May 292017
 

The pen and the paper have met many times over the last weeks, but the cursor continues to be cursed, blinking tauntingly at my weathered soul, begging for me to reveal to the world the depths of the holes that penetrate so far and wide that not even light can traverse the jagged mass.

Every breath I take hurts my soul, knowing its breath that I no longer want. My pain in my body can be dulled by the medications, but the pain in my soul has nowhere to go, nothing to take it away. I find myself in doubt. Questioning existence, torture, pain and beg the question why?


I’ve searched psychology books, history books, the Bible and my own faith and all that stands out to me is when Job says, “I have no rest, for trouble comes” because trouble always comes.

Only, now I ask myself, am I the trouble? Am I the cause of the pain? Do I bring this hurt upon myself? Do I beg it into my life instead of goodness and strength? Have I subconsciously killed away the children that once grew in my womb? Washing them out to punish myself… Can the subconscious mind even do that? Can mind really kill matter? Can mind end the life of another, stop the heart from having another beat?

Did I do this to myself? I can’t help but believe I did.

I deserve to be punished. I deserve to hurt. I deserve to choke on the tears of grief that can no longer be swallowed back. “I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel”, and the saddest part is I often don’t.

I am reckless. I am on the edge of a cliff unable to step back from the dangerous edge and begging to be pushed forward into the ending gravitational pull.

No one understands me because I simply don’t understand myself.

Life with depression, anxiety, and feeling like your value is only held in the hands of others is no way to live at all. Some days, I wonder if I am living at all. Most days I know I am not.

May 062017
 

The papers have sat blank while my thoughts have raced in ways that make no sense. Ink hovering above the page but never do they meet.

I feel utterly destroyed. Maybe I am destroyed.

The soul-holes making up the mass of who I am, if holes can have mass; they definitely take up space.

My heart beats heavily and with each pump it throbs and bleeds love and loss. Grief can only exist where love has been. To love is to lose.

I wonder if opening up and being vulnerable is worth it at all? Can I afford this pain again? Can I bear its unbearable weight? Even if I could, would I want to?

Would I want to feel the hollow place within me where many hearts have ceased to no longer beat? Where I don’t even know gender or name?

Will my heart be satisfied in its shattered state by trusting that God knew the name? I try to take solace in that, yet have no comfort. And I wonder, maybe there is no comfort to be had.

Holding you in my heart like a hidden treasure that I am unwilling to share.

Goodnight my sweet angels. I’ll see you when I rise…

 Posted by at 12:32 PM
Sep 172016
 

I never knew that I could or would learn to be ashamed of my nakedness again, looking at my body and feeling like it should be hidden under layers of shapeless clothes, covering the saggy-breasts and stretch marks caused by having babies, the extra weight and even cellulite on my bum and hips becoming something that make me hate the mirror all while I am supposed to sit there and look into that same piece of glass and tell myself I am beautiful and loved, when a month ago I felt beautiful, I felt loved, and now I can barely look myself in the eyes without seeing the ugliness that everyone else must see when they look at me.

I wash my face and brush my teeth and when I lock eyes with my own tears well up and trickle down my cheeks, leaving a salted surface that feels like it’s eating away the very flesh that no one should be seeing anyway.

I am ugly.

I’ve never thought those three words before. I have thought I am fat. I need to lose weight. I have health issues. I have stretch marks or what I once called lines of love since they were formed while I was growing a child inside of me with months of bed rest keeping my weight out of control.

Yet today, and right now, I want to cover the mirrors in a shroud of black. I don’t want to see my reflection, or to be seen by anyone at all. I want to tape over my webcam just in case it accidentally gets turned on so that no one can be disgusted by the “what” that I have become. I toss on clothes despite being uncomfortably hot while covered in layers of thick blankets that already hide my body, just so I don’t have to see myself.

Like my ugliness is so appalling I shouldn’t even glance with my own eyes.

A month ago I was supposed to go in and get my annual check up and asked the nurse if my doctor could do it because he knows my scars and wounds and I don’t want anyone else to see them, now I won’t be making the appointment at all because I don’t want to disgust him with my nakedness, having to touch me through latex-free gloves and swab samples from the parts that are hidden away that most definitely shouldn’t be seen.

Last night I wore a long shapeless tunic with sleeves that met my hands and a skirt that met my ankles and I felt disgusting and exposed because I was wearing flip flops instead of something that would have covered me completely, like a pair of boots.

And yet, I am supposed to believe I am beautiful and all I want to do is hide.

Words cut deeper than any razor, knife or scalpel ever could. My confidence went from healthy to non-existent but it’s not anyone’s fault but my own because I am emotional and twist the words so they hurt instead of taking them to mean whatever they are “supposed” to.

I actually thought today that I should put on some makeup, not to feel pretty or playful, but to hide the disgusting skin I am in. Instead I stayed in bed all day because no one would want to see me anyway.

Because, I am ugly.

Sep 122016
 

Dust in the Snow –October 11 006 –Marisa Slusarcyk

Overthinking all that should be forgot

Took my blood without a second thought

You lied, I cried

Only wish one had died

The pain inside is obvious to see

Branded into her blood ridden lines of three

Push through the window braking hard to stop

I see you, I feel you

And as I come to a slow

You’re gone,

Like dust in the snow

Forever it feels you’ll bounce in my head

Get out of me, get out now

You’ve played enough games

Please take your final bow

My heart is broken

But for you it does not mourn

The scars on the outside match those on thee in

The life I have led

Because of you

Is buried in sin

One day you will pay as I do now

God is the forgiving type

But for you I don’t see how

In hell you will burn to ashes each day

Forgotten,

Like dust in the snow

 Posted by at 11:45 PM
Sep 122016
 

Shattered and shaking I couldn’t get the figurative yet really real feel of the steal out of my hands enough, with broken hearts and eyes that couldn’t barricade the tears I tossed them back to their owners knowing it wasn’t who I was to control a lock, to control anything at all.

The uneasy fear of being responsible quickly replaced by the instant regrets screaming inside my head “what have you done?” while simultaneously being happy to be free from the responsibility of it all. My heart crying tears from failing and my soul locking itself away behind imaginary bars that keep me contained and locked away from everything that hurts…

Unfortunately, the pain still slithers on through the bars though, it reaches in and spills my guts out of my abdomen and then forces me to clean up the bloody mess I am making as I struggle with my insides on the outside, killing me.

I realize that maybe I am not ready for any of this, any rules, guidance, and most importantly love.

I push love away like I would toss a hot potato or scream against the heat of a brand before it ever touched my flesh. Love hurts, there are like 20 billion songs written all about heart ache, heart break and trying to pick up the pieces of the aftermath, so I push it away because it can consume me whole.

10 years now since my baby died while fluttering inside of my undeserving womb. My only memory is a dot with a flashing light on the ultrasound screen. A dot with a heart that would know only love as she was born into the hands of God…

Leaving me to ache and suffer and cry and beg to die and wait for a release that I doubt will ever come. Locking myself away and refusing to feel because feeling leads to pain and from pain I no longer know how to heal… and I don’t believe I deserve to even if I did.

No, I deserved the whips and the chains and the muffled cries. The degradation that hurt me beyond any words could say. I deserve the triggers and the nightmares and the physical pain.

Love, joy, happiness, all things I can witness but never fully experience, because God created me to suffer, knowing full well that I would be passed to Satans hands just like the ones tested in the bible were.

My life doesn’t get a place in a book that will be forever remembered, or remembered at all, and I am okay with that…

I just need to stop fucking up my own life long enough to barely impact others.

We’re the nobodies
Wanna be somebodies
We’re dead,
We know just who we are

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