harpersv

[harpersv]

it’s tired. being the only one disgusted with me. it’s tired. letting shame’s sticky hands cling to me. it’s tired. victimizing myself over and over again. all the attempts to scrub myself clean of invisible muck have exhausted me. i lay flattened on the ground as i run over myself with a tank. and i grind away at any hint of self-esteem every single day with the singular thought that believing any one good thing about myself turns me vain and insipid. life is squeezing the life out of me with my own hands around my throat. but the thought of releasing them makes me sick because then what was it all for? i have to remind myself with gentle words now; now i have to be patient with that angry voice filled with longing. i whisper to myself that i did the best i could with what i had and what i had was never enough. now i can let go, now i can put those hands to better work. i can go and till my fields with hands strong from gripping tight all their lives. letting go isn’t the crime—the crime was what made you strangle an innocent neck to begin with.

[harpersv]

History is full of people who just didn’t. They said no thank you, turned away, ran away to the desert, stood on the streets in rags, lived in barrels, burned down their own houses, walked barefoot through town, killed their rapists, pushed away dinner, meditated into the light.

— Anne Boyer, from "No," published on the Poetry Foundation blog

[harpersv]

learning to love myself is less about the trying to love and more about the understanding the shame and where it comes from and what it needs from me.

learning to love myself looks like deep breathes as i redirect my thought from “it’s because you don’t deserve any better” to “everyone has needs and yours and theirs don’t cancel each other out. you deserve exactly what you deserve. can you give it to yourself right now? how about you draw for a while?”

learning to love myself looks like turning off the t.v. when what’s on is making my skin itch. it looks like flipping to the next page when something makes my heart race. it looks like nervous system regulation.

learning to love myself looks like baking my emotions and my moods, finding their root and tenderly taking it by the hand and leading it to cool water.

learning to love myself looks like appreciation for the every day, looks like practicing gratitude for my tools like medication and distraction, looks like seeing my support system and realizing how lucky i am. it looks like believing i deserve to live after all.

learning to love myself isn’t just looking at a mirror and saying “i love you” it’s realizing that i am not made of two dimensions, i am made up of every day of my life, every choice, every tear, and every word ive ever said. i want to know who i am looking at when i look in the mirror. i want them to be a friend, not a stranger. i want to love them with the actions i choose to take, not the inaction i ruminate on & in.

how are you learning to love yourself today?

[harpersv]

words that make me think of you

small

afraid

desperate

insignificant

irresponsible

stingy

blind

ignorant

playful

rough

embarrassing

foolhardy

menacing

callused

weak

proud

silly

imaginative

words that i wish could have described you

tender

patient

understanding

wise

brave

nurturing

hopeful

generous

open-minded

accepting

well-rounded

humble

inspiring

aspirational

disciplined

dedicated

why couldn’t you have been the person we needed you to be?

why weren’t we worth the extra effort?

what was your potential? and why did you squander it?

was your pride worth it? at the end?

did you know what love was? or did you simply desire to own and control?

why didn’t you let yourself be the person i thought you were?

because i thought the world of you.

i knew what you were capable of.

i wish you could have seen it too.

[harpersv]

i think something i forget often is how much our past impacts our present. i mean, i think about it a lot regarding childhood, but even a few years ago—that version of me will need to be unpacked one day. the impact 24 year old me has on 31 year old me is fresher and closer than 14 year old me yet it’s the 14 year old i am hung up on. is it just because 24 feels like it was yesterday? when i was 24 i was hospitalized, manipulated, harassed, abandoned, and left empty. i endured it with a shocking amount of level-headedness. i’m still not sure how. i managed to claw my way back out of that hole, though my entire past dared me to fall into it. because when i was 24 i had already picked up and recreated my life at least six different times. i abandoned my religion, watched my father drown, attempted suicide, developed an eating disorder, moved away from home, left that life behind and began another, then moved to washington. all within a decade. so when i think about the past i think about that decade, but rarely the decade since (though i’m still within its boundaries). as i worry over what choices 19 year old me made, 24 year old me is crying in an empty living room wondering where they went wrong yet again. they’re lonely and feel so incredibly unlovable. they are smoking an ungodly amount of weed and too many cigarettes, they’re having psychotic episodes and police are threatening to break down their door and shoot their dog. this version of me was so removed from reality, i think i’ve been living as though none of that happened or as if it is all just an extension of time before that. but i’m made up of more than just my childhood and the world i’ve created for myself has not always been kind. but instead of facing it and giving myself any sort of a break i’ve just ignored it all, wishing it away like it was all a bad dream. will it take me ten years to finally see that time clearly? will i ever? who i am today directly impacts who i am tomorrow, but i wait years to cast blame or regret because the responsibility of making a different choice today is too heavy to bear. so i’ll lay here, reminiscing…wondering when i became so afraid.

[harpersv]

[harpersv]

being alive is like being dead

in every way except one.

being alive is existing in some

ether, the soul completely isolated.

the heart untouchable.

being alive is trying to make

that indescribable thing tangible.

we try to put it to words or canvas,

we attempt to mold it into something

beautiful. we wrap it in tender ribbons

and hold it out to loved ones to care for.

we make a fortress around it

protect it from view or harm or exposure.

we try to name it, but like a star it does not

know it’s own name. it is nameless.

and what is that unnameable, unknowable

soul or essence if not a star or a heavenly body

cast into this temporary shell?

being alive is like being dead

except for the ways that we swell

with joy or shrink in defeat,

the synapses firing, telling lies and seeking

truths. the energy of all that effort crackles

against our skulls and rib cages begging us

to listen. listen. listen to me i know what you need.

while you’re alive, i know what you need.

it’s warm bread from the oven, it’s belly-laughter,

it’s somewhere to put your secrets,

it’s the lantern in darkness, it’s the water

to quench your thirst. let me help you.

let me guide you. dance with me in this temporary

ballet, let your need meet me where i know you.

you are alive, for now, and together we can dance

completely in time with one another.

body and soul,

skin and nerves,

thought and feeling.

in unity, until at last the trickle of energy

fades into the very air you’ve been breathing

and all that is left is the stars.

-hsv