Lost. Alone.
Caught in a story.
Rock bottom.
Struggling.
Afraid.
Hungry.
Exhausted.
I tried for a year to believe.
A year came and went
and I’m still struggling.
How do I keep believing
in a chance for better days?
I always want to find resolve
with my words.
I always want to end these poems
on some kind of inspiring note,
some kind of opening into greater things.
Tonight, I don’t have it in me.
Tonight, the sadness wins.
Searching for meaning
in all of this suffering,
this feeling of powerlessness,
this isolation.
My friend said,
Depression lies.
I want to believe her.
But what is the truth anymore?
Caught in the trance of unworthiness*
Wondering what to do, where to go,
what to say and to whom,
which book to read,
what action to take,
how to stand, how to sit,
how to walk,
what to eat,
what to drink,
what to wear,
who will understand
all these questions, these doubts,
these fears.
There is a darkness,
an unspeakable horror in me,
clawing to get out.
It visits me in my dreams at night
and wakes me up.
I feel exhausted by these nightly hauntings.
I want release, relief, respite
from being tossed around on these huge waves
in the infinite ocean of consciousness,
the surface of which
has been stormy for quite some time.
I’m tired of the turbulence,
tired of this endless transition
from what was familiar
into a new life that I cannot see or fathom.
They say I’m at the helm.
They say I have the power.
They say I can change my narrative, my perception,
my life.
They tell me I’m better off without him.
This is just talk,
and I am tired of being thrown about endlessly
on enormous waves out in the middle of nowhere,
no land in sight,
on a flimsy vessel that is sinking fast.
I have nearly drowned a thousand times
in the dark waters of my psyche.
Why do I keep thrashing my way to the surface?
I want a safe harbor, a home,
a place of belonging,
a tribe who knows and loves me.
Why in the moment when I most need connection
does it seem that no one is there?
Why with all of this love around
does it not show up in the way I’m wanting?
More questions than answers,
and afraid to go to sleep
because I know what waits for me in the darkness:
more trance
more fear
more loneliness
than any human should bear.
____________
*Spiritual teacher Tara Brach talks about the trance of unworthiness in her book Radical Acceptance.
There is a deep loneliness in me
and I can remember it being there since
fourth grade at least,
this feeling of being alone
no matter how many people are around,
of being invisible, unseen
even when others say my name,
address me.
This loneliness eats away at me…
something about being different, unworthy…
and I want to answer it.
I want to say,
But see? I have students who listen to me.
But my students always go home,
and eventually I find myself alone again.
For a few years marriage and motherhood
precluded the possibility of being truly alone,
but since he left me, I find myself
without my children half of the time,
and that’s when I feel most lonely.
Yes, yes, yes you self-helpers out there,
I know I need to be a friend to myself,
love myself, court myself,
make love to myself, welcome myself,
YES YES YES I know all this already.
No use reminding me.
The fact that I can know
and not implement this knowing
makes me even more lonely.
What will help me?
Even in the darkest moments
of loneliness and isolation
one thing I know…
I am not the only one
feeling this lonely.
Maybe we can share
in our loneliness, together.
All over this world,
hearts reaching out
with threads of longing for connection,
could we wrap this world
in our longing
and know the breadth and depth of our work?
Maybe our loneliness
is our offering…
I want to trust the process of becoming
but the path is dark and lonely
and I can’t see two feet ahead of me.
I’m floundering through a forest of pain,
shadows everywhere, loud sounds,
danger, chaos…
and it’s all in my head.
I look up and look around.
I’m in a room,
it’s a bright sunny day,
no danger.
But the night is approaching swiftly,
and this is when the painful thoughts
have the most power over me.
I want to trust this process of becoming
but the path is dark and lonely
and I can’t see two feet head of me.
I need to be patient with this process.
I was in the victim story
for a lot longer than the story
of my empowerment.
I believed he shouldn’t have left me
for a lot longer than I realized he should.
My pain is older than the loss of this marriage,
my abandonment, my grief, my heartache
much older than that moment
one year and one month ago
when he dropped the bomb
on the life I thought I knew.
And he is gone.
He has been gone for a while,
and he won’t be coming back.
And so now it is my task
to turn toward myself
and sit with the aching little girl
who clamors for my attention.
She cries out in anger and despair
because I haven’t been there for her,
so taken was I
with the telling of my sad, sad story.
I need to be patient with this process.
Taking ownership of one’s pain
is something that many people
will never realize they can do
let alone go ahead and do
once they realize they can.
I am making this choice.
I feel alone in it.
But that’s just because
no one I know personally
has made such a choice before.
Surely, though,
there are beloveds out there,
kindreds, who just like me
want to evolve until the day they die,
sweethearts who want to own their pain
so that they have the space,
the depth
and the presence
to own their joy.
Down and out
everything
pressing down on me
repressing memories
excited for change but
somehow things are always
similar
I am not sure
of ever having felt more
nothingness.
