Moss and Mushrooms

Forget me not

This title has two meanings. Firstly, in my recovery from substance addictions I try to remind myself of the dark path mind altering substances brings me down. This may not appear that way while sober, but it can always come out of dormancy if I relapse. The other meaning is reminding myself to not forget the good times. I sometimes forget the good times exist, but they are very real and not to be forgotten.
TW: SA, substances/addiction, medical issues

I don't have to be that way anymore
I used to listen to this song over and over again, I would stay up all night getting high as the melody held me.
This was my little dark age, a period I did not ever see myself escaping. I believed I would be getting high and writing about how much I hated being an addict until the day came where I choked on my vomit.
Those days still live vividly within my mind. I have yet to forget them.
Today I sat in a crowd and screamed those lyrics, I sang as loud as I could and in that moment everything was exactly how it should have been, every moment leading up to these seconds I realized that I made it through the worst.
I realized I could be happy without drugs, that I didn't need them like I thought I did. I showed myself I can be good, that I do not have to be the destructive force I once was.
Colorful lights dripped from the stage, the crowd was tightly packed and the man in front of me was dancing like it's not.
I sing the lyrics with my hand over my heart, I am as loud as I can because at this moment I know I am at peace.

Nonepileptic seizures
The crowd is tightly woven together, I can feel the happiness of the man dancing in front of me, I am running into the man behind me.
The concert is familiar, I watch as the songs I have listened to over and over again are sung in front of me.
My father taps me on the shoulder, my sister is on the ground, he is holding her until the moment she faints.
I watch as her body seizes and collapses in on itself over and over again.
I hugged her. I flap my hands. I hold back tears. Everyone is staring.
I stood in the way of the paramedics, although I didn't mean to.
The path clears and I run after my father. I find myself lingering behind more than once.
I watch as they bring her on something I don't know how to describe. I make a joke about how she let me hear my favorite song before fainting.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I stare at her. I bring my chair closer to her. I am the first to notice that she is awake.
The look on her face hurts me. She has never looked so hurt and confused.
She is fine. She is always fine.
I admire her strength, but I hope for the day when she doesn't need to be strong.

Willow tree
I have more distance between me and the drugs than I have since the moment I started.
They always demanded space in my life, I always ran out of room for everything else.
I watched myself turn into everything I swore I'd never become. Liar, thief, manipulator, cold and careless.
I wanted what I wanted and I didn't care what I had to do to get there.
Still a small part of me wanted to be good, to be honest, to not worry about the moment I would get caught.
After many AA meetings and nights in rehab I find myself feeling like a person again.
I am back to the self I was before all of this, in some ways better off.

The weight on my shoulders
I think I have made peace with what happened. I don't think about it every day like I used to, sometimes I forget something like that could ever happen to me, but sometimes when it's late I am reminded of him.
He seemed so normal.
The rape only happened late at night, when the house was hallow and quiet. When the sun shined through my window I knew I was safe.
Sometimes when I'm up on nights like this, when I'm sitting in the dark I feel everything I ever felt about what happened.
I loved him, he was everything to me before it all happened. I think that's why he picked me, but I would rather be the one who went to bed like that.
Even when it was happening I loved him, I loved who he was when he got home from school, but that wasn't what he always was.
I learned to cut myself into peices, the child that went to school and laughed, the child that had a slow heartbeat while laying on his back entirely disconnected, the child that only knew fear and staring at the door.
I never thought this was normal. I always knew that what he did to me was strange. The kids at school never spoke about such things.
I remember the way I would get goosebumps every time someone would joke about incest, what is they know?
Since the worst first left my mouth I have wanted to tell everyone I have ever met, and I have told most. I want to be seen for what I survived and the pain that I carry with me.
I have told strangers, I've told this to peoples names I didn't know, it gives my pain somewhere else to live.
I don't want to keep this a secret anymore, see the weight I am carrying.