Breaking Point
Woke up - my heart playing the rhythm of a Celtic band .... so fast ... so fast
the mind immediately starts to overflow with all the ways I am failing
with all the balls that are dropping from the sky? - I did not start with this many balls . . . someone is adding them . . one from one by two by 10 by 20
I am trying to grasp the words before all words leave me and I am mute
I explain my life in song - a playlist of the jumble that is twirling in my head
Why didn't you ask for help?
well, well, well - you've found my kryptonite - ASKING FOR HELP
why don't I?
Well - I have done that in the past . . so many times . . .
close my eyes and see a toddler me . . . holding my bottle of milk . . . beseeching someone to help me . . to really SEE me . . . but the grown ups only see a spoiled brat ...and the wounds start
the wheel of time turns . . . and I'm standing outside the school , hand on the window , watching everyone part of the circle time . . stories told . . . turns taken -- but no one has noticed the missing girl and
I stand, staring . . slow, hot tears silently trace down my face igniting my cheeks -- and I am only finally seen when the light from the twin fires becomes too large to ignore
the wheel turns . . this time the sounds of Abba and Bread and olivia newton john play over speakers the size of volkswagons and
I stand - watching from the dark corner - unchosen
the wheel keeps turning . . . fiaally I am chosen . . . by a sweet angel boy who makes me his best friend, his chosen family . . . and my heart is broken by a fact of biology . a primary incompatability and the parting . . . I now understand what a 'sweet sorrow' is - I understand and feel it to my bones
the wheel starts to lose air but it keeps turning and
I stand on the periphery watching the dance and . . I am chosen - a trophy - a doll to dress up until
I start to plan, to believe, and the crash...alone
all along I am collecting knowledge, facts, grade point averages and pieces of parchment - evidence that I have done SOMETHING, made some mark
I -as the advice goes - turn my attention elsewhere and
HE appears - the quiet wounded hunter - and I take his hand - our soul wounds reflect in each other and for a while ... a long while ... .
We create a world - a life - and then A Life - a mini-version of our souls and
they are so much more than we could have imagined
the piece of magic that we will leave ... a ripple in the pond
And now...now...where am I
what am I
that was all just a preface to try to explain that
the PAIN is a reflection of all of this ... and of the weight of today ... the weight of what I cannot name
I stand holding a rope ... 3 inches across ... the threads wound and braided together
everything
from silken strands to rough twine meant to hold hay bale strands to chains of STEEL
So now you tell me to ask for HELP
well I have been screaming for help for decades and no one has HEARD ..they watch my lips and play the pre-recorded tape that they produced, directed, and wrote --> my screams turn to protestations "THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID" but minds are made up and decisions already made about who I am and what I need
