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Misplaced Grief

it’s important to remember while we grieve to not get lost in it.

it’s important to remember while we grieve to not let it rule our day.

it’s important to remember while we grieve to not misplace the grief.

placing the grief on the shelf for a little while is nothing to worry about, that’s natural coping.

placing the grief far back onto a dusty bookshelf full of misplaced emotions, on the other hand, is detrimental.

let us remember what the loss has given us – a chance of renewal, a chance to change behaviors that are not serving us, a chance to treat others how we wish we treated our lost loved one.

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Aunt Stephanie

the billowing branches of trees

swaying in the breeze

there you are

collecting fees

for those who doubt themselves

“you can do it, you will beat this disease”

you sit perched upon these trees

in the company of friendly buzzing bees

feeling finally at ease

feeling the constant, cool sea breeze

you wave to us while holding your bell jar

inside is a symbol of everything you are

a dragonfly, sparkling like the north star

you smile and take flight

“my final au revoir!”

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A Child’s Lament

I don’t remember much of my childhood.

The memories I do remember are best kept hidden deep inside.

They swirl around my insides like a whirlpool of dead stars into a black hole.

But my dear reader, I can’t hide them anymore.

It’s all too much.

These dead stars poison my body and soul.

Please take them from me.

Reach into that black hole and hold them for awhile.

And then, please stay awhile.

I cannot be left alone with them, again.

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PTSD Nightmares: The Nightly Battle

Over the last year, after losing my Mom and my two cats all within the year of one another, I have had nightly nightmares that have me re-live the worst times in my life thus far.

My dreams consist of seeing my mom pass away, become sick, or injure herself.

Last night, she choked and had a seizure in front of me.

My dreams consist of nightmare scenarios: being stuck in the ocean, shark attacks, losing friends and loved ones, falling from high altitudes, plane crashes…..

Last night, I fell through the sky, off of a skyscraper, and I felt it. I felt the roller-coaster feeling for a long time.

Will I ever recover? Will these ever go away?

I’m stuck in my trauma, awake and asleep.

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Dear Me At 23

I am sorry you felt the need to binge tv shows nightly and eat fast food to soothe yourself.

You stopped seeing friends except on the weekend when you would get wasted.

I am sorry you slept with numerous men who did not care about you.

(Remember the one who slept with you, took your cigarettes and then left and never talked to you again? Shout out to Kyle from Longmeadow, Mass. You reignited my trauma, yet I feel sorry for you. I saw those sadness in your eyes. I hope you are ok.)

I am sorry you let your mother, who loved you and who you loved very much, to control your emotions like a light switch….so badly that self harm and disordered eating became a part of your life.

I am NOT sorry for these experiences. They taught me lessons.

I am sorry for the hurt they caused my sensitive soul though.

Now, we will heal, but it’s up to me when.

When?

I don’t know.

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My Addiction Is My Relief

I am unsure if I will live through these addictions. The addictions of life. These addictions keep me going, keep me living, keep me surviving. The happy moments I have had these past years has been manufactured by a chemical substance. How will I ever be able to experience something that instantaneous happiness that GREAT again?

What is it like waking up under no influence of a pill, an herb, or a toxin? What is it like waking up like when I was a little girl?

The little girl before trauma. The little girl who wanted her bottle, her blanket, her Baka. The little girl who was robbed of her childhood and yet forgives those who robbed it from her.

Oh, that little Kayla was such a sweet soul. She had no hate in her body. She had love. The hate came later on disguised as rage. Rage against being forced to grow up without feeling completely nurtured.

Sadly, I do not see waking up as my natural self ever again in my lifetime.

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My Doctor Failed Me Today

I have been trying to get off of the fake love of my life, cannabis concentrate, for the last few years.

I have worked with substance abuse teams, therapists and group sessions.

I am now in an intensive DBT program at this place I’ve received all of my care. In order to be in the program, it is required you see one out of three of their doctors.

I’ve been seeing Dr. I* for over a year. Overall our relationship was cordial. She has a heavy accent and sometimes I can’t follow along with what she is saying, and I end up letting it brush by because, well, I have social anxiety.

Today, I came into the session planning to inquire why she dropped by antidepressant dose in half overnight, and maybe that is why I am struggling weaning off of 1gram of cannabis concentrate.

My partner was sitting next to me when after I approached the subject and let her know my feelings politely, Dr.I basically said “we have tried everything and at this point we are back at square one.”

Square one? I’ve been busting my ass getting clean. I gave up nicotine and alcohol! Why does she just seem to always tell me, “you just need to stop.”

That doesn’t work. Period.

To Be Continued.

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Love Endures

“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”

Haldir, J.R.R. Tolkien, Lord of the Rings