my mother’s heart

God heal my mothers heart for its heavy and it’s soft.

She breaks everyday.

Even if her makeup is put together

She is not together.

She puts herself together but she’s falling apart.

She wobbles on her heels and she’s falling over. Grabbing on to anything to keep her from falling down.

People are looking at her now.

I see the stares.

She walking around As i keep her from falling down.

The medicines taking over.

Her glossy eyes roll back.

Tired from doing nothing.

God heal my mothers heart for its heavy and it’s soft.

#moms

#heartache

Advertisements
Featured post

I can feel the space in my chest where my

Heart is.

I can point to it. Outline the edges.

It’s bleeding and I know where the

Source is.

The ache is heavy.

Mom’s bedroom.

Childhood part 1

The door was an unfinished light wood color. i remember because i used to trace the outlines of the grains when i was bored. Sitting outside my mom door was one of my favorite pastimes. On the rare occasion and that she responded to my little knocks or pleas; she would say i could come in. i always felt accomplished like i did something right that day. Was it the tone in my voice? Was i being a good girl? i did all my chores? i never knew which one of those things i did because i was sure i did them all. What did i do that granted me the OK to come in this time; but i guess It didn’t matter. All i wanted to hear was her feet get out of bed and unlock the door, so i can sit with her. Sitting at the end of her queen size bed was what i did best. She would quickly shuffle her pink frisbee “plate”on top of her dresser out of sight (or so she thought) or under the covers. It’s where she kept the stuff she smoked. The stuff that made her smile. The stuff i later found out was pot. i never minded when i would go in there and it would smell funny and she would blame it on Dads cigars but the silly thing was dad wasn’t there. She was nice to me when she smoked. She would let me play with her jewelry and try is ALL on. Then i would dust the purses off and the oversized high heels and walk all over her clothes piles and pretend i was going somewhere. i would climb up the clothes piles and pull out a scarf that never ended like i was a lame magician. i would place it around my neck so perfectly and say “look at me ma” and she would glaze her eyes over at me and then turn back to her Guiding light soap opera. Mom’s show. It didn’t bother me that day, she was in a good mood. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t punishing me for nothing . She wasn’t sick. She wasn’t sleeping. She wasn’t rummaging through her pill bag to find her next missed dose. She was just regular mom and i liked her that way. So i would just hop up on the bed and just join her. i would curl up at the bottom of the bed like a cat and rest in my mothers presence.

.

.

* i intentionally made all the i’s lower case to signify how small i was and felt. *

Aftermath

There is a sense of liberation when it comes to tragedy.

That’s because the worst thing already happened.

I’ve realized that all my pain was so small.


My mothers drug addiction/mental illness.

Coming off anti-psychotics.

Friend drama.

Work stress.

Money.

Relationship struggles.

Being over weight.

Traffic.


Nothing matters.

Before.

After.

Now.


Nothing but love matters. 💔

#miscarriage #love #pain #life

Open letter to the woman who’s miscarried…

*Uncensored*

A.k.a having your heart ripped out along with your insides.

After peeing on a stick 4 times just to see those two pink lines. because your so excited and want to make double extra sure. Or four times sure. And then putting them in a plastic bag under the sink to look at from time to time . I would catch my self, I have to admit. It would make me smile, and then I would look in the mirror and say in my head, “ so this is what it feels like” and tried to not forget this smile on my beautiful face. The way my cheeks and lips looked.

But now , after peeing in the toilet a million times and flushing away the pain and blood clots. So much blood. I don’t see the smile staring back at me. All i feel is the twisting cramps in my stomach as my uterus tries to heal it self. Without my help. I’ve been eating like shit. Candy and coffee and cookies are all I’ve eaten since I got hit with this wreaking ball of hell storm. All I feel is numb. Numb from the pain in my legs. Throbbing in my back and my heart feels like I flushed it down the toilet too. It’s as if my body was in a car crash and I lost someone i love all in one hour. It’s as if my body is crying along with my heart.

I don’t look at my tub the same way anymore. For it knows all my pain.

As I filled it with the hottest water my faucet could produce. I slowly lowered my shaking body in the warm water contorting my self into a ball.That’s where I suffered the most pain in my entire life. That’s where I lost my baby. The water turned orange and made me sick in the head.

If the physical pain was any longer I would have had my boyfriend bring me to the hospital. But I survived. I’m surviving.I cried. I bled. On repeat for days in a row.

I pray this never happens to anyone. Even though it happens to 1 in 4 women. I pray this never happens to me again. I don’t know when I want to start to have sex again. I don’t know when I will want to try again. I don’t know when my cramps will go away or my tears will stop filling the bathtub or the pillow or wherever I’m laying. I don’t know if I’ll ever talk to my friends. Or my family about this pain.

I’m an open person but not to everyone. I’m a mystery and i also wear my heart on my sleeve.

So it feels better to stay at home.in my sweat pants.with my boyfriend. all hunkered down.the cabinets stocked and the fridge filled with food. as if a blizzard is coming, just because we don’t wanna see anyone or answer to no one.

Phones off.

we snuggle on the couch, hoping the salty snacks and cinnamon buns will heal us. As We Netflix binge on every comedian standup show out there…..because I just don’t wanna cry anymore.

#miscarriage

#suffering

#relationships

#love

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑