Tag Archives: loneliness

Falling

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Falling into an abyss,
powerless to slow the fall,
grasping for something
to give me a sense of
here, now,
but there’s nothing,
nothing to hold onto.
I look inside,
but the darkness there
is darker than the darkest night.
Everywhere I look
the darkness clouds
this experience of life.
Clearly it’s time for a change…
I can hear you tell me that this is all my fault.
I can hear you blaming me for everything that’s wrong.
And still I miss our togetherness,
the intimate moments we shared,
just for us.
When will this sick mind heal,
this mind that longs for the very thing
that wounded it?
As I continue to fall,
I keep wondering
Will someone eventually catch me?
Will I grow wings and fly?
Will I smash into a million pieces at the bottom?

Deeper Under

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Saturday night and I’m alone.
I used to have a husband
and we used to live together
with our two children…
I used to have a family.

I try not to retell the story
of how you made the choice
to break our family apart,
and share your heart
and bed with someone else.
But the pain is real,
and the grief surges up inside me
like a wave
and suddenly I’m drowning.
A drowning person
can’t think logically…
they’re fighting for survival.
All they want is a breath of air.
Just like this,
I cannot think my way out
of the grief that drowns me.
I’m thrashing about inside myself
looking for land,
trying to catch my breath,
but there’s no land,
and there’s no breath,
and I’m sinking deeper,
deeper under.

By Myself

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Self-reliance.
Without my husband there to help,
getting a Christmas tree
seemed like a daunting task.
I cursed the tradition
as I arrived on the lot,
and inwardly resented
the happy couples tying their trees
on the roofs of their vehicles,
cheerfully chatting, 
working together,
getting it done together.
But I had help too.
Two young men put the tree on the roof,
and I figured out the ratchet straps
to secure the tree (mostly).
Back home I even managed to carry
that seven foot tall
fragrant Frasier fir
inside my house
AND set it on the tree stand,
by myself.
Someday, one day,
I may find a new love
who will delight in accompanying me
on Christmas tree expeditions…
Until then,
can I love the one in me
who was strong enough to get it done
all by myself?

Confessions

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I drank some wine tonight…
specifically to alter my mood.
I was feeling anxious
and exhausted from enduring
the difficult feelings.
I wanted them to change.
I want to escape these feelings.
I wonder why I had children.
Sometimes I wish I didn’t.
I wish I could run away.
My children are the only reason
I’m still here in this part of the world.
I’ve thought about leaving this planet
many times this past year.
I’ve had more thoughts like these
since the holiday season has arrived.
The anger is back and so is the depression.
I wonder how long I can make it
feeling like this.
I don’t want to have to take pills.
I want to lick this on my own.
But it is licking me.
I’m angry at life.
Then I feel guilty for feeling angry.
Then I’m ashamed that I haven’t
fixed my life by now.
I keep working to improve myself,
but the deeper I dig
the more faults I discover.
Why did I start digging in the first place?
I could go on forever,
but you probably wouldn’t read this,
and your reading this is one of the only reasons
I’m writing this.
I thought this was for me,
but really it’s because I long to be seen
and heard and understood.
Thanks for listening.

Maybe This Is The Way

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Falling into the abyss
and there is no one there to see me or catch me.
I try to reach out, to grab a hold of something
to stop the free fall,
but I’m just flailing in space,
air passing through my fingers.
Maybe if I surrender into the fall,
I’ll eventually come out the other side
on a whole new planet.
Maybe I’ll feel welcomed there.
Maybe they will recognize me there.
Maybe they’ll ask
Where have you been?
Maybe they’ll say,
We’ve been looking for you.
Welcome home.

Maybe there is a reason
I feel like I don’t fit in here.
Maybe I am not from here.
Maybe I’ve been searching all this time
to find a way back home.
Maybe this falling is the way.

The One I’ve Been Waiting For

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Melancholy.
It’s something about the cold wind
and the way the sun keeps hiding
behind the big, thick clouds
rolling through the sky today.
I’m feeling estranged from everything,
as if I didn’t get the memo
for some meeting
and everyone is there without me
while I’m wondering
where everyone else is
and why I’m not there with them.
Lonely.
Like the opportunity to connect
has disappeared
and I need to resign myself
to this feeling, forever.
Uneasy,
like I know there’s more out there,
but I don’t know where I’m supposed to go
and what I’m supposed to do.
Tired.
Feeling exhausted to my very bones,
knowing I have so much to do,
wondering how I’ll summon the energy
for the rest of this day
when my kids get home.
Longing.
Wanting answers. Wanting comfort.
Wanting understanding,
and knowing I’ll need to give it to myself,
because I am the only one who can
and I’m the only one who does.
It all comes back to this:
When I’m feeling melancholy, estranged,
lonely, uneasy, tired and full of longing,
I am the one I need most.
No one else is here to save me.
It’s up to me now
to be the one I’ve been waiting for.

How To Avoid Suicide

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It feels too hard,
and I don’t want to try any more.
I want to quit, to give up,
to run away,
shut the world out,
shut down,
close my eyes
and never wake up.
********
Breathe.
BREATHE.
BREATHE NOW.
********
Call a friend.
Let them listen.
Cry.
Cry more.
Cry even more.
Thank your friend for listening.
Let your friend pray for you.
Cry while she prays.
Cry when she stops praying.
Thank your friend for her prayers.
*********
Now. Make lunch.
A picnic lunch.
Pack it up.
*********
Now take your kids and go outside.
Meet up with a young woman
who has gone through similar struggles.
Listen.
Hear her.
Listen more.
See that you struggled
so that you could understand her,
see her,
help her.
HELP HER.
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Get out of your head
and into your heart.
Think about someone else.
Realize your struggles weren’t in vain,
because you can help someone
move through theirs
with more grace and ease.
**********
Drive back home.
Take a shower.
Make dinner.
Read your kids a bedtime story.
Write in your gratitude journal.
Go to bed.
There, you did it.
You made it through another day.
**********
NOW,
REST.