Bloody Leaves

Leaves used to stand for growth
For battles fought and victories won
But like so many other things
Are corrupted, changed, perverted now

Carved into skin instead of drawn
Outlined in blood instead of ink
They call for growth, a different kind
Of more leaves carved and blood outlined

A part of me shows beauty now
A part of which I'm proud
The rest of me I still despise
I harm and injure what I hate

It is not wrong to cut my flesh
To alter what disgusts me
It is not wrong to find release
To relieve the chains I'm bound in

So let "growth" come to me
Let bloody leaves now spread
And then perhaps one day I
Can see myself as beautiful

This is Failure

This is what failure looks like. It is not beautiful. It is not poetic. It is failure. It is lies and hiding. It is carving in living skin. It is blood. It is a perversion of what used to stand for growth. It is a continued statement that God is not enough. It is not pretty. It is a denial of truth. It is selfishness. It is temporary. It is permanent.

This is what failure looks like. Do not copy it. Do not seek to emulate it. Do not desire its pain. Do not desire its release. Do not let it tempt you. Do not start.

This is what failure looks like. This is what it is like to be in bondage.

Failure is Beautiful

Failure is beautiful

Crimson flowing down

Leaves twining around

"Love" written large

Failure is beautiful

Lonely "accident"

Close set parallels

All together - lovely

Failure is beautiful

Peace surrounding

Tranquility abounding

Pain obtaining joy

Failure is beautiful

Failure of God's way

Failure of my desire

But still so beautiful

A Prayer, Father God

Father God, judge me, and when I am found wanting, chasten me. Show me your hand, even if it must be in judgment. I have fallen too far too fast, Abba, at least inside, in my heart. I threaten to uproot months of growth in this struggle with hate and pain and fear. Because even in those months of growth I have not found in you my all-sufficiency. My heart still desires its own way, the way way that has been proven to work. Father God, why is your help so gradual, so slow in coming? I am not eternal, you know that. If I wait years for you to even show your hand to me, what will be left of my life? Is it so wrong to desire help now? I said that my way works, and it does, but it is a poor, and at best, temporary, solution, nothing like what I know you could do if you so desired. What is the purpose in waiting, Abba? I've waited years for help, as my scars multiply and fade and grow anew. My blood is like drugs, Father God...unable to fix the problem, only alleviate the symptoms for a while. But the pain is too great, I cannot wait more years for its removal. I am trying to find you through the pain, but it is a veil of shadows between us. Part the shadows, bathe me in light. Drive the pain from my soul. I beg of you, my Father, my God! Please!

Two Full Years

Two full years;

Years of pain,

Years of tears.

Blade and blood

Overwhelm.

Son and Love

Matter not;

Only pain,

Only tears.

Where was God?
Was he found?

Was he there?
Did he care?

Possibly.

Pain and fear
Found release
Not in God
But in harm
Harm, to heal
Harm, to live
Harm, to love.
Not in God
Are these found.

Wish they were.

Wish God worked,

Find release

In his Son.

Wish I could

Love God more

Trust God more

Live for him

Not for pain.

Two full years

Years of pain,

Years of tears.

Fear Me

Fear me, weakling

For I am death

I will steal your life

And offer you

Bondage, in return.

I will stand between

You, and your friends

You, and your loves

You, and God himself

I promise you peace

For a season

But there is a price -

Guilt and shame

I will free you

From the sorrows of your past

But bind you

With darkness in the present.

I will cause you

To forsake all

That you hold dear.

Fear me, weakling,

For I am death.
I am blade and blood,

And I will steal your life.

O Blade, O Blood

O Blade, I love thee.

O Blood, I desire thee.

Thou art precious to me

More precious thou art

Than that which shouldst

Be more precious than all.

More precious thou art

Than love, and Love

Time, and time again

Thou hast been so proven

More precious thou art

Than honesty, and honor

Thou providest a mask

To wear, and thereby lie

More precious thou art

Than Word, and God

Thou has usurped

Their place in my heart

O Blade, bind thou my heart

O Blood, chain thou me fast

I desire thy bondage

Thy power hast me in thrall

But not unwillingly.

Build thou thy walls

Leave no gate nor fault

Shut thou me off

From love and friend

Thou hast captured my soul

Thou, O Blade, slice and harm

Thou, O Blood, run down

Upon the ground.

Thou art my god

I have crowned thee

Master of my life

Hold thou my heart!

Let not God draw it

Let not love corrupt it

More precious thou art

Than beauty, and joy

Let thine shadows obscure

All that giveth peace

Flourish thou in thy darkness

O Blade, keep thou me fast

O Blood, hold thou my heart!

Find Me Freedom

Find me

Freedom

Hurt me

No more!

Razor

Calling

Must I

Answer?

O God!

Abba!

Save me!

Shield me!

I beg

Humble

Broken

Worthless

Nothing

Such pain!

At least

I live.

At least

I love.

At least

I hope.

I must.

O Christ!

Hold me!

Love me!

Forgive!

But, God...

I'm blind.

No light.

Hope fades.

Razor's

Calling

Are you?

Shepherd

Guide me

Feed me

Guard me

Judgment!

Coming

For me

I sowed

Anger

And fear

And hate

And shame

I reap

The same.

Find me

Freedom!

Bind me

No more!

Siren Song

A tune, half-heard

Floating past on

Unseen wings.

A siren song

Calling to me

"Come! Find the place

Of crimson peace."

The melody of blade and blood.

It rises, falls

Haunting my dreams

"Do not stay here -

Release the pain

Let healing come

Ease aching heart."

The melody of blade and blood.

Whispers in my ear

Calling, calling

Promising peace

Offering hope,

The melody of blade and blood.

Reflections upon the Past

My infant son lies near me,

Powerful evidence of what is

But tonight my thoughts turn

Backward, to what was

My intentions were not clear that night

Did I desire to die?
Or just to leave this life?

If I wanted to die, why tell?

But if not, why put knife to wrist?

Not once, but several times

I searched for veins

But then came the pounding...

No friend ever knocked like that.

I was angry. I hated them

For coming to my door

Perhaps I did mean to succeed, then
I was so tired after that

Tired physically, oh yes -

I lost a good bit of blood

But more than that

So tired of half-trying

Of wanting and not wanting

Of falling and not caring

Of looks, and smiles, and lies

I wanted them to be over

They would have ended with my life.

Eleven

Eleven bloody wounds march down my leg,
And not content, for companions they beg.
They halt not for God or Love or my son,
Proof of a battle hard-fought, but not won.
Strange it is, this lust for blood and a knife -
Strange desire in a mother and a wife.
Anger drove the blade, and fear, and shame.
Darkness covered all, but was it to blame?
To neither Love, friend, or God did I run -
I felt the urge, obeyed, and it was done.
Boundless pain and darkness renew their hold,
And lust for blood grows ever more bold...
Will it ever stop? Will it ever end?
Not while to shadows my knee I still bend!
Oh God, part the Dark, send light streaming through...
Make me a child of light - a child of You.

What Was That?

What was that?

A flitting spark

Briefly shining

Then vanishing...

A spark called hope.

What was that

A candle-flame

Flickering in the night

Blown out quickly...

A flame called hope.

What was that?

A faint torchlight

Chasing away shadows

Snuffed in the sand...

A torch called hope.

What was that?

A bright campfire

Giving light and warmth

Quenched with water

Yet still glowing...

A fire called hope.

What was that?

A burst of sun

Cleared the clouds

Covered once more

Yet still shining...

A burst of hope.

What is that?

Savior of men

Banishing darkness

Bleeding and dead

Yet living for me...

A Savior of hope.

Unworthy

I am unworthy. Unworthy of love, or life, or happiness. What could make me worthy? Will the blood of Christ remove the stain on my soul? When it has been there for so long?

Why do I feel so unworthy? It is not something that I have been told. Rather, it is something I know at the very depths of my being, in the bottom of my heart. I know, as surely as night devours day, that a normal life, and all the joy and happiness that entails, is not meant for me. Indeed, I would not know what to do with those things. I do not know why I know this, only that I do. I am outcast, separate, alone. Sometimes I wonder why this is so. Sometimes I rage against it, but it like a stone wall - unmovable, inviolate. Truth?

I know those who would disagree. They would fling their truths, those of love, faith, Scripture, hope, against the stone wall, but those truths shatter and fall, while the wall holds. It holds, and while it does, certainty holds as well. But those who would disagree, they don't...because I do not tell them. And aside from my lover, they no longer ask. As for him...well, he would try to fling truths of love, and they would only shatter with the rest.

What can be done? Why is life this way? Will it ever change? After so long (How long? I know not.), I have no hope of changing, no hope that the core of who I am can, or should, be altered. Because this is who I am. Unworthy.

Remembrance

A year ago...it is hard to believe that so much can have happened in just one year. As my lover, said, much has gotten better...but to be honest, much has remained the same. For a while, things got much worse...thankfully it has not remained that way.

But a year ago...I could have died. I would have died, if not for basically two people...Bradley Menne, who was not afraid to call 911 on me, and Officer Mike Hoyt, who made the tough decision to send me to a mental hospital. Because of them, I live. And I am thankful for that. But...

You knew that was coming, didn't you. Is there not always a "but"? I attempted suicide! Where was God in that time? I found him quickly enough afterwards, or at least so my journal indicates. And I grew quickly...or did I? It was like a weed that shoots up quickly...and whithers just as fast. Look at where I was just over a month later! If you can't recall, it involved lots of blood...and pictures, and the beginning of the end with the deans. Only a month later, so much more pain...where was God then? A month after that, such a bitter fall...and another month, and I so badly wanted to try again. But then you finally spoke, Father, you called me, and I gladly followed. Even then, Satan got in a last blow, but we all know where that led. But ever since then, I have tried to follow you. I have not turned away. Sometimes I have been more serious, sometimes less, but the direction has been consistent. But where were you a year ago?

Now I begin to write something that I don't quite believe, although I think that it is true. Where was God? He was there in the church service when the thought first occurred to me, "tugging at my heartstrings," remember? He was there in the car ride home when the thought began to become an option. He was there that night as I lied to my lover and broke promises to him and to my father. He was there when I told Bradley of my struggle (or else why did I do that?), and he was there in the words he said. Where was God? He was there when I picked up a knife and sliced my wrists, not just once, but several times. He was there at the hospital, in the back of squad car 600, and at Mendota. He never left. He was always there.

The clouds do not eliminate the sun's rays, only our ability to see them.

The Nothing

It was hard to get up this morning...only partly because of fatigue, at least physical. My endurance for wearing the sunshine mask has diminished through lack of use. I do not know whether that is a good or bad thing. It becomes harder and harder to become that person who my in-laws have fallen in love with, the person who was once Squishy's best friend.

A lot of interest is hard to feign when my only interest is to curl into a ball and stare blankly at the wall. I wasn't joking the other day when I listed getting up and taking a shower as my accomplishments for the day. Because they were. Anything else...is going above and beyond what I feel capable of doing. A while back Dr. Meyer told me that he thought depressed people has more faith because it took more effort just to get out of bed in the morning. I didn't understand him completely then, because I had never got this far down before. But now I know that maybe he was right. I don't know about the faith part, but the effort part was true.

It becomes harder and harder to respond to my lover's declarations and actions of love. I know that he loves me, and yet I feel...nothing. I feel nothing. I am empty, and yet I am filled with darkness. I am void of emotion and yet overflowing with pain and despair. There is no hope in the darkness, save God, and his light is so dim I cannot see it, though I trust, with what little faith I have, that it is there. I trust because I must. Without that, there is no hope, no trust, no chance of light. There is nothing.

Where are the Tears?

I was reading last night, a lot of old things - emails, journals, poetry. And they put such a sharp focus on my pain, which is what I intended. That sounds bad, but this is why: most of yesterday I was floating around in this general well of pain...not being able to pinpoint it, just knowing that that it hurt. There was nothing I could do to ease, save the blade, and I didn't want to turn to that. So looking back at things that spoke of specific hurts, specific pains, was my way of pinpointing something so that I could at least let the tears come...or so I thought.

Because the tears won't come. Even now. They want to, and sometimes one or two slips out, but the sobs, the violent tears that would help to cleanse out some pain...they are no longer to be found. Not even last time I cut...I wanted the tears to fall, as they have so often, but I couldn't. And I wanted this to be long, I wanted to go on and on about tears, and wonder where they are, and wish that they would return, but I find that I can't. I guess today, words, like tears, are in short supply.

It Speaks!

Today my counselor showed me a portion of the Scripture that, for the first time in a long time (or ever?) actually spoke to me. It was Psalm 88, in the version known as "The Message." Probably not a translation/paraphrase I would normally recommend, but in this instance...it speaks!

God, you're my last chance of the day. I spend the night on my knees before you. Put me on your salvation agenda; take notes on the trouble I'm in. I've had my fill of trouble; I'm camped on the edge of hell. I'm written off as a lost cause, one more statistic, a hopeless case. Abandoned as already dead, one more body in a stack of corpses, and not so much as a gravestone - I'm a black hole in oblivion. You've dropped me into a bottomless pit, sunk me into a pitch-black abyss. I'm battered senseless by your rage, relentlessly pounded by your waves of anger. You turned my friends against me, made me horrible to them. I'm caught in a maze and I can't find my way out, blinded by tears of pain and frustration.

I call to you, God, all day I call. I wring my hands, I plead for help. Are the dead a live audience for your miracles? Do ghosts ever join the choirs that praise you? Does your love make any difference in a graveyard? Is your faithful presence noticed in the corridors of hell? Are your marvelous wonders ever seen in the dark, your righteous ways noticed in the Land of No Memory?

I'm standing my ground, God, shouting for help, at my prayers every morning, on my knees each daybreak. Why, God, do you turn a deaf ear? Why do you make yourself scarce? For as long as I remember I've been hurting; I've taken the worst you can hand out, and I've had it. Your wildfire anger has blazed through my life; I'm bleeding, black-and-blue. You've attacked me fiercely from every side, raining down blows till I'm nearly dead. You made lover and neighbor alike dump me; the only friend I have left is Darkness.

I could have written this psalm. I could write it every day. And there is no resolution, no "Oh look, God made it all better, just because you asked him nicely." There is barely even any hope. But what I see, is that even when the words are accusatory, even when I'm practically yelling at God, even when I don't really think it will do any good...in all those times, he still desires to hear from me. And perhaps, in the act of crying for help, I will find hope that it will come.

Just Writin'

I was reading

Just now.

Reading old words

Of mine

Old, but so true

Even now.

Words of pain

Of blood

And blade.

Words of fear

And hate

And anger.

Bitter words,

Hurt words,

Tears.

And my tears flowed again.

Because what has changed?

What pain has left?

What shadows have lifted,

What darkness has departed?

You know the answer

You know what I will say...

Nothing!

Pain, darkness, shadows...

All still here

All still overpower

What is the use, Father God?

Where is your help?

Your strength?

What of your promises?

I wear a mask again

I hide from those who care

Oh, my lover...do you see?

Do you know

That for every time I tell you

I am "sad"

Two more are hidden

Because I know

The frustration you feel

So I keep it from you.

Do you know, my love,

That I had only two weeks

Of freedom?

That the hours are counted

In your absence

Because I miss you, yes...

But also because

When you are here...

I cannot cut

And bloodthoughts

Are more easily

Pushed aside.

Every time I am weak enough

To burrow into your shoulder

In darkness

Is a time longings for blood

Are almost too much

A time the darkness

Is close to winning

And it is not "sadness!"

Sadness is momentary

Here for a bit, then gone

This is darkness!

This is the absence of light

Of joy, of hope

And when you say

"Talk to Meyer, he can help"

I may outwardly agree

But I know it's hopeless

I've been talking for a year

And more.

Where has it gotten me?

I talked to my dad

Today.

He asked how I was...

The mask said, "good."

He believed it.

It made him happy.

But if I were to pick up

A blade

I would not tell him

If blood were

Running

Down my arm

Or tears down my cheeks

The answer still would be

"Good."

I have friends that care

But they no longer ask

And I, I have the mask.

Do they ever wonder?

Who knows? Does it matter?

And so I hide in myself

Sometimes alone

Sometimes lonely

Sometimes both

But the mask is neither

It is all things

To all men

And I yearn for blood!

But for now

I will stay strong

Or pretend to

Either way

I won't give in.

Not today.

Hypocrisy

Every once in a while, something happens to slap me in the face and remind me, "Hey, wake up! You aren't the only one who struggles with darkness!" In this case, it was a friend telling me of her struggle. So, ironically (because my poetry is, almost without exception, very dark and depressing), I wrote her an encouraging poem. The hypocrisy is because the poem is a lie: a list of things to "brighten her day" that don't really matter in the end... peaches, the beach, movies... they make no difference in MY darkness. Perhaps they will in hers.

Puppies and unicorns

Frolicked in the sun

And pandas played

Under the rainbow

Everything was bright and happy

And no tears fell there

No clouds to block the sunshine

It was always spring, and fair

The idyllic scene brought a smile

And a laugh to my lips

I was still laughing when I awoke

For only a dream it was

And I thought to myself,

"Life isn't puppies and unicorns

Not really pandas and rainbows.

But even so, life is not dark.

"I don't have a puppy

To bring me a smile

But a letter from a friend

Will do just as well."

So I looked around me

For things that are bright

And I found so many

I hardly know where to start.

A peach freshly bitten

With juice down my chin

The waves on the beach

And diving right in

The clouds block the sunshine

But when rays peek through

That's a sigh to enrapture

And cherish forever too

Watching a funny movie

Or one beloved and timeworn

Laughing with friends or alone

Or seeing a new day born

Making a new work of beauty

By hand or with Photoshop

The list could go on forever

But I think here, for now, I'll stop.

I wrote this poem for you, my friend

But I think I needed it too

I wrote it to be sunlight

And it shines for me as for you

So remember I love you

Love, smile, laugh, pray

I hope I did just a little

To bring light to your day

Failure or Success?

I can't help viewing yesterday as both failure and success. It is failure, because I threw away 21 weeks of fighting. And yet I can't help seeing it as success. I cannot help but see that today has been much better than yesterday, in some ways. I cannot help but see that the darkness is less consuming today. I desire to cut more, but the darkness is not as deep. I cannot help but see that 21 weeks of fighting and struggling and trying to trust God have not made the darkness lessen as much as five red lines on my arm have.

So was it failure or success? And if you say failure, whose failure was it? Mine, or the darkness? Whose success? Can you say either? Failure provided joy that has been missing for months. Success brought pain to my beloved. Failure lifted the darkness. Success brought more shame. Failure brought peace, at least for a bit. Success delivered more conflict.

So what was it? Failure, or success?