Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Monday, October 28, 2013
Exile
I lay here in exile
I don't belong
Removed
Wishing dreaming
For some reason
Memories will not
Fade
Wash away
I lay here
In another's bed
Not my own
I don't belong
I am a drifter
A nomad
Come and go
Day after day
Dreams of
Emptiness
Loss
Destruction
A lifetime of
Loneliness
Desperation
Solitude
Life goes on
But
At what cost
End result
Life goes on.
I don't belong
Removed
Wishing dreaming
For some reason
Memories will not
Fade
Wash away
I lay here
In another's bed
Not my own
I don't belong
I am a drifter
A nomad
Come and go
Day after day
Dreams of
Emptiness
Loss
Destruction
A lifetime of
Loneliness
Desperation
Solitude
Life goes on
But
At what cost
End result
Life goes on.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Tackled
We took the bus into town. You told me we were getting ice-cream. Then I saw a giant tooth on the building and it dawned on me. We weren't going for ice-cream. You tricked me. You lied. Again. So I started to run. Next thing I know I am being tackled to the ground. Lying on the pavement. You were holding me down. And then that old man cam out. He came out to the parking lot. He looked in my mouth, as you held it open. He tapped each tooth with a metal tool. And I tried so hard to scream. I tried so hard to get away. But I was pinned. He stood up and told you that I had no cavities. He laughed. So I ran. Furious. How dare you lie.
Every year you came up with more creative and devious ways to get me in that dentist's chair. But I always won. I always ran.
Today, I went willingly. It's been years since you have had say in my medical decisions. Today, I walked in the office door by myself. I sat in that chair. I opened my mouth. I let the man drill into my tooth. My anxiety level was through the roof. In my head, I was gagging and throwing up all over him. I winced from the pain and the stress. But on the outside, I appeared calm.
I have overcome one more thing. No thanks to you.
Every year you came up with more creative and devious ways to get me in that dentist's chair. But I always won. I always ran.
Today, I went willingly. It's been years since you have had say in my medical decisions. Today, I walked in the office door by myself. I sat in that chair. I opened my mouth. I let the man drill into my tooth. My anxiety level was through the roof. In my head, I was gagging and throwing up all over him. I winced from the pain and the stress. But on the outside, I appeared calm.
I have overcome one more thing. No thanks to you.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Malfunction
I'm up late at night. Can't sleep. Keep feeling my scar. Bumpy and rough. Thinking. How long can I feel ok. When does it all start falling apart. How bad will it be.
Why am I thinking such negative thoughts. Why does night take over my brain. Dreams of running. Waiting. Escaping.
I'm hot. I can't breathe. I'm having a minor anxiety attack.
What is the point of all this. What am I holding on to. What is holding me together.
I think of some guy I never met. A guy I didn't want to meet. But was willing to pretend to have an open mind. I would have given him a chance. My gut told me no. But I was open. I was open. And then he tore me down. One notch at a time. He objectified me. The world lets him get away with tearing women apart. Knocking them down. Making them worthless and meaningless. And no one will put a stop to it.
I think of the little girl who lost her mother. Whose only sister married and moved away. Abandoned. Whose father sits there socially awkward. A little girl who can't even make eye contact. She's all alone. And I look at my mother and still feel no guilt for my feelings. No shame. If she were gone, my life would be much easier. I know I'm a rotten person. But I don't care.
I think of the couples who sit around in a cafe. One shidduch date on high stools. Awkward conversation. The girl is dying for it to end. He notices no cues. Talking and talking. A married couple getting cozy on the couch. Puke. He used to like me and I didn't give him the time of day. What does she see in him. How is he married and I'm not. The other shidduch date in the back of the room. She's gorgeous he's handsome. Playing board games and laughing. An older married couple sits down next to us. Their time away from a busy house. Private time away from the kids. And me. Me and my parents.
I can't sleep. So I rub my scar. Fantom pain. It can't really be hurting. It's all in my head. Everything is all in my head.
Good night.
Why am I thinking such negative thoughts. Why does night take over my brain. Dreams of running. Waiting. Escaping.
I'm hot. I can't breathe. I'm having a minor anxiety attack.
What is the point of all this. What am I holding on to. What is holding me together.
I think of some guy I never met. A guy I didn't want to meet. But was willing to pretend to have an open mind. I would have given him a chance. My gut told me no. But I was open. I was open. And then he tore me down. One notch at a time. He objectified me. The world lets him get away with tearing women apart. Knocking them down. Making them worthless and meaningless. And no one will put a stop to it.
I think of the little girl who lost her mother. Whose only sister married and moved away. Abandoned. Whose father sits there socially awkward. A little girl who can't even make eye contact. She's all alone. And I look at my mother and still feel no guilt for my feelings. No shame. If she were gone, my life would be much easier. I know I'm a rotten person. But I don't care.
I think of the couples who sit around in a cafe. One shidduch date on high stools. Awkward conversation. The girl is dying for it to end. He notices no cues. Talking and talking. A married couple getting cozy on the couch. Puke. He used to like me and I didn't give him the time of day. What does she see in him. How is he married and I'm not. The other shidduch date in the back of the room. She's gorgeous he's handsome. Playing board games and laughing. An older married couple sits down next to us. Their time away from a busy house. Private time away from the kids. And me. Me and my parents.
I can't sleep. So I rub my scar. Fantom pain. It can't really be hurting. It's all in my head. Everything is all in my head.
Good night.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Anxious Sound
I guess it's a good thing I didn't really know where we were going ahead of time. As I rushed home from work, I realized where we were headed. Following the GPS, my anxiety level starts to climb. Memories try to infiltrate my mind. It's slightly hard to breathe.
Then I remember that this is not about me. This is not for me. I am not going in for me. I get to leave.
I am sitting in a room filled with deaf people. They are tied together even though they are all from different walks of life. They all have cochlear implants.
I wonder how I dared think of myself on the ride here. These people around me are grateful for something I find so basic. They are cherishing hearing the speaker's voice. Something they couldn't do a few years ago. They are not reading lips. They are hearing sound.
How can I be so selfish. Why do I get anxious about entering a building. This place is just that. It's only a building. So what if trauma happened here. So what If the past haunts me here. I can hear. I can listen and understand. It is a gift.
I am lucky. I get to walk out of here this time. I am not in pain. I am not dying.
Oh and I can hear.
Grateful.
Then I remember that this is not about me. This is not for me. I am not going in for me. I get to leave.
I am sitting in a room filled with deaf people. They are tied together even though they are all from different walks of life. They all have cochlear implants.
I wonder how I dared think of myself on the ride here. These people around me are grateful for something I find so basic. They are cherishing hearing the speaker's voice. Something they couldn't do a few years ago. They are not reading lips. They are hearing sound.
How can I be so selfish. Why do I get anxious about entering a building. This place is just that. It's only a building. So what if trauma happened here. So what If the past haunts me here. I can hear. I can listen and understand. It is a gift.
I am lucky. I get to walk out of here this time. I am not in pain. I am not dying.
Oh and I can hear.
Grateful.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Baby Brother
I cannot believe my baby brother is 19 today. Does that mean I am not 19? Time is flying and I can't catch it. The past is going by so fast, sometimes it seems like it never happened. Or maybe happened to someone else. Like I'm watching it from a distance.
My baby brother is 19 and he's in Israel, in Shana Bet. Wasn't that just me? How did so many years pass. How did I get this old? I have blocked out much of the past but I do remember waiting for him to come into this world. It is an event that definitely influenced who I was and who I would become.
The story starts when I was about 6 years old (first grade) and I had been begging my parents for another sibling. That's the year I learned about Pergonal. From what I've learned over the years while mentioning that name to doctors, this is no longer legal or done to women. Anyways, after years of test and drugs and doctors, my mother finally became pregnant with twins. And boy was I excited. Every day at circle time, each kid would have to say something going on in their lives, and it was known that I would say "My mommy is going to have twins!!" That year, my mom spent most of her time on the couch on bed rest. She didn't come to any of my school events and most traumatically for my six (or maybe 7) year old brain, she didn't come to my siddur party. One day, my dad came to school to pick me up (which was weird in itself because I always took the bus) and said we are going to visit her in the hospital. This memory is so vivid. He stops in the hallway of the hospital, in front of two double doors (I swear if I went to that hospital now, I could find that exact spot) and he bends down and sits me on his knee and tells me that my mother lost the babies, that they are not alive and that we will go in to see her but she wont look like herself. She will be very pale and have wires coming out of her like a spider. So we go in and I look all around the room and I can't find my mother. I see maybe 7 Arab women and a white woman but no mother. And I walked out.
Fast forward to the next fertility treatment IVF. Which was the next 3 years of my life. And my mother is finally pregnant. After years and years of waiting, blood tests, shots, you name it, she went through it. Or better yet, we went through it. The year was 1993 and its was decided that she would spend most of the pregnancy hospitalized. So most of second grade, I lived this crazy life with no mother. Each day after school I went to a different classmate. My father worked night shift that year and I had a baby sitter who would sleep on the couch. I remember a mixture if feeling very neglected and very free. I came and went as I pleased. I ate real dinner at different friends houses and I had the time of my life. But I felt very detached from my parents, I especially resented my mother. I wondered why I wasn't good enough. Why wasn't I enough? Why couldn't they be happy with having only me as a child. Why spend so much time and money and create this sick mother just to have another kid. Why was this non existent kid taking my parents away from me and he wasn't even here yet.
That summer, my father and I flew to the US for a few weeks to visit my grandparents. Then he went back to Israel and I stayed in New York to go to day camp and so my parents wouldn't have to worry about me. I slept by my (dead) grandmother's friend. And I went to day camp with all the American kids. I stood out like a sore thumb. I was that Israeli girl. It was a very hard and painful summer, away from my parents, my friends, my home, and my comforts. I cried every night as I couldn't sleep. The airplanes zooming past my window every few minutes. I was so grateful to go home. There was this man on the flight sitting next to me who was supposed to keep an eye out for me and when I dozed off on his shoulder, he told me "I'm not your father." At the airport, I waited in lost and found until my father finally showed up. We went straight to the hospital to see my mother. (I remember seeing a man without a nose.)
In October, my mother gave birth to a really cute baby boy. I remember being in the playground at school. It was finally my turn at the jump rope and of course my name gets called over the loudspeaker. I go to the office and the secretary hands me the phone. My father is taking and I don't really hear him. What? I have a new brother? What does that mean? Girls are standing around and cheering, they are all so happy for me. But all I wanted was to go back to jumping rope.
I got over my anger very quickly. I loved babies and now I had my very own live doll. He slept in my room and I woke up with him during the night. I diapered him. I was the happiest 8 year old. And then the Bris came, all these friends and family came in. It was a big event, a huge simcha. I was so jealous. I went from being the only child, to second place. I no longer mattered. I was there to help, to keep him happy. And I did it. I lost my parents. The only time I didn't feel lonely was when I was holding him.
19 years ago. So much has happened since. We've moved countries. We've survived sicknesses. We've watched our mother go in and out of the hospital. We welcomed our sister. And we've all fought to he in the spotlight, to be our father's favorite.
19 years.
My baby brother is 19 and he's in Israel, in Shana Bet. Wasn't that just me? How did so many years pass. How did I get this old? I have blocked out much of the past but I do remember waiting for him to come into this world. It is an event that definitely influenced who I was and who I would become.
The story starts when I was about 6 years old (first grade) and I had been begging my parents for another sibling. That's the year I learned about Pergonal. From what I've learned over the years while mentioning that name to doctors, this is no longer legal or done to women. Anyways, after years of test and drugs and doctors, my mother finally became pregnant with twins. And boy was I excited. Every day at circle time, each kid would have to say something going on in their lives, and it was known that I would say "My mommy is going to have twins!!" That year, my mom spent most of her time on the couch on bed rest. She didn't come to any of my school events and most traumatically for my six (or maybe 7) year old brain, she didn't come to my siddur party. One day, my dad came to school to pick me up (which was weird in itself because I always took the bus) and said we are going to visit her in the hospital. This memory is so vivid. He stops in the hallway of the hospital, in front of two double doors (I swear if I went to that hospital now, I could find that exact spot) and he bends down and sits me on his knee and tells me that my mother lost the babies, that they are not alive and that we will go in to see her but she wont look like herself. She will be very pale and have wires coming out of her like a spider. So we go in and I look all around the room and I can't find my mother. I see maybe 7 Arab women and a white woman but no mother. And I walked out.
Fast forward to the next fertility treatment IVF. Which was the next 3 years of my life. And my mother is finally pregnant. After years and years of waiting, blood tests, shots, you name it, she went through it. Or better yet, we went through it. The year was 1993 and its was decided that she would spend most of the pregnancy hospitalized. So most of second grade, I lived this crazy life with no mother. Each day after school I went to a different classmate. My father worked night shift that year and I had a baby sitter who would sleep on the couch. I remember a mixture if feeling very neglected and very free. I came and went as I pleased. I ate real dinner at different friends houses and I had the time of my life. But I felt very detached from my parents, I especially resented my mother. I wondered why I wasn't good enough. Why wasn't I enough? Why couldn't they be happy with having only me as a child. Why spend so much time and money and create this sick mother just to have another kid. Why was this non existent kid taking my parents away from me and he wasn't even here yet.
That summer, my father and I flew to the US for a few weeks to visit my grandparents. Then he went back to Israel and I stayed in New York to go to day camp and so my parents wouldn't have to worry about me. I slept by my (dead) grandmother's friend. And I went to day camp with all the American kids. I stood out like a sore thumb. I was that Israeli girl. It was a very hard and painful summer, away from my parents, my friends, my home, and my comforts. I cried every night as I couldn't sleep. The airplanes zooming past my window every few minutes. I was so grateful to go home. There was this man on the flight sitting next to me who was supposed to keep an eye out for me and when I dozed off on his shoulder, he told me "I'm not your father." At the airport, I waited in lost and found until my father finally showed up. We went straight to the hospital to see my mother. (I remember seeing a man without a nose.)
In October, my mother gave birth to a really cute baby boy. I remember being in the playground at school. It was finally my turn at the jump rope and of course my name gets called over the loudspeaker. I go to the office and the secretary hands me the phone. My father is taking and I don't really hear him. What? I have a new brother? What does that mean? Girls are standing around and cheering, they are all so happy for me. But all I wanted was to go back to jumping rope.
I got over my anger very quickly. I loved babies and now I had my very own live doll. He slept in my room and I woke up with him during the night. I diapered him. I was the happiest 8 year old. And then the Bris came, all these friends and family came in. It was a big event, a huge simcha. I was so jealous. I went from being the only child, to second place. I no longer mattered. I was there to help, to keep him happy. And I did it. I lost my parents. The only time I didn't feel lonely was when I was holding him.
19 years ago. So much has happened since. We've moved countries. We've survived sicknesses. We've watched our mother go in and out of the hospital. We welcomed our sister. And we've all fought to he in the spotlight, to be our father's favorite.
19 years.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Poem of the Day
“She had blue skin,
And so did he.
He kept it hid
And so did she.
They searched for blue
Their whole life through,
Then passed right by-
And never knew.”
― Shel Silverstein, Every Thing on It
And so did he.
He kept it hid
And so did she.
They searched for blue
Their whole life through,
Then passed right by-
And never knew.”
― Shel Silverstein, Every Thing on It
Monday, October 7, 2013
will the real slim shady please stand up
So I've been thinking a lot about different things. And you're right, I don't have goals. Or maybe I hide them well. I do have goals, I'm just scared to try and accomplish them. It's easier to do nothing and then I can't fail. When really all I am is one big failure. I have not really accomplished anything. Yeah I have survive two major hospital stays and beat one nasty disease. But is that all I am? A survivor with nothing real to show? Barely living? Yeah I survived a really hard marriage and an even more painful divorce. But what am I now? Is that what defines me? A divorcee? Yeah I survive without the love of a mother. And it's an accomplishment that I get up every morning and that I am here alive. But who am I really? Am I a survivor? Or am I just pulling through, barely holding on. What do I really have to show for myself. What can I truly be proud of. What will make feel fulfilled and worthwhile.
I took one step towards my future today. Gold star. Gold star.
I took one step towards my future today. Gold star. Gold star.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Reckless
Reckless
Driving
Music
Blasting
Swerving
Lights
Tires
Squealing
Texting
Singing
Flying
Breathing
Bouncing
Shaking
Living
Feeling
Driving
Music
Blasting
Swerving
Lights
Tires
Squealing
Texting
Singing
Flying
Breathing
Bouncing
Shaking
Living
Feeling
Friday, October 4, 2013
silence of the ewes
I'm a liar.
I'm a fake.
I'm a fraud.
I hide from all of you.
You don't know who I really am.
The person before you is a shadow.
I write and yet it's not really me.
It doesn't represent the truth.
It's all nothing.
I'm not really here.
It's all your imagination.
I feel nothing and yet I feel everything.
So much of everything. I can't shut it down.
I can't get it to start.
I am stuck in a vortex of nothingness.
I am stuck in hole of everything.
I make no sense.
Sense is not possible.
I ramble.
And yet I'm silent.
Silence is golden.
I'm a fake.
I'm a fraud.
I hide from all of you.
You don't know who I really am.
The person before you is a shadow.
I write and yet it's not really me.
It doesn't represent the truth.
It's all nothing.
I'm not really here.
It's all your imagination.
I feel nothing and yet I feel everything.
So much of everything. I can't shut it down.
I can't get it to start.
I am stuck in a vortex of nothingness.
I am stuck in hole of everything.
I make no sense.
Sense is not possible.
I ramble.
And yet I'm silent.
Silence is golden.
psy·cho·so·mat·ic
sīkōsəˈmatik
adjective
(of a physical illness or other condition) caused or aggravated by a mental factor such as internal conflict or stress.
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