Someone wake me up!

It's time, I can feel it, I can hear the faint sounds of life happening and my consciousness stirs a bit. My mind slowly awakens and I feel a familiar pressure in my head, the dull ache that greets me every morning and the fogginess that never seems to fade crowds my thoughts once again. Often times it seems my thoughts are clearest while I'm asleep and dreaming. I wonder if that's why I'm tired all the time. Lucid dreams that my consciousness often mistakes for reality seem to never allow my brain to fully rest; couple that with busy days as a single mom with a full-time job and it seems obvious as to why I'm so tired. Some days I feel as though I’ve been walking around before my brain even knows I’m awake. 

Mornings are the hardest part of the day, the most confusing and the most painful, emotionally and physically. Often upon waking after a particularly lucid dream I have to sift through my emotions to find out if I'm waking into real life or if I'm living a continuation of the dream. There have been days where I've grieved the loss of my children in a dream for hours after waking only to realize they're still alive and it was all just a twisted fantasy that my mind couldn't let go of. I don't get mad at myself for things like that anymore, it's not my fault that my brain never sleeps, that my body is never fully rested, that my mind is so tired it easily mistakes fantasy for reality. 

Some days I understand why so many like me go back to sleep, over and over again. I used to give in to the feeling, slowly dragging myself back into a sleep that I can't seem to get out of, I wake and the cycle continues. It feels like an addiction. I wish it could stop. I want it to stop, I want to feel normal. 

It wasn't always like this. I did well in school, I was intelligent. I could remember anything and everything and I had the energy of a child. I cry about those things a lot in the morning. I would give anything to be able to remain awake without medication. I would love to never have to use the words, "I'm sorry, I forgot...", again. I'd love to know what it's like to wake up and feel rested, instead I wake up confused, feeling as though I'd just barely fallen asleep. 

I feel sad a lot, not for me but for those that interact with me, for those that love me and care for me. I feel as though I let them down every day. Even if I make a list of things I need to get done I often can't cognitively stay focused long enough to do them. I get stuck in these moments between awake and asleep and I may be sitting there staring at you, but my mind is either caught in a lucid dream or just completely empty. Focus, I tell myself to focus all day long, yet my mind wanders back to the thought of being asleep and how amazing it feels to have the clarity that comes with my dreams. 

My kids will never get to have the best mom, the mom I know I could be, should be. They'll only have an image of a woman always lost somewhere in her mind. My boyfriend, he too will never get to experience how amazing I could be. I know I can do better, but my cognitive delay from sleep deprivation keeps me from giving 100%. It hurts knowing I could do so much more, be so much more than I am; the limits this disorder has placed on me are maddening at times. 

Many days I wonder why, why do I have to live a life shrouded in fog? Why can't I just remember things? Why can't my brain access information I know is there? Why can't I wake up? Those days scare me. Those days I gain an understanding as to why so many with this condition take their own life. No one wants to sleep through life. I don't want to miss hearing the laughter of my children because I'm asleep. I don't want to forget the days I spent laughing with my boyfriend, I don't want him to live with less love from me because I'm tired. I don't want this disorder. 

I want to wake up for once. 

Silence

They were hit nearly head-on, the crash was beautiful and terrifying as time stopped momentarily. Metal twisting, the shrill sound of tires, bits and pieces of dark glass scattered everywhere playing a sad melody as each shard rained down onto the asphalt. The scent of hot oil and antifreeze filled the air. 

Louder than the sound of destruction was the release of air from her lungs as her body was thrown from the car. He heard her, a sound he thought he’d never hear escaped her lips as her breath was pushed from her lungs from the impact of her body with the windshield. The sound of the glass creaking and cracking as it split open from the weight of her. The sound of her body being thrown onto the hood of the car and the soft thud as she landed on the asphalt, it was too much and soon all he saw was black.

Hell would have been a more welcome place to wake up to. Ears ringing and eyes hardly able to focus he fumbled numb fingers to the seat belt release. He felt drunk, sick, asleep; an eternity passed as desperate hands finally found the cold handle of the driver side door.  Flashes of pain spread over his body, but in his pain drunk stupor his mind focused only on her. His body fell heavy as he released himself from the prison of his crumpled car. The rain soaked asphalt felt cool against his skin. In and out of consciousness he couldn’t tell reality from fantasy and he crawled to her body as quickly as his pain would allow. 

She lay still, her bright red hair was such a strange contrast against the black road. Her peach skin, sun kissed with freckles had lost its color. Her warmth was stolen, replaced with a cold wetness unfamiliar to his touch. He tried calling out to her, but his voice had been lost through the chaos. He knew then, her aura, the bright energy she radiated had been stolen by the night. He watched the light fading from her eyes as he scrambled to hold her. She left him with a blood stained tear and one last smile.

He brought his face to hers, desperate to hear breathing. Silence. He shook her, silence. He begged for her life to the stars as his tears mixed with heavy raindrops. Silence. He pressed his lips to hers, tasting iron and salt, rusting the memory of her in his mind and still he only heard silence. Screaming he begged her to not leave him here in the dark. Silence. 

She was gone and all he had left was the echo of the words he left her with. He was a slave to his experience and in the frustration with his weakness he let her down. He could have explained how much he needed her, he could have shown her he desperately loved her, but instead he left her with guilt, shame and uncertainty. He painted that picture in blood, her blood.

Recovery was painful, emotionally he had already died a thousand times over as thoughts of her flooded his mind every morning. The events of that night buried his plans of making her a permanent part of his life. He wanted her forever, but he was too afraid to live his own life and that prevented him from sharing his future with her. Often he would become angry with her. She promised to stay, promised to help him, promised to grow together and there she lay amongst the flowers, breaking her promise in such a permanent way.

Her laughter was lost forever that night. Now when he closes his eyes he can see her, no matter where he is. She’s there in his dreams, she hides in the shadows of the places they loved. He can smell her perfume and see her bright smile and he’s with her ghost again. He thought they’d always be together and all she left him with was silence.

On really cold nights he plays the last message she left on his cell phone, “will you call me to tell me you’re alright? Because you know how much I worry about you.” And sometimes his pain is the only thing that comforts him as he sleeps. 

Lust

Rising steam condenses on the rusted edge of the hood. Curls of jet black hair fall loose from the confines of his baseball cap and he tucks the brim into a back pocket of his jeans. Silently watching, her eyes wander over tattooed skin, tanned from days spent in the company of the sun. The heat picks up hints of cigarettes and oil and the faintest scent of cologne that teases her pink lips into a smile. Moist skin defines his strong arms; muscles flex as he slides his fingers through his dark hair. His cotton tank top is tight with sweat against his body, the curiosity of what might be hidden beneath causes her to bite softly on her bottom lip and tease the frayed edge of her cut off shorts. 

A bead of sweat falls from his brow and disappears into the dark line of facial hair left just short enough to cast a shadow. Licking her lips she lets her mind wonder what his moist skin would feel like pressed to hers and she blushes. Her voice betrays her by allowing a low moan to escape as she sighs, watching him bent over the hood of her car. Glancing in her direction his attention is caught by the seductive nature of her innocence, his friendly smile laced with curiosity and adventure. Their eyes meet and there's a new kind of tension left lingering. 

She closes her eyes and now she's lost in it. Steam, the way sweat makes clothing stick to warm skin, and sudden heavy breathing as her lips meet his. The way her scent mixes with his, the subtle saltiness of his skin, the moisture between their bodies, the sound of giving in, the innocence of pleasure and dark seductiveness of wanting to be taken. As her fantasy starts to take hold of her body she's startled by a strong hand on her shoulder, her nose flooded with the scent of grease. She opens her eyes to his smile, keys in hand. She thanks him, offering a hug as he walks away, his hesitation tortures her senses. Awkwardly he leans in, his arm reaching around her waist,  pulling her body to his. 

"Thank you'" she whispers, the fire of lust burning hot within her.

Hunger

I lie still, listening to the soft exhalations of my brother and sister on either side of me. The three of us share this bed, the pillow, and the thin blanket protecting us from the cold. I've found myself stuck in the middle as usual, but I didn’t mind. Directly above me is a small window and every night I fall asleep watching the sky, the stars twinkling in the blackness that holds them. The window is a welcome distraction; tonight I've been sent to bed without dinner. My stomach aching for food, I wondered if this punishment was used most often because there wasn’t enough for all of us to eat.

Mothers room is directly next to ours, her room being the only actual bedroom in the tiny house we called home. A soft blue glow from the television floated muffled voices from the late night talk show, leaving traces of laughter and applause bouncing around in my mind. Outside, the faint bellow of a train horn broke the stillness of the night. The train tracks across the street had become my playground; I spent hour upon hour collecting marble-shaped pieces of coal, rounded from tumbling underneath the heavy metal train cars.

The train shifted my focus to the other homes in my neighborhood. Much like ours they are filled with families too big living in houses too small. Everyone here is poor, everyone here goes without. Every morning the street fills with kids making their way to school, many of them hungry and looking forward to the small breakfast provided for us in the cafeteria of the elementary school. We’re deemed the poor kids by those that are fortunate enough to have two parents, or enough money to afford a home in the new neighborhood. My stomach let out a low growl, beckoning me to find something to eat.

I slipped under the blanket and wiggled my way out at the foot of the bed. The wood floor feels harsh against my toes. My path to the kitchen had to be precise as the dusty floor often creaked and moaned under any sort of weight. Standing in front of the fridge I carefully pried it open, spilling light into the dark, sending shadows bouncing on the walls. I cried, staring into an empty fridge. 

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, Mother. I looked up at her with tear filled eyes, waiting to be scolded and sent back to bed. A tear fell from her cheek as she knelt beside me. “Hungry?” she asked as she gently ran her fingers through my hair. I nodded, afraid to release the emotion in my voice by speaking. Mother stood up, reaching into one of the tall cupboards and placed a single piece of bread in my hand.

“Mom?” my voice cracking. “Are we always going to be hungry?”

Falling

Trembling, she pulled his picture from under her pillow, a nightly ritual she had since abandoned. It had been 30 days since she last looked at his face, the longest span yet. She had gone two weeks before, but gave in to the craving to see his eyes, to clear her mind and relive what she no longer had. She had been so addicted to him, to his smile, to the way their bodies felt while wearing nothing but the shadows. She fell in love with him, hesitantly, but instantly. Whether it was her feeling not ready or him not being right for her, it didn't matter. Once she opened her heart for him the flood of emotion was too intense to deny and she fell fast and hard. He too had fallen and they were happy in love. Every time she heard her heartbeat she knew it was beating only for him. 

Their ending was typical of two people wanting to love without knowing how. Neither wanted to be the one to leave. Tied by the remnants of love they danced together in awkward rhythm, going back and forth between love and loathing until at last they were torn apart. Then began the nightly ritual to satisfy her addiction. 

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as her fingertips graced the smooth paper of the photo. She had forgotten the subtle hints of green in his eyes and the way his hair curled as it grew longer. She stared, hoping to pull emotion from his gaze, craving for something to replace the hollow he had left her with. Emptiness was all that remained; she had nothing left of him in her mind. The memories had settled and she finally cried. 

Her tears came slowly, tickling her cheeks as they fell and for the first time in a month she opened her mouth to speak, to say the three words she longed to hear from him again. But as she parted her lips to speak she became fully aware of the moment she was living, finally ready to release him from her mind, from her heart. 

"I," she paused, afraid of the words forming in her mind. "I don't love you anymore," she sobbed as she repeated the phrase several times. "I'm sorry." Heavy tears soaked through the photo, washing away all remnants of love left. As quickly as she had fallen into love, she had now fallen out of it and for the first time in months she could hear her heart beating, but this time it beat only for her. 

Love or money?

I have a regular customer who comes in fairly often. This man is in his 70's and is one of the happiest men I've ever met. Yesterday he came into the bar and the familiar smile and warm compliments he usually offered everyone were absent. I brought him his usual tall bud light and shot of jack without asking for his order and placed it in front of him. As I walked away I felt his hand grab mine, when I looked into his eyes I saw true sadness. His hand trembled as a tear followed the wrinkles of his cheeks before falling onto the bar top. Neither of us said anything. He released my hand and sat silent, sipping his beer. 

As the night drew to an end and most of the bar patrons had gone home to sleep away their buzz the man would pull an old picture from his wallet and weep. I pulled a stool beside him, placed my hand on his and asked if he needed to talk about whatever was causing his pain.  His story overwhelmed me, it made me go to a place in my mind that I just wasn't prepared to go. It hit home and was eerily close to something I'm facing.

This was his story.

Erin, I'm wealthy. I have more money than I'll ever spend in two lifetimes. I chased success, I chased a career, I chased money. I fixated on it, it consumed me. 

I nodded in understanding. 

Was I happy? Yes and no, I never wanted for anything, but I sacrificed something more precious than anything in the world to achieve all of this. 

Tears welled in his eyes and his gaze shifted; you could see he had gone somewhere else in his mind and for a few moments we sat silent until he turned and looked deep into my eyes. 

I fell in love once, he smiled through his pain. I found this woman, she was incredible. She was smart, sexy, fun, had a laugh that made the heavens shine. She was kind and gentle, but firm when it was needed. She made me feel calm and whole. She was fiery, had a temper, and we fought about a lot of things, but at the end of the day I wanted nothing more than to have her in my arms because she loved me with a fierceness I had never felt before. She had this passion for life that was mesmerizing and her eyes held so many fascinating secrets. 

During that relationship I was faced with a choice, pursue my career and gain wealth or choose to love and live life with her. Many people told me to chase money. You can always find love everywhere you go, they'd say. I did exactly that, I left her crying, confused, and hurt. Eventually she moved. Over time I noticed the sting from losing her never left and to dull that I would spend more time at work, drink too much, make more money to buy more things to try to fill the void left by her absence. I dated a lot of women, but no one came close to her. No one ever fulfilled me the way she did. In a way she had broken me. I had four marriages fail before I realized I just wouldn't find her in another woman. 

About ten years ago I looked her up, I found she had moved back to Utah after her husband passed away. We reconnected and even after all those years that passionate love was still there. I was able to spend a year with her, laughing with her, holding her, loving her before cancer took her from me. 

You know those people, the friends that told me to chase money. Those people were wrong. They were so horribly and devastatingly wrong. I could have spent my entire life with her. I could have spent every night holding her as she fell asleep. I could have heard her tell me how much she loved me every morning as the sun woke us. I could have spent every day loving her, but instead I chose money and it destroyed me. 

He took both of my hands in his and squeezed them tightly. Erin, don't you listen to them. Don't you ever listen. Don't you ever give up on love. If you find someone like her, you never give that up. You can find money everywhere you go, but you can never replace a love like that. 

I'm still affected by what he said, by the sadness in his voice and the pain in his eyes. It made my heart long for someone to love me the way he loved her.

Words that haunt me

I had a friend kill herself years ago and sometimes my brain likes to replay the scenario in my mind as I sleep. This is the bit that seems to stick in my mind.

In truth I knew she was sad, I could feel it. Even when she tried to hide it I could see the sadness in her eyes. Several times I told her I was there, but I never really was there, was I? No, I was too busy dealing with my own problems to listen to hers. I knew she desperately needed someone to talk to, but I felt it wasn’t MY JOB to pull it out of her so I left it to someone else, but everyone else felt the same way I did. No one wanted to be responsible for helping her, we were all too busy. Something she said to me a few days before she died still haunts me, she mentioned how odd it is that people are so disconnected these days; How everyone knows when something’s wrong, but we’re all too wrapped up in our selfish lives that we refuse to see the shit when we’re standing in it. And on the rare occasion when we do see it, we just brush it aside and hope someone else will step in it after us, and that will then obligate them to clean it up.

We’re all standing in shit, aren’t we?

I dreamt of her last night and as I was walking through the park I replayed those words over and over, "we're all standing in shit, aren't we?" I couldn't silence them, I couldn't ignore them.

I met a nice man at the park today. He was feeding the ducks as I sat on the park bench near the big pond. He came over to pet my Lilo and talk to me. Everyone else had successfully ignored him as well as the rest of the homeless people wandering around, but I found him to not be a threat and let him sit and talk with me. He was gentle and kind and Lilo took to him immediately. After learning he had fought wars, raised a son and then lost that son to war he mentioned to me that he was hungry, tired, scared, and alone all the time. I asked him why he fed the ducks the bread that he could be eating and he said to me, "I'd rather feel good about something I've done than have a belly full of bread. The ducks don't need the bread, but that little girl over there laughed for 10 minutes as the ducks swarmed around her while I shared the bread with them. A smile, laughter, a kind word, those are all worth losing bread over."

I bought him lunch and thanked him for the smiles and the stories.

Isn't it odd how things play out?

Driving In the dark

Today I woke up and missed the familiarity of the life we had. I missed the pattern of the day and routine that made my life easy. It was painful to get out of my empty bed and make breakfast alone. My mind tires from the conversations I keep having with myself. A part of me will always miss what we had. 

It's scary, going down this new road without any direction. It's scary not knowing what lies ahead of me anymore, but moving forward is my only option. I could stop moving, I could easily give up and sit stagnant while depression and anger take over, but I keep moving forward because maybe through all of this chaos, through all of this darkness there's peace and light. If I keep going eventually I'll find the happiness that I thought was lost. I know something great is ahead of me. I know I'm meant for more than driving in the dark.

Eventually I had to let it all go. I stopped missing the way you kissed me, how I could smell you when you pulled me close. I've let you go because you're not the person I fell in love with. I miss who you were, not who you are. 

Siren

As the last bit of daylight is chased off by the moon, she calls to me, her voice floats on the air like a misting rain. Every night she sings, filling my lungs with her words as I breathe. 

Her song remains here in my soul, growing within me like a vine, reaching and twisting around my heart and clouding my mind with her sweet poison, turning my thoughts of lust into an insatiable desire. I can taste her on my tongue, I can feel her pulling me closer to the ocean cliff. It's there that I sit and listen, the sting of wind and water tearing at my flesh. 

I want to give myself to her, to give my body to the depths of the ocean for she has already stolen my mind, but then the night breaks, scattering her seductions throughout the morning clouds. And just as the moon stays visible in midday sky, her song still lingers, bouncing off each wave the ocean throws at the rocks, sending whispers of her lullaby floating on the cool ocean breeze. I keep my sweet siren circling in my mind, at a safe distance from my heart, for every sailor knows what will come from loving her.

Demons

The sun warmed her milky skin and young blades of grass tickled between her toes as she moved forward. Steady breathing, chin up, and shoulders back kept her movement calm and confident. A shadow followed eternally behind. This ambiguous figure was often seen as a raven, black as death it silently mocked her. Other times it appeared a hauntingly quiet representation of herself, but on rarest of occasions the blackness morphed into timeless demons from memories passed. She kept close watch over her shoulder, never fully extending her gaze behind since her intent was forward bound. She had learned in the innocence of her youth that focusing on past events made the journey forward clumsy and vulnerable.

To those who watched she carried a sanguine disposition. They saw her as fortunate and strong, capable and unwavering in her mission to succeed. Fear, pain, and weakness were hidden from others, although they were ever-present to her, pulling at her resolve to push forward. She appeared steady, yet her inner strength occasionally grew weary from being over-burdened. During these fragile moments a chill would fall around her as clouds darkened, masking the sun with swirls of grey. The hollow shriek of the raven would entangle her mind with negativity, fear, and despair. Her forward focus would break as she felt the presence of the shadow grow closer, evolving from the raven to the young image of herself, calling to the uncertain juvenile version of her character she ordinarily ignored. As she gave into her mind’s manipulation the cries of the the adversary would morph into the demons she starved with the dismissal of her attention. In her refusal to face the demon while it was young and weak she merely gave it time to mature, unconsciously feeding it through her deep rooted fear of failure.

Many times she would gain speed and once more lose sight of the demon and her journey would continue, but periodically her past would seize her, the loss of balance would bring her painfully to the ground. On her knees the shadow was allowed to overwhelm her, she would have to face it. In that moment she had two choices, to stand up in challenge, or let despair take her. However easy it would be to give up she knew these demons were once weak and it was she that fed them and allowed them to gain strength, but while her adversary grew in strength so had she. The demon towered over her shaking figure, mocking her, vomiting words of hate that would poison her mind with insecurity and doubt. She could feel her resolve weaken as the toxic memories overwhelmed her mind; times of weakness, times of fear and doubt, memories of days when she gave into the hopeless idea that she was valued by none. She would not allow her past to cloud her future again. The demons that haunted her before would not take from her what she had worked so hard to gain.

With a fierceness burning in her soul she pulled strength from knowing she would face the warm sun again and her journey would be peaceful, she merely had to fight, to endure through the darkness. She stood with fire in her eyes and shouted at the monster. She wasn’t afraid of this demon and she wasn’t going to let it break her. The more she pressed forward the harder the demon pulled back in a seemingly eternal struggle. With every step forward she was able to see more of the light until the vision of the sun moved from a distant glow through the dark clouds to a single ray of sunshine that broke through. Every push, every time she stood to walk again after stumbling, every inch of her future she struggled so hard to take back would finally bring triumph.

With every defeat, the demons of her past would shrivel until they became nothing more than the shadowy representation of her weaker self; and at long last would fade back into the dark raven, following behind with his charcoal wings and haunting cry. Once again she would continue her journey forward. Ever-aware of what lay behind her she never allowed her mind to become engrossed in the battles fought and won, because fixing her gaze behind only inhibited her movement forward. When others questioned her value as a person, she pointed to the demons she had overcome. If, still, they were unable to appreciate her victory, she had at least proven to herself that she was worth fighting for.