from “The Magus”

April 13, 2015 § Leave a comment

If you forget everything else about me, please remember this. I walked down that street and I never looked back and I love you. I love you. I love you so much that I shall hate you for ever for today.

– John Fowles

Loving someone who cannot …

April 13, 2015 § Leave a comment

Loving someone who cannot love you the same way in return is not weakness. It’s one of the most courageous things you’ll ever do. You are putting your armour at their feet and you are saying “I will not fight you in this. I have loved you and that means that I have already won.”

– Azra.T

ugh

from “The Garden Of Eden”

April 13, 2015 § Leave a comment

“I’m your girl,” she said in the dark. “Your girl. No matter what I’m always your girl.”

– Ernest Hemingway

In The Summer

April 13, 2015 § 1 Comment

In the summer
I stretch out on the shore
And think of you
Had I told the sea
What I felt for you,
It would have left its shores,
Its shells,
Its fish,
And followed me.

– Nizar Qabbani, translated by B. Frangieh & C. Brown

The Woman Who Could Not Live With Her Faulty Heart

April 13, 2015 § Leave a comment

I do not mean the symbol
of love, a candy shape
to decorate cakes with,
the heart that is supposed
to belong or break;

I mean this lump of muscle
that contracts like a flayed biceps,
purple-blue, with its skin of suet,
its skin of gristle, this isolate,
this caved hermit, unshelled
turtle, this one lungful of blood,
no happy plateful.

All hearts float in their own
deep oceans of no light,
wetblack and glimmering,
their four mouths gulping like fish.
Hearts are said to pound:
this is to be expected, the heart’s
regular struggle against being drowned.

But more hearts say, I want, I want,
I want, I want. My heart
is more duplicitous,
though no twin as I once thought.
It says, I want, I don’t want, I
want, and then a pause.

It forces me to listen,
and at night it is the infra-red
third eye that remains open
while the other two are sleeping
but refuses to say what it has seen.

It is a constant pestering
in my ears, a caught moth, limping drum,
a child’s fist beating
itself against the bedsprings:
I want, I don’t want.
How can one live with such a heart?

Long ago I gave up singing
to it, it will never be satisfied or lulled.
One night I will say to it:
Heart, be still,
and it will.

– Margaret Atwood

Why the World Needs The Mentally Different

April 13, 2015 § Leave a comment

Okay. I’m not really allowed to say what I’m about to say. In public, we people who are mentally ill are supposed to hang our heads and only speak of our challenges as things we want “fixed” for fear of folks accusing us of “glamorizing” our condition. We’re supposed to declare that our way of being is dangerous and wrong and everyone else’s way is better and we are supposed to want to join the troops and fall into line. And so those who love us are confused and angry when we are resistant to getting help, to taking our meds, to being “cured.” Every other sufferer of a disease wants to get better, why don’t you?

I’ll tell you why.

Because sometimes we understand that our inability to accept and live resignedly in the world we’ve been born into is chemical and personal and that we need help integrating. We hang our heads and say: It’s not you, world—it’s me. I’ll get help. I need to get better.

But other times—we turn on the news or watch closely how people treat each other and we silently raise our eyebrows and think: Actually, maybe it’s not me. Maybe it’s you, world. Maybe my inability to adapt to the world is not because I’m crazy but because I’m paying attention. Maybe it’s not insane to reject the world as it is. Maybe the real insanity is surrendering to the world as it is now. Maybe pretending that things around here are just fine is no badge of honor I want to wear.

We addicts—we have rejected the world as it is. We left the big world and started hiding inside the small world of addiction for a reason. So inviting us back into the world as it is — it’s not effective. We are too smart to rejoin a party we couldn’t stomach. And so when someone we love and trust wants to invite us out of addiction, she needs to consider what she’s inviting us INTO. Okay—you want me to come out of here…but into WHAT? Because when we peek out of our world and into yours; when we look out and see everybody still shooting at each other—literally and figuratively—we think: no thank you. I’ll just take my chances in here.

I know that I needed to be invited not only out of addiction, but into a movement to change the world. I needed to join folks working to turn this planet into a gentler, saner, safer, more vivid place in which folks with wide-open eyes and tender hearts might survive and thrive. This is why the moment I stepped out of the world of addiction, I stepped into family, faith, art, service, and activism. I stepped into worlds of purpose. But I did not give up my resistance to the world as it is. I did not say: FINE, I’ll come back. I said: Fine, I’ll come back, but I’m coming back with a mission. I’m not stepping back into the matrix. I’m going to join the special forces who are trying to free everybody from it. Because yes, I’ve got these conditions—anxiety, depression, addiction—and they almost killed me. But they are also my superpowers. I’m the canary in the mine and you need my sensitivity because I can smell toxins in the air that you can’t smell, see trouble you don’t see and sense danger you don’t feel. My sensitivity could save us all. And so instead of letting me fall silent and die — why don’t we work together to clear some of this poison from the air?

What we who are mentally different need is respect. We know we need help managing our mental differences, but what we ask for is a shift in your approach to helping us. Instead of coming at us with the desire to change us because we are inconvenient to the world—come at us with the desire to help us because we are important to the world. We want you to see that with a little help, we can be your prophets, healers, clergy, artists, and activists. Help us manage our fire, yes, but don’t try to extinguish us. Tweet: What we mentally different need is respect. Help us manage our fire, yes-but don’t try to extinguish us.‎ That fire that almost killed us is the same fire we’ll use to light up the world. And so we don’t want you to take what we’ve got, we just want help learning how to use what we’ve got for good.

Let’s work together—as equals. Because we need your science and you need our poetry. Maybe we are here not just to be saved by you—but to save you back.

– Glennon Doyle Melton, via Momastery

I adore you, Glennon. This piece is so liberating for me. We have to give each other the permission to admit our sensitivities, work through our shadows, and direct our huge bleeding hearts to good. Because sometimes being different and feeling so much is a gift and instead of honoring that and nurturing it, we feel so much shame it’s like drowning. Or we consider drowning. The people dear to me who have died by suicide have been the most poetic, beautifully brutal and brutally beautiful people. In my own shadows, I know their suffering, but I choose this alternative Glennon offers. Superpowers. Special forces for good and purpose and change. Life. 

March 22, 2015 § 2 Comments

Aren’t you just amazed at how incredibly lucky we are to be breathing right now? Someone I love is sick. I’m reading Joan Didion’s A year of magical thinking. I gave a granola bar to A homeless man and he touched my hand in the most tender way I immediately seized up. My daughter left for spring break with her cousins this morning and when I went to put her toys back in her room only five minutes after she had left, I missed her so much. It’s an emotional time. All of these facts are reminders of gratitude, of privilege, of every reason to be happy. I will hold onto them when I feel sorry for myself, on the long days, when the things I say in insecurity break my own heart. How beautifully lucky I am. It is in these moments of pain and realization of how fragile our lives are, that I really am most alive, most blessed.

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