2011 was a year of deliverance for me. it was a year of change and risk and reward, one of opportunity, commitment, investment, and honesty. in 2011, i laughed and cried, ran and rioted in the streets with friends, old, new, and newer. i led and protected, wore my heart on my sleeve and learned the concepts of integrity and dignity. i have had the experiences of a million lifetimes and have stories to tell to my great-grandchildren, should i be so privileged. i know the feeling of a dream coming true before my eyes and have been honored with the chance to say "thank you", and to know true gratitude...
a year ago today, December 31, 2010, i wrote the following. my own guarded hopefulness is like a prophecy:
"the final eve of another ending year. i dont mourn the loss of it and i dont think i will miss much of it. it wasnt the worst of times, as i hope those days are done and gone, though their stamp is permanently etched onto my life, like scars. 2010 has its share of new scars, but i would like to think that the darkness of this year has helped to prepare me for approaching opportunities. i know that i must grab hold of each passing moment, and that nothing is going to stop for me to get my shit together long enough to make something amazing happen. i have to do it for myself and to never let go... i dream every singly day about what my life could be, but it is all blank until i wake up from that dream. ive got to make it happen for myself, on my own, and i absolutely can't wait to make it real."
...i havent read those words in a year, and i shake my head at how lucky i am that they came true. i can only make sense of it by believing that i just became too tired of that reality to continue to live it on a daily, hourly, moment by moment basis. as Anais Nin wrote "The day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." ...i couldnt come up with a better analogy for the miracle of this past year. i cant describe the freedom and release of allowing love and faith and beauty into my life. i cant describe the pain of years of resistance and the relief of venturing into new and beautiful wonders... all over the course of three hundred and sixty-five days, give or take. it seems minimal, tiny, infinitesimal, and the beginning, i am sure, of a continuing journey, should i be so fortunate.
i made more friends than i can count this year, and strengthened relationships with others i had been to weak to not neglect. i could not be more grateful for the amazing, wonderful, varying types of people who have taken a chance on investing in me. i will do my best, in future years, to never let you down. if you are reading this, i am likely talking to you. please take it to heart when i say to you "thank you".
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
nephew
i've never really known a child before, and never really cared to. i saw them as messy, loud, disruptive, and needy. i had no desire for a child in my life until my nephew came along just over 2 years ago. from the moment i first saw him, i recognized a sense of love and beauty that i was not familiar with. i had never really loved a child, and i had certainly never felt such love and trust in return. i now consider it an honor and a part of my life that instills pride in me. to see this child smile and mouth my name through the blurry glass window is a gift i cannot imagine being topped. it is a gift i had no idea i would ever want. as he grows, he still seems like a young toddler, but i know that he has also done significant amounts of becoming a boy, a child, an adolescent, a young man. these things will happen even quicker than i have cared before. i just have to keep up with it all. i've never has something so significant to keep up with it before...
today he calls me "Auntie Stephanie" in the clearest voice i could have ever imagined. he laughs and jokes with me on a level that seems and feels like a level higher than a two year old. his pediatrician confirmed that this child is ahead of all of his milestones. i couldnt be more proud. i also couldnt be more concerned and afraid about Jacob becoming a full-grown person.
many times, young children turn into jaded, disconcerted adults, and that is the opposite of what i want for my nephew.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Regrets
do i have regrets? i sure friggin do. i couldn't begin to count them all. sometimes, i will think of something i did or said and suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to be sick or to clench my fists, my teeth, and every muscle i have control over in my body. the anxiety of my mistakes feels like a haunting, and it used to haunt me on a daily and nightly basis. it used to drag my body on a familiar path night after night. and despite the fact that those specters dont torment me like they used to, i still feel pangs of guilt and shame and grief that laugh at me like something evil, something deeper than i ever knew i could feel.
i still feel the darkness of life, from inside of me. i still feel the anxiety of loneliness from time to time, and i still feel the urges to draw blood from my clenched arm like a phlebotomist would. the difference today is that i have too many people that i care for, and who care for me. its a new and odd feeling, to be connected to so many and to have made so many unforgettable memories. relationships and laughter and experiences have become my medicine and the antidote to my anxiety, guilt, shame, and regret.
these last few years, i havent done much to feel bad for, and ive tried my best to do alot of good.
i still feel the darkness of life, from inside of me. i still feel the anxiety of loneliness from time to time, and i still feel the urges to draw blood from my clenched arm like a phlebotomist would. the difference today is that i have too many people that i care for, and who care for me. its a new and odd feeling, to be connected to so many and to have made so many unforgettable memories. relationships and laughter and experiences have become my medicine and the antidote to my anxiety, guilt, shame, and regret.
these last few years, i havent done much to feel bad for, and ive tried my best to do alot of good.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Christmas Eve
i remember the anxiety i felt walking in the door of a relatives house on Christmas eve in years past. ive often been quite unsure of my place. i was familiar with feeling misunderstood at least, and judged at worst. i recall looking around at my family, my blood relatives, and realizing that i didnt know them at all. i would avoid eye contact because i knew that they didnt know me either.
the impression i gave was hardened and severe, i know. it still is to a certain degree. however, the truth is that it was nothing more than a defensive tactic used to keep others at a safe distance. i looked down or up or anywhere that kept my eyes from being caught by someone else's and i engaged in nothing more than banal, idle chit chat... these are the uncomfortable, uncertain restlessness i typically associated with family gatherings such as this...
...but this year... maybe im changing, maybe i am continuing to change into someone that connects with others rather than hides. today, i wear smiles that are genuine and feel a sense of pride that still feels foreign to me. i feel pride for myself, pride for my young nephew, and pride for my family. it is incredibly meaningful to feel as though i am a part of some kind of family unit, and i guess that is what i felt today. amongst my family, a welcome member of a cohesive foundation. i felt as though i was in the middle rather than on the fringes. i felt a segment of a sum total instead of an unwelcome guest.
i have to say, it is nice to not feel like the black sheep, the disappointment, the quiet angry soul in the background. each day i feel a deeper level of certainty in the direction i am headed in this life. holidays, commitments, conversations, and the love of friends and family convince me that there is a real possibility that i will make it through this life with a sense of accomplishment.
i am finding that i cant just "bah humbug" my way through this time of year, past these holidays. i continue to be surprised, pleasantly so, at the way traditions, both old and new, have turned this time of year into one that doesnt sting.
the impression i gave was hardened and severe, i know. it still is to a certain degree. however, the truth is that it was nothing more than a defensive tactic used to keep others at a safe distance. i looked down or up or anywhere that kept my eyes from being caught by someone else's and i engaged in nothing more than banal, idle chit chat... these are the uncomfortable, uncertain restlessness i typically associated with family gatherings such as this...
...but this year... maybe im changing, maybe i am continuing to change into someone that connects with others rather than hides. today, i wear smiles that are genuine and feel a sense of pride that still feels foreign to me. i feel pride for myself, pride for my young nephew, and pride for my family. it is incredibly meaningful to feel as though i am a part of some kind of family unit, and i guess that is what i felt today. amongst my family, a welcome member of a cohesive foundation. i felt as though i was in the middle rather than on the fringes. i felt a segment of a sum total instead of an unwelcome guest.
i have to say, it is nice to not feel like the black sheep, the disappointment, the quiet angry soul in the background. each day i feel a deeper level of certainty in the direction i am headed in this life. holidays, commitments, conversations, and the love of friends and family convince me that there is a real possibility that i will make it through this life with a sense of accomplishment.
i am finding that i cant just "bah humbug" my way through this time of year, past these holidays. i continue to be surprised, pleasantly so, at the way traditions, both old and new, have turned this time of year into one that doesnt sting.
Friday, December 23, 2011
RANDOM PERSONAL THOUGHT
RANDOM PERSONAL THOUGHT: i seriously considered going to mortuary school and becoming a funeral director. i even sent away for the brochure.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
"you only get one life..."
"You only get one life. There’s no God, no rules, except for those you accept or create for yourself. Then once it’s over… it’s over. Dreamless sleep forever and ever. So why not be happy while you’re here?”
-Nate Fisher, Six Feet Under
-Nate Fisher, Six Feet Under
whole - 2010
written by Stephanie Picher on September 5, 2010
i see my face in tiny, square segments in a small, green hand mirror, never looking at my face as a whole. just parts. eyes, my nose, cheeks, scars. its a theme in my life, scars, and the small parts of me being meaningless, insignificant parts of an uncertain whole. i feel like i have said this all before. i feel as though i say it all the time, or maybe i never stop saying it at all. as if i chant it like a mantra on a constant loop... parts of a whole... scars. its become overused material scrapped from the final cut of the script because its not good enough or because its too predictable. everybody lies and everybody suffers and its cliche at this point. no one is buying that material anymore. the interesting stuff, i believe, must come from the rare individual who smiles and stretches upon waking, feeling eternally grateful for the gift of the new day before jumping out of bed and dancing to the kitchen to make an IHOP style breakfast of pancakes and scrambled eggs.
its a fucking joke, and it is as unlikely as Jesus himself. it is a fallacy. a concept that i dont buy into. "happy" is a corporate strategy. seriously, i think that there is actually a perfume called "Happy". they are fucking bottling that shit up nowadays, and we, the insecure, miserable, and robotic public eat it up. we consume. consumers. we believe on some level that we can buy the traits and ideals that we lack, and sometimes we actually can. can't stand your face? just buy a new one! too fat? have your stomach redirected to a tiny pouch! surgery, lighting, clothing, make-up, shake weights, protein shakes... its all an illusion. but i am SO buying into that illusion if it means that i can look at my whole face in the mirror, instead of just one inch squares, just parts of an unknown whole.
i see my face in tiny, square segments in a small, green hand mirror, never looking at my face as a whole. just parts. eyes, my nose, cheeks, scars. its a theme in my life, scars, and the small parts of me being meaningless, insignificant parts of an uncertain whole. i feel like i have said this all before. i feel as though i say it all the time, or maybe i never stop saying it at all. as if i chant it like a mantra on a constant loop... parts of a whole... scars. its become overused material scrapped from the final cut of the script because its not good enough or because its too predictable. everybody lies and everybody suffers and its cliche at this point. no one is buying that material anymore. the interesting stuff, i believe, must come from the rare individual who smiles and stretches upon waking, feeling eternally grateful for the gift of the new day before jumping out of bed and dancing to the kitchen to make an IHOP style breakfast of pancakes and scrambled eggs.
its a fucking joke, and it is as unlikely as Jesus himself. it is a fallacy. a concept that i dont buy into. "happy" is a corporate strategy. seriously, i think that there is actually a perfume called "Happy". they are fucking bottling that shit up nowadays, and we, the insecure, miserable, and robotic public eat it up. we consume. consumers. we believe on some level that we can buy the traits and ideals that we lack, and sometimes we actually can. can't stand your face? just buy a new one! too fat? have your stomach redirected to a tiny pouch! surgery, lighting, clothing, make-up, shake weights, protein shakes... its all an illusion. but i am SO buying into that illusion if it means that i can look at my whole face in the mirror, instead of just one inch squares, just parts of an unknown whole.
walking
i walked away from biology class in 2004 with my head hung low, tears sneaking out of the corner of my eyes despite my best attempt to stop them. i walked away, grieving and disconnected, addicted and desperate- and i never thought i would look back...
this past Septermber of 2011, i got out of my car, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and walked with trepidation and uncertainty to my first class in 7 years. its on the same campus, the same parking lot, the same library but so much has happened between walking away and making my way back...
incapable of processing assignments and exams, i sat with my notebook in front of me, but nothing to write. all i could think about and all i could see were caskets being lowered into the ground, family crying and family screaming, and my own reckless drug use. on more than one occasion, i ransacked my own closet for textbooks from previous semesters. attending class was a bargain i made with myself: "make it to class, and afterwards you can sell your books at the off-campus book shop." from class, to the book store, to the crack house.
i quickly ran out of textbooks and motivation, and dropped my classes simply by discontinuing my attendance. i drowned for almost 2 years in a white-out storm of drugs, lies, and a progressive violation of my morals and values. the "nevers" and "what ifs?" started coming true as my world collapsed around me.
...as i stepped down from the large passenger van that had picked me up from the airport in South Florida, a dozen heads turned my way. males and females, young and old stood around tall ashtrays with cigarettes between their fingers or hanging from their lips. there were folders and notebooks scattered on the picnic table tops.
as the driver retrieved my large bags from the back of the van, a middle aged man with a pen behind one of his ears approached, hand outstretched. i took his hand, which he shook vigorously.
"nice handshake" he said. "you know what they say about a nice, strong handshake, right? it means you are confident and a leader!"
i probably would have laughed if i had the energy. i couldnt think of two things i felt less like than "confident" or "a leader". i was lost, alone, uncertain, and afraid. i didnt know where i was, both literally and in my life.
cleaning my life up and trying to find some semblance of drive and desire took far longer than the 3 months i spent in inpatient drug treatment. off of drugs, i felt true shame and guilt for the first time. the pain i caused my family and the roadblocks i put up in the way of my own happiness weighed on my consciousness for the first time.
i was drug free, but i was miserable. i was clinically and dangerously depressed, engaging in self injurious behavior in the face of critical anxiety and pain. i was drug free, but i was still so incredibly sick...
finding a brighter reality seemed like an impossibility. the thought of finding love and work and true friendship was laughable for so long. i still shook my head at the time i had wasted in college, and i wanted nothing more than to prove that i could make educational success part of my life again. i had to find a life to fit it all in, of course.
somehow, the doors parted open for me, and i began to see light and hope. i began to smile and laugh and welcome love into my life. i started to give love in return. i started to believe, after all these years, that there was success waiting for me in the world. what i had learned is that no one was going to make my dreams come true for me. no one will work for me if i wont at least work for myself.
inspired, i took small steps forward, entering the college campus for the first time since the day i walked away in 2004. i took note of the information that i needed to help me get my life back. i weighed my options and looked for advice in an academic market that is different than it was just 7 years ago. i was different too, of course, so the changes were rather fitting. i applied for financial aid, writing a letter explaining why i disappeared almost two Bachelors degrees ago. i chose a new major and concentration and carefully studied the course guide as i highlighted the classes that i needed and wanted most. i was officially a student again...
on December 21st, 2011 i walked with my laptop bag over my shoulder toward my car, from the library. i had just taken my last final exam of the semester and i walked away confident in the work i had put in this past semester. i anticipate being named to the Dean's List, an achievement i have not felt the pride of for nearly a decade. i walk away with a smile on my lips, feeling like i had beaten the odds and been given a second chance, not just at life but at living.
i have a short break over the holidays before i return to school for spring semester. i dont feel the fear or the apprehension of making that walk to my class on campus anymore. i feel like i am living proof of what is possible in life if you just take control of making your own dreams come true.
this past Septermber of 2011, i got out of my car, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and walked with trepidation and uncertainty to my first class in 7 years. its on the same campus, the same parking lot, the same library but so much has happened between walking away and making my way back...
incapable of processing assignments and exams, i sat with my notebook in front of me, but nothing to write. all i could think about and all i could see were caskets being lowered into the ground, family crying and family screaming, and my own reckless drug use. on more than one occasion, i ransacked my own closet for textbooks from previous semesters. attending class was a bargain i made with myself: "make it to class, and afterwards you can sell your books at the off-campus book shop." from class, to the book store, to the crack house.
i quickly ran out of textbooks and motivation, and dropped my classes simply by discontinuing my attendance. i drowned for almost 2 years in a white-out storm of drugs, lies, and a progressive violation of my morals and values. the "nevers" and "what ifs?" started coming true as my world collapsed around me.
...as i stepped down from the large passenger van that had picked me up from the airport in South Florida, a dozen heads turned my way. males and females, young and old stood around tall ashtrays with cigarettes between their fingers or hanging from their lips. there were folders and notebooks scattered on the picnic table tops.
as the driver retrieved my large bags from the back of the van, a middle aged man with a pen behind one of his ears approached, hand outstretched. i took his hand, which he shook vigorously.
"nice handshake" he said. "you know what they say about a nice, strong handshake, right? it means you are confident and a leader!"
i probably would have laughed if i had the energy. i couldnt think of two things i felt less like than "confident" or "a leader". i was lost, alone, uncertain, and afraid. i didnt know where i was, both literally and in my life.
cleaning my life up and trying to find some semblance of drive and desire took far longer than the 3 months i spent in inpatient drug treatment. off of drugs, i felt true shame and guilt for the first time. the pain i caused my family and the roadblocks i put up in the way of my own happiness weighed on my consciousness for the first time.
i was drug free, but i was miserable. i was clinically and dangerously depressed, engaging in self injurious behavior in the face of critical anxiety and pain. i was drug free, but i was still so incredibly sick...
finding a brighter reality seemed like an impossibility. the thought of finding love and work and true friendship was laughable for so long. i still shook my head at the time i had wasted in college, and i wanted nothing more than to prove that i could make educational success part of my life again. i had to find a life to fit it all in, of course.
somehow, the doors parted open for me, and i began to see light and hope. i began to smile and laugh and welcome love into my life. i started to give love in return. i started to believe, after all these years, that there was success waiting for me in the world. what i had learned is that no one was going to make my dreams come true for me. no one will work for me if i wont at least work for myself.
inspired, i took small steps forward, entering the college campus for the first time since the day i walked away in 2004. i took note of the information that i needed to help me get my life back. i weighed my options and looked for advice in an academic market that is different than it was just 7 years ago. i was different too, of course, so the changes were rather fitting. i applied for financial aid, writing a letter explaining why i disappeared almost two Bachelors degrees ago. i chose a new major and concentration and carefully studied the course guide as i highlighted the classes that i needed and wanted most. i was officially a student again...
on December 21st, 2011 i walked with my laptop bag over my shoulder toward my car, from the library. i had just taken my last final exam of the semester and i walked away confident in the work i had put in this past semester. i anticipate being named to the Dean's List, an achievement i have not felt the pride of for nearly a decade. i walk away with a smile on my lips, feeling like i had beaten the odds and been given a second chance, not just at life but at living.
i have a short break over the holidays before i return to school for spring semester. i dont feel the fear or the apprehension of making that walk to my class on campus anymore. i feel like i am living proof of what is possible in life if you just take control of making your own dreams come true.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
closure
i hate the ever growing distance between me and your voice, your laugh. i hate that remembering you is like sorting through filing cabinets, thousands of them, while trying to effectively process those memories. so many millions of things have happened since you left me in the emotional youth of my early 20's. So much change has occurred and wisdom has been gathered. the world i live in and the person the lives there didn't exist eight years ago, when you left. i am certain, however, of how welcome and comfortable you would be in the world that stands today. it makes me smile to think of how proud you would be of your son. so proud, you would be of the man he has become. you would be a glowing and doting grandfather, and you would adore your daughter-in-law...
the only thing is that there is a gaping hole in all of those moments because you are missing. a fundamental keystone is absent, despite the many reasons why you should still be here. i think of you at least once, every single day, and during those times it feels fundamentally wrong to know you are missing.
i am afraid that as years pass, i will forget you and the things that i love and miss about you. if i concentrate especially hard, i can still sometimes hear your voice. it is difficult though, and it gets more and more so all the time. its been almost eight years, but it may as well be 80 years. gone is gone...
i will always write about you and cry for you. i will always look at your picture and i will listen to your laugh when i need to. it will never be ok, or acceptable that you are gone. it is ironic that you were the one who first pointed out the bullshit concept of closure to me, as it applies to grief. you taught me that whatever part of the pain of loss that is supposed to close or end or become final is a therapeutic impossibility. growth and time and healing can move you further from the constant pain of grief, but our hearts will always show scars, and evidence of the hurt we have felt.
nothing has given me closure, and i believe my Dad. i never expect it to.
the only thing is that there is a gaping hole in all of those moments because you are missing. a fundamental keystone is absent, despite the many reasons why you should still be here. i think of you at least once, every single day, and during those times it feels fundamentally wrong to know you are missing.
i am afraid that as years pass, i will forget you and the things that i love and miss about you. if i concentrate especially hard, i can still sometimes hear your voice. it is difficult though, and it gets more and more so all the time. its been almost eight years, but it may as well be 80 years. gone is gone...
i will always write about you and cry for you. i will always look at your picture and i will listen to your laugh when i need to. it will never be ok, or acceptable that you are gone. it is ironic that you were the one who first pointed out the bullshit concept of closure to me, as it applies to grief. you taught me that whatever part of the pain of loss that is supposed to close or end or become final is a therapeutic impossibility. growth and time and healing can move you further from the constant pain of grief, but our hearts will always show scars, and evidence of the hurt we have felt.
nothing has given me closure, and i believe my Dad. i never expect it to.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Things I Love
Things I Love
i love Jacob, my beautiful, miracle nephew, the light of my life.
i love Lady Gaga for reasons far deeper and more intense thank pop music.
i love writing, its grounding force and therapeutic gifts.
i love the people who have gotten better with me or suffered alongside me.
i love Butler for always being a place to lay my head when things get too dark.
i love my brother Patrick and my sister-in-law Elisa for allowing me a place in their family.
i love the knowledge that i am capable of massive amounts more than i ever thought possible.
i love books, television, and movies for being a safe escape whenever i needed one.
i love dreams- even dark ones, and fantasies for allowing my brain to push the boundaries to more interesting territory.
mournin'
"I wear the black in mournin' for the lives that could have been,
Each week we lose a hundred fine young men." - Johnny Cash
Sunday, December 18, 2011
comfort zones
days have gone by without the opportunity or motivation to write and document. on a rare occasion, i am actually too busy or preoccupied to find the time, always pushing the task away until later, later, later... now that things have settled a bit and life has given me a brief moment of reprieve, i can sit back and try to recall people, places, and things as well and with as much truth as possible...
the storm clouds have parted, but i still find myself to be a bit of a recluse. a homebody, typically staying as close as possible to the safety and warmth of my bedroom. having to step outside of that safe zone is frustrating at times but not nearly as anxiety provoking as it once was. the boundaries have been pushed outward. i dont avoid outings or trips like i used to. quite the contrary. i have done more interesting things outdoors than most people i know.
i learned, thankfully, that avoidance holds consequences bigger than just missing out an exciting trip or unique event. standing still, in fear, is what kept me perpetually alone, depressed, and feeling ashamed. i would weigh my options, trying desperately to be objective and to consider the possibility that i might actually enjoy myself as a result of a leap of faith. i tried so hard and for so long to push past the fear and anxiety that keep me locked within that "comfort zone". it is, in actuality, a dungeon.
i stayed hidden a lot, showing up sporadically and with varying degrees of energy, like a ghost. i dont always make the final, healthy push past the finish line, but sometimes, however, i am able to weigh out the pros and the cons and make the decision the would be considered the "healthier" one.
the thing is, i couldnt continue to lose myself in regret. when i push myself, i find myself not alone and surrounded my love. i find myself laughing and perhaps even enjoying myself. being part of something is worth losing the safety of being a part of nothing.
the storm clouds have parted, but i still find myself to be a bit of a recluse. a homebody, typically staying as close as possible to the safety and warmth of my bedroom. having to step outside of that safe zone is frustrating at times but not nearly as anxiety provoking as it once was. the boundaries have been pushed outward. i dont avoid outings or trips like i used to. quite the contrary. i have done more interesting things outdoors than most people i know.
i learned, thankfully, that avoidance holds consequences bigger than just missing out an exciting trip or unique event. standing still, in fear, is what kept me perpetually alone, depressed, and feeling ashamed. i would weigh my options, trying desperately to be objective and to consider the possibility that i might actually enjoy myself as a result of a leap of faith. i tried so hard and for so long to push past the fear and anxiety that keep me locked within that "comfort zone". it is, in actuality, a dungeon.
i stayed hidden a lot, showing up sporadically and with varying degrees of energy, like a ghost. i dont always make the final, healthy push past the finish line, but sometimes, however, i am able to weigh out the pros and the cons and make the decision the would be considered the "healthier" one.
the thing is, i couldnt continue to lose myself in regret. when i push myself, i find myself not alone and surrounded my love. i find myself laughing and perhaps even enjoying myself. being part of something is worth losing the safety of being a part of nothing.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Cabbage Patch
long before the Furby or the Tickle-Me Elmo caused holiday shopping riots, there was a hideous little doll that created mayhem wherever they sprouted. i dont remember wanting one, although i was barely 3 years old, so i dont remember alot of things, but my mom has recounted the story,
my Cabbage Patch doll came in a box busted, torn, and dented from the pulling of long, manicured nails. when it comes down to it, though, my mother was lucky to have gotten that jacked-up box to begin with. after waiting for hours for the Bradlees doors to open on that Black Friday in the early 80's, it was as if the instantaneous rush of shoppers sucked the air out of the building. every shopper, most of whom were ravenous women, headed at a full sprint to one of several heavily discounted or limited and rare items. it is an ambush, and once the horde of zombie housewives find the items at the top of their shopping list, that is when hell really breaks loose...
there are almost always more shoppers than items, especially if it is a big-ticket item with a limited availability. this is where the tug of war begins, as shoppers fight in the most literal sense of the word. it often turns to shoving, destroying items while fighting over them, and even trampling like the bulls in Pamplona.
my mother got a hold of one of these magical dolls, but not before being kicked and having her fair pulled in the pursuit... it has been roughly 25 years since the Cabbage Patch doll turned mothers into monsters, and because my mothers ordeal, we never actually opened the doll, and that never really bothered me... it sits in its original packaging in a cedar chest in the attic.
the unopened Cabbage Patch Kid box, im sure, holds the insanity and primal negativity of a christmas mob, and i am sure that that feature alone will jack the price up ten fold, should i decide to put the doll on Ebay. i have no real memories associated with it, except for my mother returning home haggard from the intensity of the shopping trip with bags in hand.
...so if you are looking for a 1985 Cabbage Patch Kid that you dont want to have to sacrifice your dignity to aquire, then drop me a line.
my Cabbage Patch doll came in a box busted, torn, and dented from the pulling of long, manicured nails. when it comes down to it, though, my mother was lucky to have gotten that jacked-up box to begin with. after waiting for hours for the Bradlees doors to open on that Black Friday in the early 80's, it was as if the instantaneous rush of shoppers sucked the air out of the building. every shopper, most of whom were ravenous women, headed at a full sprint to one of several heavily discounted or limited and rare items. it is an ambush, and once the horde of zombie housewives find the items at the top of their shopping list, that is when hell really breaks loose...
there are almost always more shoppers than items, especially if it is a big-ticket item with a limited availability. this is where the tug of war begins, as shoppers fight in the most literal sense of the word. it often turns to shoving, destroying items while fighting over them, and even trampling like the bulls in Pamplona.
my mother got a hold of one of these magical dolls, but not before being kicked and having her fair pulled in the pursuit... it has been roughly 25 years since the Cabbage Patch doll turned mothers into monsters, and because my mothers ordeal, we never actually opened the doll, and that never really bothered me... it sits in its original packaging in a cedar chest in the attic.
the unopened Cabbage Patch Kid box, im sure, holds the insanity and primal negativity of a christmas mob, and i am sure that that feature alone will jack the price up ten fold, should i decide to put the doll on Ebay. i have no real memories associated with it, except for my mother returning home haggard from the intensity of the shopping trip with bags in hand.
...so if you are looking for a 1985 Cabbage Patch Kid that you dont want to have to sacrifice your dignity to aquire, then drop me a line.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
anxious
i wish i wasnt such a teeth clencher. i catch myself when my molars start to send pain signals to my brain. shit. i'm doing it again. im off in another world, either replaying the past or predicting the future. the bottom line is that i am anxious.
my chest starts to ache. it comes in waves and sweeps down, through my abdomen. it feels like a sharp drop on a roller coaster, when it feels like your stomach becomes airborne inside your body. the world feels like it is moving faster than i am and that every one around me can see and hear how fucking crazy i am.
really, though. im just anxious. usually i am fine and am able to maintain control of my place in a particular space, but sometimes the pressure shoves the gauge toward overload and all i can really do is just hold my head and try not to die...
that sounds dramatic, im sure. believe me, i know that i am not going to die. panic attacks and acute anxiety can induce the feeling of being short of breath, having chest pains, and even feeling like you are dying, but medically- you are fine. honestly, though, ive been through it more times than i wish to count and the truth never really mattered when i was in the midst of trying to catch my breath and slow down my mind. it always feels horrible, no matter how much you know about it.
panic, or at least severe anxiety, has not been present much in my life lately. outside of the normal stressors that make even the most average of people nervous, i have learned to navigate around and sometimes even directly through the labyrinth that is anxiety.
as scared as i am about the prospect of panic and anxiety flooding my life again, i also have some confidence and strength when it comes to conquering tough situations. the 'toughest situation' might just be the presence of anxiety itself, and learning to walk through it. i stumble at times and find myself dealing with life with a fist through a wall. thankfully, those moments are incredibly few and far between at this point. i deal with those uncomfortable feelings with a knowledge and a belief that pain is temporary, and that it will pass...
it will always pass if you just allow it to travel through and out. the more tense you are, the more anxiety and negativity will remain in your brain.
you are just anxious. its no big deal.
my chest starts to ache. it comes in waves and sweeps down, through my abdomen. it feels like a sharp drop on a roller coaster, when it feels like your stomach becomes airborne inside your body. the world feels like it is moving faster than i am and that every one around me can see and hear how fucking crazy i am.
really, though. im just anxious. usually i am fine and am able to maintain control of my place in a particular space, but sometimes the pressure shoves the gauge toward overload and all i can really do is just hold my head and try not to die...
that sounds dramatic, im sure. believe me, i know that i am not going to die. panic attacks and acute anxiety can induce the feeling of being short of breath, having chest pains, and even feeling like you are dying, but medically- you are fine. honestly, though, ive been through it more times than i wish to count and the truth never really mattered when i was in the midst of trying to catch my breath and slow down my mind. it always feels horrible, no matter how much you know about it.
panic, or at least severe anxiety, has not been present much in my life lately. outside of the normal stressors that make even the most average of people nervous, i have learned to navigate around and sometimes even directly through the labyrinth that is anxiety.
as scared as i am about the prospect of panic and anxiety flooding my life again, i also have some confidence and strength when it comes to conquering tough situations. the 'toughest situation' might just be the presence of anxiety itself, and learning to walk through it. i stumble at times and find myself dealing with life with a fist through a wall. thankfully, those moments are incredibly few and far between at this point. i deal with those uncomfortable feelings with a knowledge and a belief that pain is temporary, and that it will pass...
it will always pass if you just allow it to travel through and out. the more tense you are, the more anxiety and negativity will remain in your brain.
you are just anxious. its no big deal.
Monday, December 12, 2011
breaking the news
oh shit. i seem to have gotten myself into a bit of a pickle. i am for some reason a target for young, bi-curious, emo girls. they just fall in love and want to text me constantly... im the first person to tell anyone- be honest if your life is being negatively affected by the actions of another. it sucks to hurt feelings, but it sucks even more to be miserable in order to spare someone the truth... argh, but it makes it harder when you know how needy these girls are, especially when they tell me things like, "you are the first girl i've ever been into!" or "you inspire me!"... these are compliments however you slice it, but the bottom line is that i am just not interested. i am not looking for a texting buddy or mediocre conversation. im not looking for someone "young" either... when i say young, i am speaking much more about maturity and life experience than about how many years you have existed on this earth. all factors being equal, age wouldnt matter. we would all be on the same page and things like dating wouldnt be nearly as complicated.
...how somehow cannot know that a text message saying "hey" is sufficient is beyond me. there is nothing wrong with "hey", but when one comes along several times a day while i am driving or in class or not interested, it makes me a whole less likely to respond.
i got your message the first time. there is no need to send the same emoticon and greeting. its not going to make me any more likely to want to engage in conversation with you.
...how somehow cannot know that a text message saying "hey" is sufficient is beyond me. there is nothing wrong with "hey", but when one comes along several times a day while i am driving or in class or not interested, it makes me a whole less likely to respond.
i got your message the first time. there is no need to send the same emoticon and greeting. its not going to make me any more likely to want to engage in conversation with you.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
free association and a bit of randomness.
i dont take the time to just write in spite of myself often... i always think of topics and titles and never allow myself the simple luxury of the practice of writing. i never free my mind and allow it to travel at its own accord. i never pull the little pieces out of my brain and attempt to throw them onto a page without edits or second thoughts. i can never just let them be...
i WANT to just let them be...
to just let them go. your thoughts are worthy, you dont need to edit them. you can write about it all, you dont need to pick and choose the perfect topic every time. sometimes you can just let your mind go, corrections be damned... im attempting to be honest at the expense of someones feelings. im trying to let someone down easily, but there really is no "easily", is there? ive been let down easily before. it sucks. its probably the worst way to be let down, but at least it leaves no doubt in the mind of the one let-down... i didnt mean to imply that there was anything between us, because there isnt and there wasnt and there wont be. when you try to contact me, message after desperate message, you do yourself more harm than good. you make me less likely to feign a response. i dont want to hurt you, but i dont want the effort of pretending we could ever be something either...
dammit i miss the city. i am resentful of my time being taken from me by the darkness of others, but it is my own problem. the result of poor planning and bad choices. driving home as my head bobbed towards sleepiness, i thought of who and what i was travelling away from, and i had to hold back tears. just a few hours of reinforcing conversation and laughter was not enough, but it was worth it nonetheless...
learning never ends...
Thursday, December 8, 2011
travels.
how can the course of my life be so different now? i know that redemption exists, and that it is not all that uncommon for someone to change their life from one direction to another; but i feel like instead of "changing my life", my life seems to have changed me. i don't know how that happened...
the path i was headed on was such a well-constructed roadway. i am convinced i was meant to stay on that track, but somehow, i veered and i escaped. but the most surprising change of it all is that i now have control over where my mind, soul, ambitions, fears, strengths and weaknesses travel.
i dont wake up and dread the day ahead anymore. i have the gift of friendship and loyalty that covers me like a suit of armor. i used to be such an easy target for my own arrows. guilt and shame and self-destruction. i walk now with my hands free of those weapons, and i flex my fingers feeling the freedom of letting them go.
my whole body releases a tension that has been present for years, and i slowly feel my breath slow as the relaxation of giving it all away rings true in my brain. nothing to worry about...
its not always such a relief, giving away the past and letting go of the dark, but it comes in moments, waves. its part of a process. sometimes, it is a religious experience, in the realization that im a bit lighter today than yesterday. other times, it is subtle. like a veil lifts and the light is a tiny bit brighter than it was a second before.
ill take it as i can get it... the moments of relief and the blessing of learning that i am not alone can be tiny or they can be massive. whatever their size, they have moved a mountain of darkness away.
the path i was headed on was such a well-constructed roadway. i am convinced i was meant to stay on that track, but somehow, i veered and i escaped. but the most surprising change of it all is that i now have control over where my mind, soul, ambitions, fears, strengths and weaknesses travel.
i dont wake up and dread the day ahead anymore. i have the gift of friendship and loyalty that covers me like a suit of armor. i used to be such an easy target for my own arrows. guilt and shame and self-destruction. i walk now with my hands free of those weapons, and i flex my fingers feeling the freedom of letting them go.
my whole body releases a tension that has been present for years, and i slowly feel my breath slow as the relaxation of giving it all away rings true in my brain. nothing to worry about...
its not always such a relief, giving away the past and letting go of the dark, but it comes in moments, waves. its part of a process. sometimes, it is a religious experience, in the realization that im a bit lighter today than yesterday. other times, it is subtle. like a veil lifts and the light is a tiny bit brighter than it was a second before.
ill take it as i can get it... the moments of relief and the blessing of learning that i am not alone can be tiny or they can be massive. whatever their size, they have moved a mountain of darkness away.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
page one
occasionally, entire days pass with no words. is it that i legitimately have nothing to say or is it that the words are stuck somehow, unable to pass from my brain to my paper? is it writers block? am i forcing these words right now? would i even know if i were forcing them or pulling them from an inauthentic place?
its one of the scariest situations i can imagine- not having my ink and my paper, and most importantly, not having my words. i dont know who i am without them. i have little confidence in the idea of a successful and independent future without writing. it is a craft that i was born with, much like a propensity for sports or math or technology.
i believe and i fear that even if i hone my skills to a perfect point, i may still miss the mark. i think every day about how to begin page one, or even word one. the first one is always the hardest. despite the discomfort and the fear of not measuring up, my options are either an uncomfortable journey to my future or the perpetual trip to nowhere.
i just cant settle. settling and walking away from the hope i have of being a successful writer is out of the question. its a casket, a last stop, a dead end. life begins, for me, on page one, but that may as well be light years away.
its one of the scariest situations i can imagine- not having my ink and my paper, and most importantly, not having my words. i dont know who i am without them. i have little confidence in the idea of a successful and independent future without writing. it is a craft that i was born with, much like a propensity for sports or math or technology.
i believe and i fear that even if i hone my skills to a perfect point, i may still miss the mark. i think every day about how to begin page one, or even word one. the first one is always the hardest. despite the discomfort and the fear of not measuring up, my options are either an uncomfortable journey to my future or the perpetual trip to nowhere.
i just cant settle. settling and walking away from the hope i have of being a successful writer is out of the question. its a casket, a last stop, a dead end. life begins, for me, on page one, but that may as well be light years away.
ghost
she is so beautiful. it's the way her eyes light up everything around her, like a halo. her smile reminds me of everything genuine in this world and i crave the way her short hair frames her perfect face. i want to touch it, to tuck it behind her ears and let my fingers linger there just a second longer than appropriate. i watch her lips as she forms words, always upturned, always right. she asks all the right questions and gives the most helpful responses.
but then she turns and walks away from me, leaving her scent like a ghost. and i, of course, am alone.
but then she turns and walks away from me, leaving her scent like a ghost. and i, of course, am alone.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
character
young people are dying. young men and women are killing themselves, feeling that they are left with no choice. young, GAY men and women made to believe that they are disgusting, immoral, sinful "abominations". i hate that word...
they are called names like "dyke", "faggot", "freak", and "queer". they are alienated, excluded, tormented, and abused. they are MURDERED.
i have been in those shoes, and worn them in some very dark places. i am in those shoes, just a decade later. i thought myself to be an oddity. a loser hiding in the closet, masculine, a dyke. all the epithets spit my way are hard to rummage through and discard. after all those roadblocks, however, I've gained, somehow, the strength to say "IT'S NOT OK". People are dying with their voices stifled, however.
collectively, we must find a way to help, to educate, to save lives. it is a code blue situation, and we've already lost far too many victims. one is too many. we cannot say that we have "done everything we could" like TV doctors always say. we have barely begun, and we must do more. I must do more.
how i feel and what i believe and how certain i am in my sexuality are irrelevant factors if i don't contribute something to the cause of keeping LGBT youth out of cemeteries. i will not allow myself to become accustomed to the phrase "another gay funeral"...
i remember the bullying quite clearly, even though it has been a decade since i graduated high school. no matter how much time passes, however, i still cant shake the moments the shook me to my core with no one to turn to. i remember the laughs and the stares. "why do you dress like that, dyke?", "i would only go out with you if you looked like Kathy Ireland.", "...studly Steph", "do you like your horrible haircut?"...
i hid in a bathroom stall during lunch hour in high school, rather than be caught dead sitting alone. they say it builds character, but if hiding and living in fear are prerequisites for character building, i would rather skip it. as far as "character" goes, I've built a lot of it hiding in fear in bathroom stalls.
I've always been different, and i knew it. i felt it more often than i didn't, pretty much always from kindergarten to high school graduation. i was always on the fringes, but i guess you could say that I've found that i fit best in those fringe situations. today, i embrace what is different about me more than ever, and if i must be categorized, put me under "miscellaneous".
but the important thing, the issue at hand is the kids who are not comfortable or accepted. the kids who are dying and those who desperately want to is what is important. i don't know what i can do, as just one person, and i don't know how i can help other than putting my story out there, leaving myself open as a shoulder to lean on. i don't know how to save the lives of the many young people who are contemplating ending their life tonight, but i will certainly, always try my best.
they are called names like "dyke", "faggot", "freak", and "queer". they are alienated, excluded, tormented, and abused. they are MURDERED.
i have been in those shoes, and worn them in some very dark places. i am in those shoes, just a decade later. i thought myself to be an oddity. a loser hiding in the closet, masculine, a dyke. all the epithets spit my way are hard to rummage through and discard. after all those roadblocks, however, I've gained, somehow, the strength to say "IT'S NOT OK". People are dying with their voices stifled, however.
collectively, we must find a way to help, to educate, to save lives. it is a code blue situation, and we've already lost far too many victims. one is too many. we cannot say that we have "done everything we could" like TV doctors always say. we have barely begun, and we must do more. I must do more.
how i feel and what i believe and how certain i am in my sexuality are irrelevant factors if i don't contribute something to the cause of keeping LGBT youth out of cemeteries. i will not allow myself to become accustomed to the phrase "another gay funeral"...
i remember the bullying quite clearly, even though it has been a decade since i graduated high school. no matter how much time passes, however, i still cant shake the moments the shook me to my core with no one to turn to. i remember the laughs and the stares. "why do you dress like that, dyke?", "i would only go out with you if you looked like Kathy Ireland.", "...studly Steph", "do you like your horrible haircut?"...
i hid in a bathroom stall during lunch hour in high school, rather than be caught dead sitting alone. they say it builds character, but if hiding and living in fear are prerequisites for character building, i would rather skip it. as far as "character" goes, I've built a lot of it hiding in fear in bathroom stalls.
I've always been different, and i knew it. i felt it more often than i didn't, pretty much always from kindergarten to high school graduation. i was always on the fringes, but i guess you could say that I've found that i fit best in those fringe situations. today, i embrace what is different about me more than ever, and if i must be categorized, put me under "miscellaneous".
but the important thing, the issue at hand is the kids who are not comfortable or accepted. the kids who are dying and those who desperately want to is what is important. i don't know what i can do, as just one person, and i don't know how i can help other than putting my story out there, leaving myself open as a shoulder to lean on. i don't know how to save the lives of the many young people who are contemplating ending their life tonight, but i will certainly, always try my best.
Monday, December 5, 2011
"i have to be realistic..."
i am moving in a direction that feels right. it is better and healthy, they tell me. it is what i tell myself now too, and the miracle of it comes in believing in the process and being grateful for the progress. some days are dark, but sometimes so is life. i hold on to every dark day, every one, and dream about how much better the next day will be.
i look down at myself and shake my head up and down instead of side to side. i approve of the growth and the commitment and the love that has seeped into and out of my pores. i more than "approve" of it. i welcome it and i breathe it in and out. i love the light that shines on me now, i love its warmth, and i try not to give that joy over to cynicism and negativity.
perhaps, one day soon or not, life will show up in its suffocating way again. i will be cloaked in it and i will be pulled into the basement where my personal hell exists. i will pray for a leading hand back towards the sun and the smiles and the feeling of a warm palm on my back.
i have to be realistic, i have to acknowledge the possibility that i wont be well forever. i have to respect the strength of my condition, lying in wait in my brain. at the same time, while waiting i must also shine the spotlight on today, which is perfectly lit on its own.
by: Stephanie Picher
i look down at myself and shake my head up and down instead of side to side. i approve of the growth and the commitment and the love that has seeped into and out of my pores. i more than "approve" of it. i welcome it and i breathe it in and out. i love the light that shines on me now, i love its warmth, and i try not to give that joy over to cynicism and negativity.
perhaps, one day soon or not, life will show up in its suffocating way again. i will be cloaked in it and i will be pulled into the basement where my personal hell exists. i will pray for a leading hand back towards the sun and the smiles and the feeling of a warm palm on my back.
i have to be realistic, i have to acknowledge the possibility that i wont be well forever. i have to respect the strength of my condition, lying in wait in my brain. at the same time, while waiting i must also shine the spotlight on today, which is perfectly lit on its own.
by: Stephanie Picher
Saturday, December 3, 2011
The Monster Ball
there is a smell that lingers on my skin and in my clothes. tiny shimmers appear and disappear in my hair. make-up smudges streak down my face, mixed with sweat and tears. on a deeper level, i am moved beyond description. i am emotionally gutted, as if i have just spent my body and soul in a sacred ritual. my body aches from my feet to my back, my arms and my ears... but my heart and brain are spinning as i catch my breath for the first time in hours and my eyes re-adjust to the light. it is always a sinking sensation, a trip back to reality, a situational depression. it is slow and heavy like mud traveling outwards, and it takes days for it to pass.
i see in flashes of white, brightly colored denim, fishnet stockings, and fire. i live in leather and vinyl, i take comfort in stage blood and glittering Flying V guitars. this world could easily have been created in my mind, in my wildest imagination- but its here. i have seen it, i have been there. it feels like i know every corner of the giant arenas i travel to, and every single piece of the ever-changing stage.
now dismantled, I see and feel it all through my television screen. it is a distant, two dimensional view but the sensations will never leave my brain. even on television, i see my friends and people i love and its like im right there with them. its real. its unbelievable... I will always covet that stage as the place where i left my heart.
by: Stephanie Picher
12/4/2011
i see in flashes of white, brightly colored denim, fishnet stockings, and fire. i live in leather and vinyl, i take comfort in stage blood and glittering Flying V guitars. this world could easily have been created in my mind, in my wildest imagination- but its here. i have seen it, i have been there. it feels like i know every corner of the giant arenas i travel to, and every single piece of the ever-changing stage.
now dismantled, I see and feel it all through my television screen. it is a distant, two dimensional view but the sensations will never leave my brain. even on television, i see my friends and people i love and its like im right there with them. its real. its unbelievable... I will always covet that stage as the place where i left my heart.
by: Stephanie Picher
12/4/2011
Friday, December 2, 2011
direction
there are some moments in time that are different from the status quo. for some reason, these moments deserve a second look, and occasionally they can profoundly affect the directions my mind and body decide to take. they can sometimes change and save my life. they can also send me in a downward tailspin. they are the proverbial roller coaster's ups and downs of life, and essentially how we define ourselves and our lives from moment to moment.
when i think about the timeline of my life lately, there are several events or instances that have done more than just promote a continued, "normal" existence. each bigger, bolder blip on the radar has the power to progress in to an important turning point, either in the right direction or any number of very wrong ones.
Life, collectively, is a result of good choices and bad ones, wrong turns and maps that lead you home. recognizing the opportunities around each corner gives me a better chance of getting everything i can, finally, out of this life.
when i think about the timeline of my life lately, there are several events or instances that have done more than just promote a continued, "normal" existence. each bigger, bolder blip on the radar has the power to progress in to an important turning point, either in the right direction or any number of very wrong ones.
Life, collectively, is a result of good choices and bad ones, wrong turns and maps that lead you home. recognizing the opportunities around each corner gives me a better chance of getting everything i can, finally, out of this life.
one of many
on July 20, 2011, i wrote:
"its not just the memory of laughing with you that makes me smile so hard. it is the fact that it all really occurred, that i know you at all and that we have the opportunity to share that laughter. that surprises me most and makes me shake my head in wonder."
...the thing is, i have no idea who i was referring to. and then i realized what a beautiful thing THAT is. ive laughed with ALOT of people over the last several months, the last couple of years even. ive had alot of instances where thinking about the experiences ive had makes me smile. i dont know who was on my mind on July 20th, but it feels good to know it could be one of many.
"its not just the memory of laughing with you that makes me smile so hard. it is the fact that it all really occurred, that i know you at all and that we have the opportunity to share that laughter. that surprises me most and makes me shake my head in wonder."
...the thing is, i have no idea who i was referring to. and then i realized what a beautiful thing THAT is. ive laughed with ALOT of people over the last several months, the last couple of years even. ive had alot of instances where thinking about the experiences ive had makes me smile. i dont know who was on my mind on July 20th, but it feels good to know it could be one of many.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
voices
"the barn has burned down, and now i can see the moon."
the sound of a person's voice carries so much power, so much weight. it is the instrument which projects our truths and our lies, our happiness, sadness, anger. it can be real or it can be as big a fallacy as anything...
in some small way, hearing the voice of a loved one lost feels like a tiny restoration deep in the center of the heart. mortar fills cracks and holes, little by little, slowly replacing the pain with the comfort of taking a step out into the light.
I could listen to your laugh forever, and it comforts me to know that that loud, amused, and jovial sound still exists, although i dont want to have to press rewind to hear it.
i need you here, wherever i am. wherever you are... im sorry i hid from you, i'll regret it forever.
if there is any chance of an afterlife, i hope that you are laughing.
the sound of a person's voice carries so much power, so much weight. it is the instrument which projects our truths and our lies, our happiness, sadness, anger. it can be real or it can be as big a fallacy as anything...
in some small way, hearing the voice of a loved one lost feels like a tiny restoration deep in the center of the heart. mortar fills cracks and holes, little by little, slowly replacing the pain with the comfort of taking a step out into the light.
I could listen to your laugh forever, and it comforts me to know that that loud, amused, and jovial sound still exists, although i dont want to have to press rewind to hear it.
i need you here, wherever i am. wherever you are... im sorry i hid from you, i'll regret it forever.
if there is any chance of an afterlife, i hope that you are laughing.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Rebecca
you are such a distant part of my past, of my history. you knew me at a time in my life when i needed to be liberated. i needed an edge and you let me bite off a piece of yours. you darkened my view, and introduced me to new sights and sounds. you introduced me to a level of individuality i didnt know existed. you set me on my course for tragedy and triumph.
but so it goes, as adolescents enter adulthood, the concept of "best friends" changes. it doesnt always carry over. you can only watch Rocky Horror so many times before the VHS tape wears thin...
im sure we lived parallel lives for a time, unknowingly. sex, drugs, and rock and roll were where we related. it didnt soften the blow, however, when my cocaine addled brain saw your house for the first time in years. i was secretly horrified to run into you under such circumstances, embarrassed at what i had become. you didnt seem to judge me that night, however, because you were just as fucked up. we parted ways again, living parallel, but miles apart...
its good to know you are alive, Becki. its a miracle we both are.the idea of sitting in your kitchen eating dinner and reminiscing is almost laughable. how domestic, how pedestrian. but i know you, Becki, and you were never one for domestics. that grown up dinner may never happen, and i dont believe for a second that you are moving to Italy this year. i believe that YOU believe it, and thats where we will leave it...
but just so you know, i was so moved when you wrote in your diary that i was your best friend a lifetime ago. i read it while you were trying to fuck my cousin or something. yeah, friendship isnt always textbook... fuck, we tore out the pages and rewrote that one... you were always the one who made me brave enough to change, for better or worse.
but so it goes, as adolescents enter adulthood, the concept of "best friends" changes. it doesnt always carry over. you can only watch Rocky Horror so many times before the VHS tape wears thin...
im sure we lived parallel lives for a time, unknowingly. sex, drugs, and rock and roll were where we related. it didnt soften the blow, however, when my cocaine addled brain saw your house for the first time in years. i was secretly horrified to run into you under such circumstances, embarrassed at what i had become. you didnt seem to judge me that night, however, because you were just as fucked up. we parted ways again, living parallel, but miles apart...
its good to know you are alive, Becki. its a miracle we both are.the idea of sitting in your kitchen eating dinner and reminiscing is almost laughable. how domestic, how pedestrian. but i know you, Becki, and you were never one for domestics. that grown up dinner may never happen, and i dont believe for a second that you are moving to Italy this year. i believe that YOU believe it, and thats where we will leave it...
but just so you know, i was so moved when you wrote in your diary that i was your best friend a lifetime ago. i read it while you were trying to fuck my cousin or something. yeah, friendship isnt always textbook... fuck, we tore out the pages and rewrote that one... you were always the one who made me brave enough to change, for better or worse.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Skin
The days when nothing seems to wither
like the traces of your face
the gentle lines of times which tested,
leaving wisdom in their wake.
but wisdom visual means years the lesser
more in bed, and less at work
the times when mind wants more than vessel,
and body simply cant go on.
where does mind and soul go?
when the bed sinks under a bodies weight,
it stays to serve those who surround
waiting for their skin to be less smooth.
© Stephanie J. Picher 2005
like the traces of your face
the gentle lines of times which tested,
leaving wisdom in their wake.
but wisdom visual means years the lesser
more in bed, and less at work
the times when mind wants more than vessel,
and body simply cant go on.
where does mind and soul go?
when the bed sinks under a bodies weight,
it stays to serve those who surround
waiting for their skin to be less smooth.
© Stephanie J. Picher 2005
Saturday, November 26, 2011
faith - May 2011
FAITH. faith in what? who? why? what are my own beliefs? does my mind grasp onto footholds to connect me to that which i cannot see? does it have to be "God"? does it need to be spelled with a capital "G"? does it have to be anyone in particular? i could make a list of examples a thousand strong that i don't believe in. finding the little pieces of dust that move me and inspire me is a harder, longer voyage. my brain tells me what are lies and what hurts but hesitates to lead me in a brighter direction. there is more to all this than just existence. there is a driving force that keeps me stable, connected, safe, and on my feet. it is just further than arms reach, but its there, surrounded by others, by warmth, by chants and gleeful laughter. i follow this path as often as i can make the trek, and every now and then i have faith in myself, if only because other people tell me that they do too...
written on: 5/16/2011
written on: 5/16/2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
tug of war 2010
"put down the poison and the dagger and make your own happy ending"
i didn't invite you here- i didn't call you. i had grieved the loss of you and your friendship, and just when those flowers begin to wilt, you pop up again, and you have brought your basket of grudges and accusations along with you. please don't be mistaken, i don't ever want to cheapen the bloody awful scars i left or lessen the significance of how i hurt you. the problem is, however, that i have grieved you, all the while progressing in amazing and unexpected ways. i have felt the guilt of you on many different levels and i know it is unhealthy to continue to beat myself up over events of the past. you made the choice to pick up the phone and call me, you made the choice to come by and to bring up things i was not prepared to talk about. the only thing is, i have choices too, and i can choose whether or not to allow the negativity of my previous bad choices to re-enter my life.
in a perfect world, i choose love and mutual respect for the both of us, but i know we arent there yet, at least not together. the water under the bridge is still too high and deep and violent, and crossing isnt safe. we cant just cross and expect not to hurt, but i can choose to avoid crossing altogether, even if it means burning the bridge into the rapid water below. i wont let you pull me below the water line with you.
god dammit! i had mourned you and you decided to show up wanting to talk about what keeps me awake at night? i don't think so. i don't want it, i don't even miss it. i may have needed you in the beginning when you first let me know how horrible you thought i was. i listened to you then, i believed it and i bled for it. maybe we cant be friends anymore, i don't know. i do know that if your plan is to make me feel guilty over what a shitty friend i have been and continue to be, then i just may have to decline your company.
i have to save my life, and i just cant do that with extra servings of shame. not today.
i didn't invite you here- i didn't call you. i had grieved the loss of you and your friendship, and just when those flowers begin to wilt, you pop up again, and you have brought your basket of grudges and accusations along with you. please don't be mistaken, i don't ever want to cheapen the bloody awful scars i left or lessen the significance of how i hurt you. the problem is, however, that i have grieved you, all the while progressing in amazing and unexpected ways. i have felt the guilt of you on many different levels and i know it is unhealthy to continue to beat myself up over events of the past. you made the choice to pick up the phone and call me, you made the choice to come by and to bring up things i was not prepared to talk about. the only thing is, i have choices too, and i can choose whether or not to allow the negativity of my previous bad choices to re-enter my life.
in a perfect world, i choose love and mutual respect for the both of us, but i know we arent there yet, at least not together. the water under the bridge is still too high and deep and violent, and crossing isnt safe. we cant just cross and expect not to hurt, but i can choose to avoid crossing altogether, even if it means burning the bridge into the rapid water below. i wont let you pull me below the water line with you.
god dammit! i had mourned you and you decided to show up wanting to talk about what keeps me awake at night? i don't think so. i don't want it, i don't even miss it. i may have needed you in the beginning when you first let me know how horrible you thought i was. i listened to you then, i believed it and i bled for it. maybe we cant be friends anymore, i don't know. i do know that if your plan is to make me feel guilty over what a shitty friend i have been and continue to be, then i just may have to decline your company.
i have to save my life, and i just cant do that with extra servings of shame. not today.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
borrowed time 2009
i love how stage lights paint the hair and skin of performers, red and blue...
a sense of urgency has erupted inside of me and it appears to be giving me a new sense of motivation. i hope i dont turn my back on that gift. it is mine to take or leave, but i know how good i am at leaving things. where i am in my life now, stubborn and lazy and complacent is not where i believe i'm "supposed" to be RIGHT HERE AND NOW... "living on borrowed time" is the reality for all of us, and my life has somehow turned into something i dont have pride in. excuses are seconds lost, and i seem to make alot of excuses these days. i only want to live if my life is satisfying, worth living. i know that it seems clear to me that i am largely UNsatisfied as i drag my feet through it all.. i need to make a change and walk towards pride, however far away it seems. i wont set a date, because i know myself. it would be a set up for procrastination and disappointment. all i REALLY know is that i need to get up and i need to straighten up and start forging a path towards a future that is satisfying, something that i can take pride in... the shame and guilt, and the pain and hurt have swallowed up the reality of what it is to feel "good". it has swallowed up any semblence of pride or caring or confidence. i want those things back, whether i ever really felt them or not. i believe that it is mine for the taking if i can finally just stop fucking it up.
written 12/17/09
a sense of urgency has erupted inside of me and it appears to be giving me a new sense of motivation. i hope i dont turn my back on that gift. it is mine to take or leave, but i know how good i am at leaving things. where i am in my life now, stubborn and lazy and complacent is not where i believe i'm "supposed" to be RIGHT HERE AND NOW... "living on borrowed time" is the reality for all of us, and my life has somehow turned into something i dont have pride in. excuses are seconds lost, and i seem to make alot of excuses these days. i only want to live if my life is satisfying, worth living. i know that it seems clear to me that i am largely UNsatisfied as i drag my feet through it all.. i need to make a change and walk towards pride, however far away it seems. i wont set a date, because i know myself. it would be a set up for procrastination and disappointment. all i REALLY know is that i need to get up and i need to straighten up and start forging a path towards a future that is satisfying, something that i can take pride in... the shame and guilt, and the pain and hurt have swallowed up the reality of what it is to feel "good". it has swallowed up any semblence of pride or caring or confidence. i want those things back, whether i ever really felt them or not. i believe that it is mine for the taking if i can finally just stop fucking it up.
written 12/17/09
Friday, November 18, 2011
be courageous, take risks. you don't belong in harbor.
"a ship is safe in harbor, but that's not what ships are for" - William Shedd
seeing through a stranger
There is a man here, on the unit who continuously reminds me of Dad. He's younger, but has a similar build and large frame. He is tall and solid like a house. His beard and facial structure are similar, and sometimes I can't help but stare. A few moments ago, this man was asleep, or passed out in a chair too small for him. His head was back, mouth wide open while loud and struggled breaths sound like snores from his windpipe. It reminds me of watching Dad die. It reminds me of staying with him for hours as he nodded and passed out every few moments, like someone with narcolepsy. I remember being terrified of leaving him, afraid that when I returned he would be gone, that his irregular, audible breaths would have ceased... I've been staring at this man for several minutes, living vicariously through this sight, and trying to find my Dad, even the sickest awareness of him, in a stranger.
written: 5/27/10
written: 5/27/10
Saturday, November 12, 2011
must i write?
"in the deepest hour of the night, confess to yourself that you would die if you were forbidden to write. and look deep into your heart where it spreads its roots, the answer, and ask yourself, must i write?"
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