Tattooed Everything

‘Sheets of empty canvas
Untouched sheets of clay
Were laid spread out before me
As her body once did’

Sometime in the future…

“Poets are liars.”

Jennifer walked out on me today, because I called her Abby… but really I think it’s cause she got sick of my inability to give. Orgasms are one thing I guess, but most people want to feel some sort of “connection”, some scorching in the throat to convince themselves they’re feeling. No judgement will be passed from my side, plus I wish her all the best; after all… I used to be someone who felt things and loved people.

Used to…’

‘All five horizons
Revolved around her soul
As the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed
Has taken a turn’

Sometime in the past

“Poets are liars.”

I experienced love  in my dreams. Perhaps it has something to do with all the dreaming about her . My long haired, pale-skinned dream. The first time it happened I cried in my sleep and I felt the burn of her lips on mine for years thereafter… I still do. To stare into nothingness, or the most picturesque landscape was to be thrown back into that snapshot moment of forever, and she had no idea I was reaching for her, but then neither did I.

Oh but she found me, and everything changed in my knowing I’d be temporary, and she would be the end.

It’s only fair to end off where one began.

‘ and all I taught her was everything
Oh I know she gave me all that she wore
And now my bitter hands
Chafe beneath the clouds
Of what was everything’

We were aimless at first. Just two souls dancing and clashing and sometimes, meeting perfectly in semblance. Almost choreographed in awkward bumpy, rhythm-less touches of one to the other. She taught me that to create was to give everything away, not expecting anything in return. I could only teach her how to survive, to pretend, and never to trust poets.

I’ve stopped being a poet since… now I draw the fantasies of silly little Abbys, Jennifers and generally girls who romanticize the permanence of ink on their gullible, sapped skins.

I remember her every kind word…that permanence will be mine.

‘Oh the pictures have
All been washed in black
Tattooed everything’

Sometime or other

“poets are liars.”

I wake-up drenched and shivering with my arm outstretched towards that side of my bed that was once occupied. That’s when the itch begins. It starts behind my vocal chords and I can’t even scream. My eyes are next, but I can’t cry so the shaking and drenching only worsens.

So I lift the machine, I tare off my shirt and distribute just enough ink to cover my “heart”. Not that I believe I still own one.

This is a madman meditating to the sound of a needle and not to stop until the itching subsides, or at least until I am able to cry.

I take a walk outside
I’m surrounded by
Some kids at play
I can feel their laughter
So why do I sear

Present time

“poets are liars.”

I chose this repetitive phrase, because it is true, which is why I can’t poem anymore. I’ve been learning the value of honesty… truth…transparency…fighting for the woman I love. This is a forward to a time where I might be alone, but maybe I won’t. There are no givens, no certainties, but I can’t help but give myself away for what I hope is the last time. The itch is ever present and it reminds me it is there as I trip over my shoe laces, though in the park; no one cares about embarrassment.

I hope.

‘Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin
Round my head
I’m spinning
Oh, I’m spinning
How quick the sun can, drop away’

Sometime or other

“poets are liars.”

I can feel my hand pressing way harder than is recommended for proper ink work… but it makes no difference now. Let me be the embryo of ugly grey scar-tissue. Let it bleed and tare and scream in its muted expression, how much it feels like being abandoned or worse, being lied to. I’m no longer a poet…

My drawing lines thicken.

‘And now my bitter hands
Cradle broken glass
Of what was everything
All the pictures had
All been washed in black
Tattooed everything’

…and thicken…

All the love gone bad
Turned my world to black
Tattooed all I see
All that I am
All I’ll be

…and thicken…

‘I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life
I know you’ll be a star
In somebody else’s sky
But why
Why
Why can’t it be
Why can’t it be mine’

But I am not a poet, and grammatically this sentence is incorrect because of the first word. Also… I don’t own a tattoo machine (yet) and I’m only still learning to draw, as I am learning to love, to interact… to live and not feel guilty for it. And if you are to be someone else’s star, my love I’d look up to you while my lines thicken. But until that day comes, I refuse to be a poet, I refuse to think back or forward or sideways. Promise me to look here and I will lock gazes with you and we can paint and laugh and love and fight… do all the things I’d miss, while you’re still mine.

I love you.

Advertisements

Step 1: The Realization

Since last week’s blog, I’ve come to realize a few things:

  1. There are always people who care and those people are not always the closest to you, in fact they are probably far away or so busy they might as well be on the other side of the world.
  2. There really is help for anyone who dares to ask for it. I can say that with the help of a very special human friend in my life, and the interest of a good human far away, I now have a little bit of hope in the form of online therapy whenever I feel the need to reach out. It’s not particularly difficult though sometimes it is uncomfortable while I am in the act of typing it all out, the real trouble lies in what happens in the hours and sometimes days that follow. But there is help and that is all I really asked for, and I cannot express how grateful I am to both of these people for giving of their time and effort to make a difference.
  3. Some people won’t regard your depression as a real struggle: In fact I used to be one of those people since I had been brought up in a very Bulgarian family who really do not consider feelings to be of any importance and who regard depression as a phase and sadness as weakness. I still struggle to share any of what is really going on with my family because I do not, at this stage; need to validate what I am going through. A few years back, I had an admirer who unfortunately was also struggling with depression and I found it very unattractive at the time. I feel awful about it now, but I am glad that I have a better understanding and I must admit that I feel rather insecure about what I am going through at the moment, but I have someone who’s slowly proving to me that it is okay to break sometimes and it is not anything to be ashamed of.
  4. Thunder-storms, rain and cuddles combined are a great re-energizer. It happened a night ago. My partner gently woke me up and I got to experience the first summer rain and thunder-storm while in the safest, most wonderful embrace. The storm itself was soft and though the rain didn’t last long, the moment was one that I had never in my life imagined possible for me, it was just perfect. It made me hungry to feel that way more often, as opposed to feeling guilty or undeserving of my own happiness. I deserve to be happy, and even if I may not really know how to be happy at this point, I have glimpses of what it feels to be that way and I am eager to have more of that.
  5. Harry Potter is good for the soul! It may sound off topic, but I think it is very relevant. The story itself is a manifestation of a struggling human’s strength, and in this world I found my own bit of strength. I remember going to watch Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets when I was about 12, it was a very sad day for me and since I had no one to talk to I walked a few km just to go see the movie and get away from home and from my own thoughts… I just felt so easily comforted by every single aspect of the story. I had not read the books back then (I still haven’t because then it all comes to an end. I have decided to read one more book every few years, but I want to drag it out for as long as possible). It took me 12 years since the release of Lord Of The Rings: The Return Of The KIng; to watch that because I did not want it to end either, but in any event. It’s nice to have a little magic in your life even in the form of stories and what gives me hope is the fact that I can slowly but surely begin to feel the meaning of those words: magic, adventure, love, trust, hope… it’s not going to be an easy fix but as a much stronger me used to say, ” Nothing is impossible!”

Figuring Out How To Deal With Not Coping

Last week I wrote a blog about my struggle with depression in an attempt to reach out to the rest of everyone out there who may have been through or is currently going through the same thing.

After completing the blog I then personally messaged those people I considered closest to me and/or would be in connection with someone who might know how to help. I mailed just under 20 people. I was hopeful and looking forward to the new doors this might open, because I have been told that there is always help for those who ask for it.

Well I haven’t just asked for it; I pretty much at this point am begging for it. Out of the 18 or so that I shared my blog with 3 people read and adequately responded… either with concern or a suggestion, 2 others said it was an “awesome” blog to which … when I asked if they had actually read the thing, I pretty soon figured out that they hadn’t even bothered.

This past week I have had to deal with not just the sadness but also with realizing that the people I have been referring to as my closest friends actually couldn’t care less. I’ve had to deal with flash backs from traumatic experiences from my childhood, insecurities, being frustrated that moving to a different city with its different dynamics whilst not knowing anyone is scarier than moving to a new country. Not only am I leaving the people I know in the old city, I am leaving them behind because if I am to find real help and truly move on, I have to start by surrounding myself with people who actually care always and not just when it suits them.

So, here’s the thing. Since there is clearly no one out there who is really willing to help, I guess I will just rant and rave on this blog. I will spill my secrets (as uncomfortable as that might be at first), and I will hope that the process of writing everything down and going through the motions and emotions of it all, might actually help the process.

For sure though, I’m done with being the one who always makes the effort, always forgives and makes excuses for how badly other people treat me. It’s not fair to anyone, especially to me and those who are closest to me because in the end it takes away from the trust I have in them and their intentions for me.

I’m tired of crying for everything, because it feels like everything is just going from grey to black and I see nothing bu feel everything. This blog was started with the intention of being something positive in a really negative world.

Perhaps this world has to be my own.

I.

When You Can’t Afford A Therapist:

You don’t get help.

I was going to title this something along the lines of getting mental health help in South Africa, but just yesterday I experienced something that kind of set me back a little. Let me start off by sharing this story.

At some point last year a friend of mine suggested an online counselor to me, she’s from the USA and she seemed pretty willing to help, she was even willing to drop her prices in order to accommodate my income at that point in time. I was supposed to hear from her in January 2017. I emailed her again yesterday (14 August 2017) only to be told that her slots are full but I could try again in September 2017. Cool, so she didn’t bother with me because her slots (luckily for her) were filled with people for whom she obviously didn’t need to drop her prices. She was kind enough though to refer me to betterhelp.com, they are supposed to be a group of affordable online therapists, BUT before you can even contact them, you have to fill out a form that is supposed to help them place you with the right therapist. It was a very short questionnaire and it went something like this:

Q: Are you currently experiencing anxiety and depression?

A:Yes.

Q: Are you currently experiencing suicidal thoughts?

A: Yes

Q: Are you suicidal?

A:Yes.

Q: How would you rate your current income: good, fair, poor.

A: Poor.

End of questionnaire. What does my income have to do with finding the right therapist for me?

This:

Hello,

We understand it takes a tremendous amount of courage to reach out and ask for help. Unfortunately, based on the answers given when you signed up, we determined that online counseling with BetterHelp may not be the best option for you.

Online counseling is still new and is not the most effective form of therapy for everybody. However, you deserve to get the best help possible, and seeking for help is certainly a step in the right direction. We recommend considering traditional face-to-face therapy and you can find many available therapists in your area by clicking here. If you are in a crisis, or if you need immediate help, please look at these resources.

We are sorry that we couldn’t be helpful to you at this time. Please note that your records, including any information you submitted when you signed up, have been deleted and removed from our database.

Please let us know if you have any questions or concerns.

Thanks,
BetterHelp Team

This was the response I received shortly after completing the question form.

I have been looking for an affordable therapist for the past few years. I have tried researching our local government institutions and the reviews are frightening, and so I figured I have better chance of surviving without attending a government institution. Private institutions are out of the question as they obviously cost a whole lot more than I can afford to spend, and the cheapest therapist I’ve managed to find, costs 2 times more than what is within my price range, and even if I managed to find someone that is technically within that range, it would still be a struggle for me to see them once a week or even once a month.

The point is: I know I need help, I am actively looking for it, and in the meantime I’m picking at all kinds of scabs and wounds in order to find some sort of root or cause for whatever it was that brought me to this point.

I’m not going to go into how I actually feel at this point in time. This is not a pity party blog, but rather – a final attempt at finding someone who may be willing to help, because I am more than willing to work towards getting better.

For the very first time ever, I have found a home and someone who loves me not just on my good days, but on my bad days too, and if not just for myself, I would like to be better for my partner too.

So this is my plea, if you know of someone, or might even know someone who might know of someone, please send a link to this post and I hope that at some point, someone will realize that a human life is worth more than a few dollars/rands/pounds. I don’t even mind being a research subject if that means finding my feet again.

Thank you for your time,

Iva

Traditional Witchcraft for Woods and Forests; A review.

Traditional Witchcraft for the Woods & Forests by Melusine Draco is a wonderful read for anyone who feels the need to get away from the pressures of the city for a moment or few.

One of the very first books I read from Moon Books had to do with spirit animals and animal magic, and as a wolf I definitely need the comfort of the forest. This book isn’t just an instruction manual (like so many of these type of books are) it cuddles you up in forest and that for me is priceless.

I am lucky enough to have the follow up books to this first gem, and I am excited to start on my next adventure with lady Draco. I strongly recommend this book and probably will ( I’m pretty sure) the rest of her books. I also found her page Traditional Witchcraft so go have a look at that too.

 

In terms of style I enjoy that she is more of a story teller like I mentioned earlier. It also makes me happy that old lore is a recurring topic and that we get to learn and bathe in the wonders of things that we will possibly never be able to fully comprehend.

I think I have exhausted my thesaurus and just writing this review makes the hairs on my body stand up in excitement and admiration.

 

Definitely worth the time it took to get to this book.twwf

What Is?

‘She asked me if I enjoyed listening to poetry’…

I could not reply,

Instead I turned and ran away.

Not noticing that the sky had begun to paint a landscape filled with neon

halfheartedly I passed by each section of this little world and stumbled,

evidently unaware of how deeply her unanswered question moved me

– haha – literally

To the point of falling –

over a little pit of nothingness ,

a picturesque silence of stories yet to be created, and after all what is poetry?

 

Is it not the symphony of breaths paired in passion?

Could one find poetry in hands trembling in fear of touching…

The uncertainty of possibly losing control if those palms were to connect?

How poetic is that look?

You know?

The one…

 

When knees and veins react to it as though that stranger’s stare is everything your life has been preparing you for.

If such sights induce poetic thoughts then :

how do we hear them?

Unless you press your ear hard to her chest in a rested attempt to caress the nestled bit of love in her arms.

She asked me whether I liked hearing poetry –

Well I’d sure like to find out about the sounds of her heart…

Until then I will keep walking, stumbling as I convince myself that the question was merely a passing of time in an exchange of casual conversation…

After all – What is poetry?

Before Goodbye

That morning she didn’t expect to wake. In fact she’d planned to never awake again. It was sunny, her head hurt a little, but apart from the head hurt, it didn’t feel like much of a failed suicide attempt.

Her food was cold when she got around to eating it; to her surprise her appetite had made an unexpected reappearance. She enjoyed every bite, and things seemed to be better. She mused that perhaps all it took was the bravity of facing her own mortality without fear… it was only after she had cleared her plate that she decided to get up and face the day.

Her phone rang as she was about to open the door. Luckily she hadn’t, because her mother’s worried voice echoed as she listened, not able to coherently respond to the rehearsed delivery of bad news.

It was meant to be her death, instead… the other got it right.

That other with the brown eyes and childish smile.

The other with her favorite lips pasted on almost perfectly… that other… no longer existed.

Suddenly the tasty food re exited without warning and her head threw her almost instantly in her own vomit. She was waiting for tears, or a heart attack or something that was other than the empty vessel she now related to.

The other … memory.

The girl in room  3 had no pills left to drown her life in and bleeding out would take too long.

The girl in room 3 buried both herself and the other that instant. She cut out the struggles and with a new clarity she realized it would have been better to breathe before saying goodbye.

Heritage Day

Today is my last day

 

I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget

 

I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family

 

The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges

 

So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.

 

Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!