12 going on 21

why you were left alone so long only the spinning world would know. by now. you know it hurts looking back. you made friends easy and what friends. a formula for trouble and trouble looks like anything but trouble at first.

(from) memory

journal #

i would never see Drama alive again. i came back 5 months later from rehab in Oregon, to claim him. they said he had been struck by a car at an intersection not far from where the our mobile home had been. i buried the poor little guy up in Martinez, in the hills. i felt terrible. but all the nightmare i lived over the previous 4 years, was over. i had been beaten, downtrodden, and become willing to let go of all my old ways. i resolved to live differently, to live right, if only i had a chance to live again…

diary

journal #

i was so very sick when i awakened. i was addicted. my unemployment had run out. i was living off of food stamps and the kindness of strangers. i was lonely, hallucinating, scared. i was searching every day for my cat who ran away. our home was a tiny trailer on a truck bed in Richmond, near the train tracks led to Oakland and the San Francisco Bay. i rode my bicycle slowly, calling out for little Drama on the surrounding streets. the only responsibility i had anymore was my cat and myself. and he was the only one who loved me anymore.

brothers drama and shy

(re)telling the story

i can clearly recall my awakening. it was over five years back and i was close to street homeless. i remember the date, 12.12.12 and how some had attached to it an apocalyptic forecast. i was living in my friend’s truck and very alone. i was full of powerful feelings and fears. i was dreaming again of my family and better days long behind me. i was getting high around the clock, for i was addicted to methamphetamine and could not escape. i used it alongside the psych meds i had been described for anxiety and depression. it had become my medication. the allostasis in my mind was severe. i heard voices through walls. my depressive moments lasted long and deep. i was unkempt but i had access to laundry, electricity, food, and water. i had witnessed crimes on the streets and been assaulted and manipulated more times than i could count. i knew a dangerous dead end romance like i knew my middle name. much of my energy was lost to hypervigilance and traumatic recall. i feared people and economic insecurity. i listened to am radio talk shows like they were my only friends…

poor memory

projection of poor memory

You taught me how to survive. I taught you how to thrive. The tables before were turned, and I experienced a deep despair like the world no longer could care…even someone who feels forgotten will be remembered by someone they may have overlooked. I wonder if the feeling of forgotten is a projection of poor memory? How then to enrichen and coax the narratives into a kinder recollection?

a prayer. #archive 2015

i want only to live my life and let you go, please, may i have the courage to walk away and wish you well, healing and happiness and all the things cash cannot buy. no matter how many phone numbers are blocked, hurtful text messages deleted,  email addresses registered as spam; no matter how many doors i lock and photos i delete and letters i recycle, nothing changes unless i settle with myself. yes i am branded, yes i wear your imprint on my heart. and how can i regret, what with all the goodness you gave me before we fell out? those moments in love were unbelievable. i am incredulous, shocked, having lost you. years have passed and still you find a way to me. to hurt me some more with the painful rewriting of our history. please forgive me, but i must for my spirit and forever walk away from you. when i remember you, i promise to try and remember when you were the greatest. we were the best and for a second. no one will remember but us, the flash the spark we were and then were over. and now i say goodbye. and i love you.