Fading, Not Fast Enough

He called. I didn't answer. He needs something from me. Looking out the window, an uneasy chill swells throughout my body reminding me I'm alive.

He's dissolving into the past, like this winter's melting snow. Except, he's still around like the iced over melt, every morning. I spent a few days looking over my shoulder. 

• Was he in town?
• Is he watching?

I forget my fear until reminded; and, I tremble. I'm the first one to ask, "Why did you stay?" At the time, it wasn't that I forgot he stole my breath one night. He insisted I not linger on the memory. The act. The betrayal and danger he's made of. Instead, he used a steady stream of wine and cheese, perfectly seared steaks, and episodes of 'Vikings' to convince me it didn't happen. His survival method is insidiously quiet and devastating. 

Writing helps as you know. I filter through the noise made up of emotions. I cleanse and purge the tar the memories of him are (and there are many). The words will pour out until the cauldron is empty. Sorry, friends. Who the hell is this for, anyway? Certainly, not for you. 

// Trainwreck by Banks

Hey
I heard it from the state
They told me you were never gonna let me get away
And if you tell me fiction, you will never get me back
I had to get away, I had to get away, ay, ay
Hey
You try to compensate
You thinking with your one brain, watch you decapitate
You show me all your letters and I should've confiscated
Put my eyes away, and I had to get away

Talking to ears that have been deaf for as long as I can remember
A self-medicated handicap so I speak to myself
And I try so hard to get his stupid deaf ears to hear
That have become illiterate, I've become dumb
Hey, hey, hey

When I'd come through
You were dark blue
And I saved you
From your darker days
Born to
Take care of you
Oh, I thought so
Baby, it was just a phase

Hey
I heard it from the state
They told me you were never gonna let me get away
And if you tell me fiction, you will never get me backI had to get away, I had to get away, I had to get away
Hey
You try to compensate
You thinking with your one brain, watch you decapitate
You show me all your letters and I should've confiscated
Put my eyes away, and I had to get away

Shut down by a guy I never wanted to kiss
Not gonna hear this singing of this ringing triumph thing
And I'm chugging along in a train
And I'm heading the wrong way, and I'm a trainwreck
And my heart goes beat, beat, beat to the music of this sad same song
It's quite depressing, there's no fixing to the problem
When you're talking to an idiot

When I'd come through
You were dark blue
And I saved you
From your darker days
Born to
Take care of you
Oh, I thought so
Baby, it was just a phase
Saving
Only made me
Just a dreamer
But I soon found out
That the traintracks
Were behind me
Tried to warn me
Oh, but my ears went out

When I'd come through
You were dark blue
And I saved you
From your darker days
Born to
Take care of you
Oh, I thought so
Baby, it was just a phase

Hey
I heard it from the state
They told me you were never gonna let me get away
And if you tell me fiction, you will never get me back
I had to get away, I had to get away, I had to get away
Hey
You try to compensate
You thinking with your one brain, watch you decapitate
You show me all your letters and I should've confiscated
Put my eyes away, and I had to get away

Songwriters: Dacoury Natche / Jesse Rogg / Aron Forbes / Jillian Banks / Tim Anderson

Trainwreck lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc

When Good Things Happen, Bad Things Follow

To write through it is to face it.
I'm not so sure I'm doing that.
In fact, I don't look at it at all.
I won't acknowledge the view through the looking glass.

All my words are tainted with his violence and disregard.

No poem without sadness and shame exists.
No story without anger and fury can I write.

All I know is when good things happen, bad things follow. -- (c)deyanira.

Beat Your Own Drum

I can't get the words out of my head. They've been rattling around all day it seems. This song appears in the movie The Greatest Showman. I haven't seen it yet (to the dismay of friends). When Kesha stopped making music, it was because she was caught in an abusive relationship. She made an attempt to leave, and he held her career hostage.  She was mishandled and mistreated by a man she once trusted. 

Her music now speaks of growth, transformation, survival, acceptance, and new inner joy and peace. Coming forward to the public and placing herself on center stage is more than just brave. It's a love and respect for herself and what she's endured. The best lessons we learn are from witnessing vulnerability of others.

At the center of that vulnerability, we find our greatest strength.  

Don't shy away, dear reader. Don't hide. 

"I am brave, I am bruised
I am who I'm meant to be, this is me
Look out 'cause here I come
And I'm marching on the beat I drum
I'm not scared to be seen
I make no apologies, this is me"

// "This is Me" by Kesha

Exposed

I said the thing, used the word, invoked His name. It sounded foreign. Unknown. Distant and valueless. It would hurt him to know. He values admiration. Expects adoration. Is insulted to receive any other kind of attention. A year ago - how do I explain? A few days ago I was asked why I missed a significant fundraising event last Fall. 

"I experienced a concussion," I calmly said. 

I made a mental note of just how calmly I said it and then immediately felt awkward because I had no follow-up to that. As expected by most everyone I've said it too (which aren't many), the person gave me a surprised look and showed immediate concern. I knew not what to say without shedding more fragments of that past life with a dangerous man I was lucky to have gotten away from. 

"It's OK. I'm alright," I said in a knee-jerk reaction.

We do that, it turns out, to make you feel better, or less guilty, or not sorry about our circumstances. All it does is diminish an experience that deserves acknowledgment. I hate I did that, but there was no way to walk it back without getting into the details.

I said it calmly and conversationally to another person. That's growth. It has to be.

domestic-violence-awareness

In Color

I've craved the feeling of painting while at home. My weekly visits to my favorite pottery store aren't enough lately. Several years ago I bought a few of those adult coloring books that are supposed to reduce anxiety and increase concentration. They frustrated me. I was impatient. Didn't even like the metallic color pencils I purchased for the sake of the tin they came in. 

Photo Credi (c)deyanira.

I've changed this past year. Part of me is calm. Part of me is erratic. Part of me still cares. But, most of me is looking for colors I've never seen before. Colors he'll never know or understand. It's these days I've turned to that which once caused me strife. See what I've done now? Added color to pages designed to entice and draw us in. 

I've listened to my heart through music and stumbled through the lyrical maze. Each time, the pain that once pulsated through my pores and streamed down my cheeks is harder to find.

I've turned to colors to amend my mood, give me perspective and a better life. Cheesy? Maybe. True? Definitely. Coloring these black and white pages and adding my color to them makes me happy. Happy, like a child. Happy, like I used to be - that innocent, kind of cheer. Do you remember that feeling? It was the sense of the present. Of being fully immersed in your mind and creation. Remember?

Insignificant, Chest Wounds

An open gaping wound,

throbs at my chest.

If you could only see it,

darkness in the cavity,

the illuminated torn edges of flesh.

If you can feel it,

despite the biting cold surrounding it,

warm red drips from my fingertips. 

The wound is insignificance. 

Self Destruct by NekroXIII
(modified image found on Pinterest)