i never understood
why me
i am nothing
a leaf on the stem
of a dandelion
nothing special
looked over
stepped on
why pick me
and call me
a sunflower
Month: April 2018
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my body was abandoned by the train tracks
hair growing like weeds across every patch of earth
breasts shrinking like dried fruit fallen from the trees
weak from the sun’s unrelenting rays
who will come back for it
when will the wind be enough to
fill it with life again
to teach it to love itself as simply as
a train puffs out smoke
When Your ER Doctor IS Dr. McDreamy
First things first: I’m fine. I’m typing this at home, in my bed, with a stomach full of hospital Jello.
As much as I would love to write this post about how hot my ER doctor was (I swear, he was super attractive), I wanted to capture the hours I spent in the ER with some amazing friends.
I had to leave my ED program early today because my treatment team was concerned about some new symptoms I began experiencing. One minute I was getting ready for cooking class with my dietician, and the next I was checking in to the Emergency Room. I had called a friend who had already left program for the day, and she came to hang out with me in the waiting room. As I was waiting with her, my friends from program reached out to me, asking if I was okay and wondering where I had gone. When I mentioned the ER they all sprung to action, asking me if I needed anything, particularly some company. I ended up having multiple friends come hang out while I spent the evening with an IV in my arm and heat packs strapped to my body. Those who couldn’t come still improved my evening and were comforting just by being there via text.
Yes, I spent too many hours in the hospital today, but I actually had a great night hanging out with my friends. It means a lot when your friends move mountains for you, and I am eternally grateful that mine were willing to come hang out with me for so long. In a hospital, no less! (They didn’t even know about the cute doctor before they came!)
All of this reminded me that while treatment has been incredibly difficult, it has graced me with so many new friends that I would do anything for. And of course, a bomb-ass roommate who brought me a sweater when hospital blankets did not do the trick.
Now, please enjoy this photo of hospital socks on my hands- a past-time I enjoyed when I was approximately 4 years old.
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they pass by
like ships on the horizon
squiggled into the sea
hazy through the heat
far enough away
to see their shape
but nothing more
no clarity
until they sail away
out of sight
out of mind
will they return
to this spot
i will never know
–memories
One Body, One Life
This #MentalHealthMonday is a doozy for me as I fight to #endthestigma and challenge my perfectionism and social anxiety. TW: self-harm.
Growing up I struggled with self-harm; Sasha constantly told me that I would be more beautiful with bruises and scars covering my body, so I did as she said and destroyed my body, again and again. And she was happy, again and again. It wasn’t until I saw a therapist here in San Diego and admitted to what I was doing that I realized it was wrong. Sasha was mad that I had shared our secret, so she made me feel exponential shame, which she soothed by convincing me to hurt myself once more. The cycle continued.
One day- I can’t tell you what was so special about this day- I decided to give my limbs and skin a break from the beating they were taking. And I picked up a paintbrush. Don’t ask me why I decided to opt for an art form I had never tried before. Sasha told me I was shit, and that I shouldn’t even try. But something in me told her to sit down, and she did.
Below you will see what came from this art project. It ended up moving me beyond belief and filling me in ways my self-harm never could. Suddenly, everything I was feeling was on my body. Better yet, it was temporary. Paint does no harm, and this was the day that my self-harm went into hibernation.
The poetry below represents my twisted thoughts during my self-injury period.
On April 3, 2018 I collected all of the items I used to harm myself and gave them to my therapist. I made a commitment to safety. To love my body and it’s beauty, with and without scars.
with hands around your throat
and scars across your face
you have a story to tell
that makes you more interesting
than you were before
the bruises will heal
but the stories
never will
skin is a blank canvas
meant to be punctured
with spatters of painted blood
that turn something
ordinary
into something
extraordinary
porcelain they call it
but they never understood
something so empty and fragile
was bound to break
and create many more
fragments to love
rest easy child
i have you now
your battles are mine
to fight
it’s time for you
to let go
and leave it
to me
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in my black hole
there is no light
to see the memories
written on the wall
friends shout from above
voices with no face
Remember the time
But no matter how
much I squint
I can’t make out the words
I etched when there was light
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my heart skips a beat when i see your name appear from the ether. and a ball drops from my lungs to my intestines. is that love? when your body feels things before your brain can comprehend them? or is it something else. something that possesses you and tells you. this is something special. don’t forget. don’t let go. your body is along for the ride. don’t leave it behind when you chase. what you desire. and still be sure to remember. your body soul and mind. are yours. you are the sole owner. don’t let the ball drop influence the way others take you in their hands. and explore you like a sculpture. you are not made of clay. you are made of gold.
endless poetry
I have felt so filled up by poems lately. I appreciate those who follow along. Writing has eased the depression- somehow making it seem manageable.
To those who struggle with mental illness: let your art heal you. Anyone can create anything. Your soul is hungry. Try feeding it.
-k
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the smell of your pages
is enough to fill me up
for weeks
i devour your words
as if i will never see more
each paragraph
a spiritual awakening
of my soul
and it is never
satiated
always needing more
more
rooting to the earth
spreading underneath
sidewalks and backyards
yet
flying free in the open air
among the birds
and the butterflies
each letter fills every inch
of this space we call
our universe
and i am honored
to be a part of it
even as the smallest tree
still growing its roots
and stretching its limbs
–poetry
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How do I stop
writing Love Poems
I won’t
–fighting my perfectionism
putting down the rope 