Remaining Unlost
My Lost Story
My hands atop my head shelter me from nothing
My fingers across my face veil me from no one
My purpose hides craftily from even me
Lost warnings missed shielding me from today
Lost looking past the suffers, the bloodstains the stumbled tiers
Lost knowing what comfort will bring and when
This plot teeming threats nay promises, fronting nothing but nemesis
This one wants to see something else or nothing at all
This sinistrous stormy night oh lost are the stars, astray the poor moon, no allowance of hope.
Remaining Unlost…
Our stories, our stories, do not our stories connect us? Cannot our told recap of days past aid to heal us? Do they not link us together, validating each everyone as not so weird, not so removed distant or alone? Sometimes seems as such precisely, but still…but still we cover up, afraid to cry, mortified to ask for assistance, hence singled out to sulk in silence and left to carry our hefty heaps of hurt alone. There are those who will listen to our sad tales, those who keep their word, those who factually forgive, those who show up even when we say we’re fine, and those who sweat all for the sake of an unknown but in-need sister or brother. Somewhat rare are these savior-type souls but they are out there, often helping to save us from ourselves, thanks all the goodness.
At times I seem adrift, like reality has taken a detour…I stand trembling and bearingless, unsure which way to turn, or even what to attempt next, beyond plainly holding my frantic breath before falling feet-up dead bird to the ground. When my put-together collected hope seems lost, I try to get real, I try to not let my fabricated fears frights and worries collapse me, but it’s hard. Some days it’s really, really, really hard. Some days it’s harder than fricking hard. It’s harder than trying to stand full weight on a broken leg. It’s harder than trying to fake-smile while my heart screams and bleeds and cries inside. It’s harder than trying to look up and observe the magical beauty of the sun, same time as the cloud cover of dark-down-and-blue follows me wherever I go.
Obviously, duh, yes and for certain my self-blame is strong. Beginning on memory day number one I put myself down. Much as I motored to move past my misery, even at times amid best days I still can’t perform well enough for my own good. No I don’t use substances anymore, it’s been a long while. I don’t drink alcohol, been a medium while on that one. I don’t gamble, I don’t stay up all night doing any of the stupid shit I shouldn’t be doing, and I partake in no tangible self-harm practices like cutting or the like. During lost-at-sea times, I feel neither inflation of self, nor nothing near a quicker picker upper interlude of justification for my estrangement. Alternatively, I for the most part swallow my emotions and face that shit head-on, picking apart all that once held me to the floor, accepting both my addiction awhile my turned-inside-out mental health for all that it is, and is not.
My life, my life a rollercoaster…a ride going up and down and side to side, a ride design-built to shock and scare. My life a game…a challenge beyond control, a contest void of definable outcome, a varying encounter containing endless disappointments and surprises along the way. My life a puzzle…no directions exist for puzzles rather just start, futz with the pieces until they begin to fit together. And when friends and family tell me to leave them the hell alone, I try not to exit my in-motion rollercoaster car. Even when loved ones spout to say they verifiably hate me, I fumble to find different shaped puzzle pieces. Even when the weighted blanket of unfairness smother-covers me, I try to chuckle and remember it’s only a teased token of the bigger journey.
This frolic, no easy-breezy predetermination. In fact at times this fumble is harder than hard, teasing me, taunting me to quit, foolishly telling me it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s really ok, go ahead and jump from my speeding carnival car. While the while, hah…I recognize this adventurous experience is but a rollercoaster puzzle game. So I try…I try to play the game, I try to try and keep trying, I try to start and keep starting, I try to hang on to the wild and undulating ride, remembering that this fright filled herky-jerky escapade was factually designed to freak the fuck out of us all.
