Giving thanks and feeling cranks

In my adult years, the holidays are somehow always plagued by ailments, warring family members, work or my period. I've been secretly coveting a severe case of PMS this Thanksgiving. Good food and laughs have helped. The game Cards Against Humanity is like the devil's version of Apples to Apples... if I believed in the devil. So more like the naughtier, funnier, adult version. You can print it out for free, I believe.

To enlighten you on some of the shenanigins that took place this eve with Abbie's brother and dad and brother's girlfriend... some of the "answer" cards read as follows: "Justin Bieber," "trying to pick up girls at the abortion clinic," "Taint: grundle, fleshy fun-bridge," "Daddy issues," "inferiority complex," "Rush Limbaugh's soft, shitty body," ...ah. HAHAHA

So aside from those fun times, I've been slacking on the blog deal; honestly, it's because I can't say much on here. I refuse to speak about either of my jobs, because I mean... it is the internet and it's all up for grabs. Just frustrated with the state of things. I'll leave it at that.

About the Poem-A-Day November contest (with prompts provided by Poetic Asides on WritersDigest.com): I've been keeping up fairly well. I've been writing about strange topics that I haven't thought about in years. It's like finally realizing why your shoes have been a little sticky after miles of walking. Like you just noticed it. So you stop and find there's a piece of someone's chewed up Big Red stuck under there or something. Maybe it was time to stop and figure out what's been sticky for me—namely, things from my distant past. No one wants to confront that garbage.

Today's prompt is to write a "bird poem," whatever that might be. So, you know, if you like to write for any reason at all... consider this your reason to write today (whenever you stumble upon this blog.) Stop EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW! And write a damn bird poem, ok?

And, of course, I can't have Thanksgiving entry with some sap tangent on what I'm thankful for. There is so much to be thankful for; I wish there was more than one day a year to remind me of it. So... in the spirit of Thanksgiving:

• I'm thankful for my family. I'm thankful for my friends and my roommate. I'm thankful for my friends who have stood in as family, with whom I have shared countless holidays and meals and bonding time.

• I'm thankful for warm socks and boots and soft scarves. I'm thankful for the snow that makes me feel cozier. I'm thankful for my bed and all the things in my room that I have been meticulously making and designing and "perfecting." I'm thankful for my tiny tree.

• I'm thankful for my time. I'm thankful for the time with people that matter. I'm thankful that I got to spend time knowing someone super special, even if she passed away this year. I'm thankful that it's given me a new perspective, importance. I'm thankful that I ever met her. I'm thankful that I got to be a part of the last year and a half of her life.

• I'm thankful for getting to know who is true this year—more than any year yet. I guess I realize how crazy my life has been, and always seems to be, really. I hope that it gets better and I can get better for everyone. I think I'm on the right track. This has been, by far, the worst year of my life, as far as tragedies and betrayals and ahhh. Just so much. And the people that you think will be there for you forever... are gone. Everyone needs to hug each other rightthissecond.

• ...but you know what? I'm the best me I've ever been. And it's because of all this. So. Thank you. Thank you for hard times, somehow. And strength that I don't ever believe I have. And thank you for those that have helped me see things in a clearer way. My friend Kelly and lady Abbie in particular. And thank you, Mister Dexter Doots for supportive, understanding cuddles and soft paws and letting me dress you sweater vests and hankies.

• I'm thankful for not needing anything material-wise, for being self-sufficient and for accomplishing so much in such a shitty year: finding a love, having an art show, getting a book published, sorting so much of myself out, not jumping off a bridge.... ah, for reals on that last one. I can't say enough: thank you, thank you, thank you for believing in me, everyone that has.  We'll make it through somehow. <3>

I'll stop blabbing. Maybe I had too much to drink... (;

Much love to you all,
mt

Carrying

Some days it's all I see: the people hurting, the people not getting enough of what they need. The need itself is startling. I guess I'm just amazed at how much we do need—how much we need and hate owning up to it.

Pride stands in the way of many things, but this shouldn't be one of them.

I know what it's like to need—to need so badly you want to rip your guts out and cuddle them yourself. It's achy like your legs after a run. You know that feeling when you're in bed and it's late and you can't stop kicking around, because... it isn't a sharp pain, but it's uncomfortable (your legs).

For me, the only thing worse than that pain (in respect to needs) is watching other people experience it.

Why? Why do I think I'm some Superman? I don't. I know I can't save you, as much as I wish, wish, wish. But I can, at least, be the pillow you rest your achy legs on or the rain that comes to sing you to sleep at last.

Sometimes it feels like I'm carrying around everyone with me: the pain and the disappointment, the insecurities most of all. It's not about being a martyr or a saint or a Superman-wannabe. It's about knowing how it feels, experiencing it so much (becoming a pro at it, even) that seeing anyone else go through it breaks my heart.

I am the thing I needed.

Isn't that crazy?

Kelly once told me that we support people in the ways we want to be supported. We weren't talking about emotional support necessarily, but I think it applies. And ever since she said that, I can't forget it. The downside, though, is that sometimes the way we want to be treated isn't the way the other wants to be.

Learning.

I don't want it ever to stop, though: the supporting. I don't want people to know how heavy it can be to carry them, and then stop allowing me to be there. Carrying heals me too. All the sad from before is slowly being washed away... the gently push of the tide (back and forth) until little by little, one sharp edge at a time, it reaches the sand. The sadness dries up there in the sun, the only happy. Constant.

mt

Without

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Two-grief kind of day, maybe?

Sometimes it feels like someone pulled the bones from my body. Like a walking (somehow?) jellyfish. Sometimes I don't know how to stand up, don't know how to breathe. I forget what beautiful looks like. Isn't that horrible? Sun or rain, I don't care to be outside. I don't care to be a part of anything.

I guess it is that finite. Death. And that world doesn't interest me, permanence, black and white. It's forever that we all want, right? For everything to exist in a higher plane, for a better reason. And I think... for that year and a half it did. Finally. I had the feeling of "more." And I'm not ready to go back to what this is. This is no substitute or alternative. Not after the knowing.

It sounds dead-ended. It sounds desperate and depressed. I'm ok. I'm living, doing that thing everyone else is doing. Yes, sometimes feeling like a zombie, sometimes a human shed of its skeleton.

If I could only be empowered by this, take the lessons and the love and build on that to go forward, but those moments are fleeting. Minutes. Until the memories take over. And I can be in mid-sentence or mid-laugh and my guts fill up my brain and then... fuzz cloud.

How can I live now? How do I live now? How do I hold up everything, keep it together? I just haven't got a clue. And this writing, only here...

This is me trying to figure everything out.

xo
mt

Screaming

I wish she were alive. I wish it every moment I get to think. It's exhausting.

I guess it isn't wishing. It's more like pining. It's more like the grief that everyone keeps telling me about like it's a fucking diagnosis boiled down to atoms and gravity. Listen. I'm angry a little. I'm angry because I know everyone is just waiting for me to get over this. I'm supposed to take comfort in the fact that people die and I was lucky to have her for the time I did, blah blah. You know. Canned stuff. 

When I open my mouth, I have to be careful I don't let her name out. Sometimes it slips because, even when she was alive, her name was always on my tongue. We had adventures together. Big talks. Epic breakdowns. Vulnerability. Starry nights. Just me, her and the fish. And the moon always watching. 

But I know it gets old. I know because I've watched people grieve. I've grieved myself. And with the same silly expectations I place on others, I place on myself: move on already. Right. I'm going between logic and heartache like it's a fucking tennis match. And my brain, like I said, is tired. 

I will hear everyone's words. I will appreciate people thinking of me, the hugs, the text-message checkups. But it will stop. It will be a few months down the line. And that stuff stops and you feel like you're supposed to stop too. 

I remember when my dad died, over 10 years ago, everyone was pretty forthcoming with the support. Father's Day was a big one. Year after year, I regrieved. And friends who thought of it would text. My mom would check in. It was nice. Not necessary but kind. After a while, I came to expect it. Because, just like all those kids out there remembering their dads, someone was remembering me. It was like celebrating no dad, the void that was always licking at my heels. 

But then it stopped, slowly. And you know, this year. No one said a word to me. And when people did talk, they didn't mention it. Like somehow he evaporated and time has "healed" me. I always want to scream, though, like a selfish asshole... "Hey! IT STILL HURTS! IT STILL MATTERS JUST AS MUCH AS BEFORE!"

The screaming never makes it out. 

And now. I guess, I'm still screaming. Because of a loss, but also a lifetime of reliving it. Maybe that's why I'm angry. Over and over. Grief. 

The big of it

"You never felt love so big? I love so hard..."

"I guess I just don't understand. I'm sorry," she said.

"Let me see. You know how you feel when you look up at the sky? All those stars, the moon, the planets?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's just beyond words. Amazing," she looked up again in the dark, sighing.

"That's how I feel when I see you. Every time."

You just...

Yeah. You just... keep going?

You just... wake up, get out of bed, take a shower, get dressed, get in the car, go to work, work, go home... and this cycle continues. It continues because this is what you do. And this is how you stay alive. The bare minimum. 

Since she died: I got a chapbook published. I rode in an airplane. I downloaded A Fine Frenzy's album. I finished four paintings. I wrote two poems. I learned a new song on the ukulele. I had a birthday. 

And everything before—the old receipts, pay stubs, shoes I bought—are reminders that labels themselves as such in my head. Like. Anything before July 22nd was safe. I was ok. No matter what I was doing, you know. Even if I didn't get sleep or I had a bad day at work, my life was x58027 better. I long to go back there. I mean, it hasn't even been a month yet. 

People keep saying how I just have to go on, "move forward," that this is life and it will hurt less with time. And this sympathy in a can, as my roommate so aptly puts it, is nothing I don't know. I've been through this, remember? That is why I don't want to do it again. I know. I know. I know. 

Then, there are moments where I catch a big wind and my lungs fill deep and I am grateful. We had one of the most amazing friendships that I've ever known. We saw the beauty in things—like sunsets and songs—but we also saw the beauty in one another. I said: "We are two mirrors facing each other." That kind of forever. And I mean it. 

Don't think I don't know how dramatic this sounds. But imagine it. Now imagine it better than that. And this isn't some realization I'm having now. I had it all along. If I can take comfort in anything, it's that I always told her. All the things. All the time. And she agreed. Fate. 

And so now is where I accept, allow her to get farther and farther away. "You're getting smaller, getting smaller, but I still see you" (Jimmy Eat World). 

This is me. Being big. Grieving. Not knowing how much longer it'll hurt like this... 

Breathing.