Turn back the pages – August 2009

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Like burning Charcoal
Being drowned to black again
Like seeing darkness
Swallow all life around
It’s like being awake
When sleep takes over
But most of all (and over all)
It’s like the music playing
Over mourning heads further down the road
It’s about playing football in the sand
And sitting squashed in bumper cars
Or just about playing a thousand new roles
In a plastic-strewn landscape.
It’s mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters
And having children on our knees.

Winds, be still.

sdc12698Everything is chaos.

Battering winds, flying debris,

Blood, bruises, lightning

Deafening crashes – …….

 

Respite. A few seconds

In the eye of the storm, I stand

And brace my soul for the next

Wave – immerged, submerged, drowning.

 

And so the cycles waltz along

As I stagger looking for shelter

In any shape or form,

Pure, distilled, strange or familiar (mixted or dry).

 

Until I’m caught – softly softly

Brought to see the calm & charm

Of these here shores, our own.

 

There’s a half-moon stain

Deep dry red on the table.

In another room a glass

And the unmade bed staring, empty.

 

Echos. All that’s left

Of wine, and chills, and new ways

To fix my wavering will,

Gather the screaming winds

 

And be still.

 

 

Never again – hospital

What a strange, warped world, where knowing better is just not the way. Being stupid and slow will save you, being sharp and aware just damn you. Whatever protocols keep these walls standing are built from absurdities and flimsy “certitudes”. Where is the wholsesome place we need? We bruised souls unfit for combat. They herd us in, lock the gate and think we’ll heal. Now why do they believe that cut off from life is how to deal? These brutish beds, yellow walls, airless windows…is that the answer? Rather than my cocoon, painstakingly built, feather by feather, plush by plush. That’s where I need to be.

The whole world

Is on its head

Pupils taking care

Of teachers’ kids

The sick taking care

Of the young and free

 

To keep me from the lake

Is cruel torture.

To see it glisten from afar

Watch its waves beckon,

Waver in the weak winter sun

Is it necessary?

 

Leaving me to sing songs

Behind fast glass

Is making my soul weary.

Turn back the pages – March 2013

Time scales superimposed.

These same four walls

Contain an impossible vision –

This should never have happened,

Could never have occured.

The universe is warped, twisted

Glimpses of my self in times,

Ages, galaxies long past.

Yet watch me revel

In the bliss of a stolen life

Stood on tiptoes, leaning in.

Is it me? actions repeated,

Words I said, moves I made.

But them! They’re different

Shape-shifting beings.

Better watch my back.

Lila

My name is Lila. I am Lila. I am she, she is me.

I am a writer, a reader. I am a listener, and a sharer. I collect things, and want to be better. I am a learner, a lover of things, a hoper.

There is a sadness in my heart, I am Melancholy. I am the mind stuck in the past, the overthinker, the forever in love.

Sometimes I paint my nails, and then I let them chip. I wear tight dresses, or give up and let it all go. I want to seduce, but still, always, be one of the boys.

I am Lila. Play of the gods. An entity of pleasure, something of a higher nature.

I’ll tell you my story, and speak it again. Everytime, I am more me, closer to truth, somewhere on this journey.

My name is Lila, I am she, she is me.

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And now I’m 25.

Paroxetine

It’s been six weeks. Seven now. From skin-burning, “I’m dying” sleepless nights to this – better? Chemicals running through me, but still I’m not sure.

I’m on antidepressants.

Is this right? Or could I do this on my own? No. It’s not the gig on Friday, it’s not exams. Not money, not housekeeping, not my love life. So… what? So…I’ve had help, for years, and now it’s come to this. Pills to keep me going, to stay out of the darkest depths and keep the fear in my stomach at bay. For six weeks, now seven, it’s worked. I’ve taken it all in my stride, risen to the challenge and gone back to class. Started discussions, mulled it over and loved my job(s). And things are better, more under control, I feel fine. And happy.

But I’m also tied to them. These pills, if I stop, could give me withdrawals. I depend on them, they keep me going. Or do they? I’d like to think I am whole, on my own. But still…the fear. Like tonight, through all the music, the lights, the fun – that sinking feeling was back. I had to halve the dose and so I’m unsettled again. Shakes, tears, falling, waves of fear. The anxiety is back.

So thank you for bearing with me. For sticking by, for reading me, for hugs and smiles. Thank you for the music, the trust and the love. And let’s talk about it! Our struggles, our pains and fears. Let’s talk about medication and antidepressants and how they work, or don’t. There’s nothing to hide or be ashamed of, it happens – this is the world we’re in. Together I’m stronger. We all are.