Snowfall

Snowfall

Outside dirty curbs, filthy sidewalks,

muddy frozen yards,

garbage cemented to a cold hard world,

the dregs of a season hanging on too long.

The soft fluffy flakes begin to fall,

covering it all in drifts of white.

So beautiful, clean again, deceiving.

Underneath it remains the same.

Her music sounds like snow falling

covering my misery, my agony,

helplessness, hopelessness,

pain, discouragement, despair,

loneliness, purposelessness,

with soft fluffy flakes and gentle drifts of white.

So

So

"Your only obligation in any lifetime

is to be true to yourself."

• -The Messiah’s Handbook

Look at what I see

The box that has captured me

That's where I can breathe.

It had seemed so tight

Just endless demons to fight

Never ending night

I ranted in vain

I spewed hatred and placed blame

Felt myself restrained

I KNEW it was locked

KNEW what they'd say if I talked

KNEW that I was blocked

But

Strength in anger fails

Only so long can you rail

Till your body flails.

In exhaustion I

Fell back with an anguished cry

KNEW that I would die.

Naught there did hold me

A thought occurs suddenly

How big actually

Is this little room?

I think there's light within the gloom

A tiny thought looms

How did I get in?

Did they push me to this bin?

Inside my mind spins

No.

I created it

When I KNEW I couldn't fit

The me they wanted.

Oh it's hard to break

The things we've spent time to make

But it's a mistake

To let them stand strong

Holding us within the throng

I need to belong

As me.

There were things out there:

“We want to see more purple”

She said as I stared.

“Please don't stop talking,

Asking difficult questions

In Bible study.”

“We love when you sing.

You should Cantor more often.

You are a blessing.”

“Keep talking to me

I mean it, it's one of the

Best parts of my day.”

“I so love your hugs.”

“Let's work on the video

While they are sleeping.”

“For Valentine's day?

You planted me sunflowers?

I love love love them!”

“I play it often

And I always think of you”

So Imagine Me

“I have prayed for you

Every time I take a break.”

“I know you'll be ok.”

“So continue to

Work out your salvation through

  Fear and trembling…”

“How many hours?”

“13. You just want me to

Give myself one more.”

“Now you're catching on,

And you know you'll do it too.”

“I hate you.” “I know.”

“I hate when you go.”

“I miss you already too.”

“Driving away sucks.”

“Let me demonstrate.”

The book slammed onto the floor.

“That's how you drop it.”

“You can’t be lost if

You don't care where you’re going.

Cemetery visit?”

“Thirty-eight, so young.

No one should die that early.”

“Yeah? You’re thirty-eight.”

You can't trust your emotions.

Your perception is wrong.

You could never let me down.

You can do it.

I believe in you.

We too know how mental illness feels.

You are stronger than you think.

No Matter What.

You are not alone.
Yes.

The box is bigger than you know? The box is where you can breathe?

No.

Because the box isn't there.

Everything In Your Book May be Wrong.

Perspective

Perspective

If you turned to this page

you’re forgetting that what is going

on around you is not reality.

-Richard Bach

The walls are not real.

The windows are not locked.

It’s the way that you feel,

What you thought when they talked.

The wind holds no malice.

The clouds are not black.

It’s a storm only feared

based on outdated facts.

The pain isn’t certain.

The experience speculation.

The expectations you’ve chosen

just a type of segregation.

Devastation’s just a thought

when you count yourself out.

The silence is false

but you have to shout.

The disease always varies

the effects are uncertain,

the solutions always changing

keep hold of your person.

Think about that.

The Secret to Nap Time

The Secret to Nap Time

The story is important. It must be long enough to calm, short enough to avoid premature sleep, and it must involve rhythm.

Use of the bathroom is imperative. After the story, before the nap. A movement oriented transition is necessary.

Return to a dim room. Only gently filtered natural light. No frightening black dark, no assaulting bright intrusion. To this rule there are no exceptions.

Music will make or break nap time. Never choose words. Words focus your brain on a subject, sleep comes with wandering thoughts. The meter must roll like long slow waves. Quiet volume is essential, pulling, not pushing.

The act of tucking in spins security, furthered by the careful choice of blanket. Soft but not fuzzy, covering the whole body, but not twice the whole body. Loose weave is unintelligent, caught fingers and toes trap frightened dreams. Also warm, but not hot, comfort is non-negotiable.

Finally the back rub. The art of the backrub is learned only by feel, by instinct. You can do it, or you can't.

Begin by laying the child on their side so that you are reaching over them to lay your dominant hand on their back. Whisper goodnight. Smoothe the child's clothing and blanket to create an unrumpled surface. As she lays there, begin to rub the center of her back in circles.

Here lies the instinct. Do not allow your hand to run into his shoulders. Stay carefully in the upper center of his back. Rub in concentric circles. In the same continuous motion, in the same size circle, with the same weight. Not hard enough to move him, but just firm enough to give the effect of making him heavy.

DoNotStop

Either you can do it or you can't.

Maybe you can see her eyes, maybe you cannot. But you can feel his breathing. Deep and slow and rhythmic and soon she will sleep. Maybe your arm is sore, maybe you are tired too. But his eyes still flutter or his feet still brush. You can give up.

Or you can last just a little bit longer.

You will have to know when to stop.

Either you will or you won't.

Slow your hand and rub more and more gently till you're just rubbing air. Breathe a long breath. Lean back and wait quietly. Watch her closely. Listen to him breathe.

It’s feeling when. Everything is feeling.

My favorite part of the day is a room full of small children lulled to sleep under my hands, a privilege that leaves me breathless in a room of deep even breathing.