Moss and Mushrooms

Stories about me

A collection inspired by different chapters of my life titled as if I were to write a book about them.
TW: trauma, SA, substances/addiction

All that it was
I never considered it as a possibility, because here I am safe, here I am whole, here everything is as it should be, until one night my entire life is changed in a way words cannot capture.
It shattered me in a way that exists so deeply within my mind, in a way I don't know I will ever unlearn
It is strange that it can coexist within one person, one home, and one life.
There were a lot of beautiful moments, moments I will never forget.
I remember my teacher who knew exactly what to say, I remember the way she melted different shades of crayons into a colorful heart, I remember the way I understood that she loved me.
I remember my favorite toy that I never really let go of, I remember the way my dad read me bedtime stories every night, I remember the book I checked out every year, I remember the perfect birthday parties.
There were moments in which time froze, moments in which a piece of me stayed.
I remember the moment I thought I was going to die in that bed, I remember the first time it happened and the last night it did, I remember when I realized that no one is going to save me, I remember when tears turned into playing dead.
It never ceases to shake me all that it was, because it was lovely and it was deeply scarring, it was something that I am so lucky to have, and it was something I wish I could forget.

Not today, not tomorrow
Something is wrong here, we all know it, but I don't think I'll tell you, not today, not tomorrow.
I'm happy, I will survive this, at least I think I will.
I will paint until I run out of canvases, I will write many lengthy diary entries, I will love a character more than I should, I will start but I will never finish.
Maybe I can be someone good, surely I will find my way into being someone worthwhile.
I will ask myself the same questions every day.
I will paint myself in one hundred different ways, maybe this face will be mine.
I came out of the closet, it left me bleeding but slowly my wounds are scarring over.
In a way I know what I am, I know what is really apparent here, but I will not admit it, not today, not tomorrow.
I will lock it into a dark closet in my mind.
It is painfully vivid and I am unaware.
I don't really know what I am.

Suffocating summers
I told them what happened, sometimes I wish I hadn't.
I am defined by my pain, I cannot hide it anymore, when you look at me this is the first thing you notice.
I look in the mirror and I see an addict before I see myself.
I have dark bags under my eyes, I'm slurring my speech, I am shaking for some reason or another.
I am not the man I thought I was, I have shown myself things I did not know existed.
I feel like I am barely able to breathe, my happiness is made of plastic.
I would love to forget this and I will do anything that can quiet it but I can never seem to stop seeing the stories in my mind.
I don't sleep in my bed anymore, because it happened in that bed and laying there feels like it never ended.
I write about every moment of it, it consumes me and never goes undocumented. Writing is the one thing that makes sense to me.
I'll tell you everything about it because someone needs to listen.
I am drowning. I don't think I am going to survive this, believe me I will not.

In between
I am starting to think I will survive this, maybe I can be more than my pain.
I will talk to people who have never seen me drunk. There will be people who know about those nights not because they watched my fall apart but because I told them.
I am starting to feel happy in a way I haven't before.
I have room in my mind to think of other things, there is room in my book for other stories.
I enjoy doing my school work, I love listening to songs that are about Sunday mornings, I'll show up early to AA meetings, I'll spend time with my friends and we will laugh in a way that is real.
I still have an ache in the bottom of my stomach but I know it will not always be there. Every day is another moment away from my last high.
I feel like I can really be someone, and maybe it will take many months before I find my way, but I will.
It doesn't always make sense, but I know more than I ever did and I believe I am exactly where I need to be.

In the end
I don't think about what happened like I used to, I know I am more than what happened, I always have been.
I still go to AA but the drugs don't live in my heart and mind, they are a distant memory of days far behind me.
I look in the mirror and I see no need to run. I am what I am supposed to be. Every part of myself has a place to livr.
During the day I help people who went through the things I did. People come to me because they know I will listen.
I am not scared of being held. I will tell you everything and I will not be afraid to share a bed with you.
I have a stack of diaries holding memories from every day since I was fifteen. I have written hundreds of poems to document the passage of time. People read them and know that they are not the only ones who feel this way.
I have a long list of memories that have a home in my heart.
I have a home within those around me, I know I am not unlovable or unaccepted.
I realized I found exactly what I was looking for, I spent my entire life searching for a place like this and here I have arrived.