all day.
Really, though, I got up, ate a healthy breakfast, hung out a bit, did some core exercise. THEN i slept all day. (not really. kinda. yeah.)
Then I checked my internet shit, had a way too healthy dinner, played a short board game, tried to go jogging (my fucking LUNGS) and went to Thieves Bay to see if I could spot some whales. Called my dad. Wrote 8 pages of journal (this post makes 9), wrote a few poems (yep), wrote an email, read countless articles, poetry and things online.
This is me trying to do healthy things when I don’t want to do anything. This is me trying to be good to myself. Fucking oatmeal, jogging, reading, self care. I resent my lack of pizza and my desire to read over watching countless hours of tv.

Now I’m staying up way too fucking late, engaging with this idea of transparency and the project of emotional/personal/political work of honesty in a public forum and I’m wondering if it even matters to post this kind of shit. If I should just give up on this tumblr idea and hide myself again. Really, I’m questioning a lot of things right now.
Maybe this will help someone. Maybe it’s helping me. Maybe everything is subjective and fuck it.