Mostly a sad chapter.
TW: depression, suicide, family dysfunctionNothing going nowhere
Most days are the same. You feel the same feelings. You think the same thoughts. You do the same things. You write the same poems.
You wonder if there's an end to this, a day when life makes sense to you.
You wonder how many times you'll want to kill yourself before you actually do. You wonder how many times you'll want to and want to and want to, you'll wonder if one day you will give up.
You want to improve, you want to get better, but you are tired and you haven't even started. You are ready to be done and you've not even stepped foot into it.
You start to wonder if this goes anywhere, if you go anywhere, if you ever become someone who is worth sticking around to be.
You feel like you do try and you constantly wonder if you are trying hard enough.
You wonder if you're trying hard enough to be happy, if you're trying enough to make something of yourself, if you're trying hard enough not to become this, this thing you can't be.If I had a family
My children would never learn how to cry quietly.
My children would come to me when it was late at night and they needed someone to talk to.
I would dedicate myself to them, I would want them to be happy more than anything.
They would know they are loved. They would know they can be anything they want to be. They would know they can tell the truth.
They wouldn't feel the need to pretend, they would know they are safe to be whatever they are.
They would know that their father wants them to be happy more than anything, that their father thinks they are everything they should be.
We would spend afternoons playing board games, I would play with them outside, I would play pretend with them.
No secrets. No need for a mask. No pretending things make sense when they don't.
I would tell them just enough. They would know dad doesn't drink because he's not nice when he does. They would know dad had a rough time when he was growing up. They would know that sometimes dad sees things that aren't really there.
I would say the right things at the right time, I would always know what to say and how to say it.
They would feel safe coming to me, they would know that dad listens and dad wants to know.
We would have a beautiful house, their art would cover the walls and the refrigerator, they would have everything they needed.
They would not understand what it was like to fracture yourself. They would not know what it was like to break into pieces only to pick yourself back up in the morning.Dysfunctional
You believe you have a good family, your parents want you to be happy, your parents want you to come to them when things get hard, your parents want you to find what works for you.
They have been more tolerant than most, they always have been. They let you be what you need to be, they let you find your way.
They drive you to AA meetings, they let you go to rehab, they listen when you cry.
Sometimes they are not what they need to be, sometimes you hate them a little bit.
You hate that they believe the lies at your detriment. They believe what they want to until the moment they can't.
You hate that they deny reality. Tell me how the family doesn't have unhealthy dynamics, tell me that's true when you look honestly at the past few years. I don't believe you. But you believe you.
Things will be painfully visible, everyone who surrounds me will be deeply aware, and somehow, they never know.
They didn't notice the years of rape occurring in their household. They didn't notice when I was addicted to drugs. They didn't notice when she was in so much pain.
You want to believe them.
You want to believe that they meant to tell you that awful thing you can't stop thinking about. You want to believe that they forgot. But you don't. You know better.
You are so tired of pretending, you are so tired of hearing about how lucky you are.If you tried a little harder
Today you write about wanting to kill yourself but you know if you give it a few days you will have lovely stories to tell.
You fly through the clouds then sink into the dirt, over and over again.
You sometimes question if you will make it out of this, if you will make it out of not wanting to be awake, of the cycle folding in on itself.
You wonder if one day you will end your life. You have spent so much time wishing you could. You wonder how it would be to follow through with such a thing. You wonder what awaits you after it all is done.
You realize that what you do is making it worse, maybe you would be happier if you went out more, maybe you would be happier if you didn't dwell on the past and listen to sad music, maybe you would be happier if you tried a little harder.
You feel like you're at a standstill. Maybe you can get better, maybe you will mean it this time. Maybe you won't, maybe this will rot you from inside out.
YOU ARE READING
Moss and Mushrooms
PoetryI choose the title "Moss and Mushrooms" to represent a number of things. "Moss" represents slow progress, and "mushrooms" to represent growth from decay. This book covers topics like relationships, addiction recovery, and little moments in my day to...