I threw it on the ground and burst into tears,
watched my cocktail of pills spill across the carpet . . .
I never really wished for death
but the thought gave me comfort over the months of sickness.
If she died, I’d die –
there was poetry in that.
I brought the cancer when she gave me life
and in the cancer’s death, so would be my own.
That morning came and the pain came and the tears came . . .
yet one by one I put the pieces of my security blanket into the garbage.
Perhaps there was poetry in that as well.
Though the life inside me wasn’t quite . . .
I pasted smiles across my face,
carefully sliced myself into pleasant and colorful die-cut shapes,
stuck myself to anything that helped mask the dysfunction.
Days turned into weeks and weeks into months and months into years
and still they would all say I was strong.
All I could see was weakness . . .
the attenuated will to die
produced a guilt I wore like my funeral dress . . .
a garment that accentuated my identity –
a darkness covered in flammability.
There was a failure to extinguish my life
and a failure to truly live . . .
caught in limbo
spinning round
stopping only on the poles of numbness and melodrama.
Adulthood came and I ventured out into world,
determined to prove myself worthy,
yet still caught in the monomania of guilt and self-deprecation.
Spread myself thin as communion wafers
and allowed creation to swallow my body.
A lifetime within a lifetime spent chasing monsters
and it took my own creation of life to realize they weren’t real.
I stared into blue eyes cradled in my arms
and I breathed for the first time in 9 years.
Finally alive and grateful for my once perceived weakness.
Posted by Jen Hurowitz on February 12, 2013 at 10:02 am
“Days turned into weeks and weeks into months and months into years
and still they would all say I was strong.
All I could see was weakness . . .”
That made me shiver. I remember that feeling all too well when my parents were divorcing and my world came crumbling down…
This is beautiful and raw, and I will always admire your courage for sharing so much of yourself.
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 13, 2013 at 2:24 am
Thank you so much, Jen . . . . I think, as children and teens, we take on so much responsibility when something traumatic happens . . . we’re already confused and struggling, add these things to it and masking ourselves just feels like the most logical thing to do.
Posted by disorderlywanderlust (@diswanderlust) on February 12, 2013 at 10:07 am
Wow is all I can say. Raw and powerful.
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 13, 2013 at 2:24 am
Thank you!
Posted by snuskiga (Amie Shea) on February 12, 2013 at 11:09 am
Wow Dayle. Wow.
I hope you don’t feel weak anymore … because you certainly don’t seem weak to me at all.
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 13, 2013 at 2:25 am
Thank you, Amie . . . I have my moments still, but nothing like what they once were
Posted by Bee on February 12, 2013 at 11:32 am
Interesting take on the prompt — nice! Welcome to the Speakeasy!!!
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 13, 2013 at 2:28 am
Thank you, Bee! I’ve been lurking on the speakeasy for a couple of weeks . . . I’m glad I finally jumped in!
Posted by Kristin (@kristintwoeyes) on February 12, 2013 at 2:08 pm
I loved how you used the prompt to conjure the image of how we compartmentalize and mask our true feelings.
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 13, 2013 at 2:28 am
Thank you, Kristin!
Posted by Suzanne on February 12, 2013 at 6:17 pm
This is absolutely beautiful Dayle! The imagery and emotion are so vivid. I love this line: “Spread myself thin as communion wafers and allowed creation to swallow my body.” Well done – and welcome to the speakeasy!
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 13, 2013 at 2:30 am
Thank you, Suzanne! I’m happy to have jumped in at the speakeasy . . . so many fabulous writers
Posted by therealsharon on February 12, 2013 at 7:11 pm
Wow
Always so honest and beautiful!
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 13, 2013 at 2:30 am
Thank you, Sharon!
Posted by Karen on February 12, 2013 at 9:03 pm
I admire you’re honesty Dayle. Beautiful, haunting, and honest. I am kind of speechless. Besos.
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 13, 2013 at 2:31 am
Aw, thank you, Karen <3
Posted by Sandra on February 13, 2013 at 4:52 am
Beautifully crafted scenario of despair and its final absolution.
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 13, 2013 at 5:44 am
Thank you, Sandra!
Posted by Stacie @ Snaps and Bits on February 13, 2013 at 10:46 am
Ok this is weird – I swear I commented on this last night! So well done, really great imagery!
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 14, 2013 at 4:07 am
I’ve done that a few times (okay, maybe more than a few)! . . . Thank you, Stacie!
Posted by Mod Mom Beyond IndieDom on February 13, 2013 at 11:30 am
So well done. So full of emotion and honesty. Beautiful work.
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 14, 2013 at 4:11 am
Thank you, Mod Mom!
Posted by nataliedeyoung on February 13, 2013 at 1:46 pm
Such vivid imagery – “monomania of guilt and self-deprecation” – love it.
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 14, 2013 at 4:13 am
Thank you, Natalie!
Posted by Georgina Merry on February 14, 2013 at 6:58 am
Wonderfully dark and very exposing. Well Done.
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 14, 2013 at 8:47 am
Thank you, Georgina!
Posted by christina on February 14, 2013 at 9:01 am
wow this was beautiful and sad. full of so, so much emotion. really great job.
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 14, 2013 at 4:31 pm
Thank you so much, Christina!
Posted by Eric Sipple (@saalon) on February 14, 2013 at 10:23 am
This line — “the attenuated will to die” — is so (normally I’d drop an f-bomb here but maybe me swearing all over your blog isn’t awesome so you can imagine it or not at your discretion) awesome. The entire piece was *great*, but that line just jumped out and kicked me. Fantastic.
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 14, 2013 at 4:32 pm
Thank you, Eric! . . . . And you are welcome to swear all over my blog anytime!
Posted by Esther on February 14, 2013 at 4:11 pm
I agree with Eric — I love that line! I also love how you end it — really, it’s as if the darkness is lightening there.
Posted by Dayle Lynne on February 14, 2013 at 4:38 pm
Thank you, Esther! My daughter has definitely changed everything for me