Replay

The shadows start to fall

and the leaves they do too

and time changes backward

and frost replaces the dew.

And the darkness envelopes

the sun and then its gone

and I look out the window

and realize that its on.

Let the fight start up again

the demons come a knockin

I've seen them so much

their looks ain't even shockin

Their voices, straight up evil

their powers of the kind

they don't have to get close

to get inside my mind

And the voices get to rockin

and my stomach starts to roll

and my grip gets much tighter

on my ever lovin soul.

And in my other hand, a sword

to take their life or take mine

either way it goes

we'll be here next time.

When the shadows start to fall

and the leaves they do too

and time changes backward

and frost replaces the dew.

Enoch

I can't sit still

I pace till I ache

it feels like I'm exploding

how much more can I take

I snarl and I growl

ball my hands into fists

hit the wall, drill a hole

so fucking tired of all of this

It burns like living hell

take a knife to my chest

release all the evil

til all remains is holy blessed

This living, it hurts

I really don't see the reason

day and night protect her

 season after season

Now I ain't mad at her

not her fault and I love her dear

but she's as tired as I am

wants to get the hell outta here

We turn right,its wrong

we turn left and just a heathen

so we set here right still

wondering why we're still breathing

And the darkness overtakes us

here we are, all alone

waiting for the leftovers

 someone throw us a bone.

Only light is the fire

that seeps from inside me

if we gonna have some firelight

then we gotta cut a tree. 

Purification and Revelation

I weathered the storm

I walked through the flames

I laid on the nails

and I read both the names

I cut til I bled

prayed hoping to cry

imagined me screaming

asking myself why

I played with the legos

and beat them on the ground

until my knuckles bled

sleep I finally found

I knocked myself senseless

then in morn I would wake

and I would wonder "dear God

how much can I take?"

Then in one night 

of magic, of divine purification

I drew the image on my heart

in bloody mutilation

And I found that it wasn't

the message I had been expecting

but the one I would die for

and live just protecting.

And in that revelation

I looked at what I had drawn

and let go of what might of been

and began to move on. 

And though there is pain

in this decision too

I know in my heart

its the right thing to do.

So I hope for you, my friend

great peace beyond measure

and that in your love

you will find such a treasure. 

Good Enough: The Effects of Fundamentalism on the Heart

They beat us hard

with the book so well

yet the scars were inside

so no one could tell

They said "be good"  

you gotta do right

never good enough though

we prayed day and night

The years passed by

and we grew more f*cked

trying to be most perfect

by their rules of conduct

Twenty made us forty

and forty made us eight

and we couldn't even manage

to keep our heads on straight

Depression was our friend

happiness was our foe

after time had tic-tock passed 

there was no safe place to go

We got mighty exhausted

our gas was in the red

we didn't feel like livin'

but f*cked if we turned up dead.

Your book put us in prison

in solitary, a box

no hope to see the daylight

or other prisoners in cell blocs

So we finally turned insane

but you blamed us even still

we didn't have enough faith

in the one nailed on the hill.

 You wind us even tighter

and our hearts turn into gel

while you tell us we're not good enough

and bound our souls to hell. 

Finally we  make a decision

die here or take leave

you've killed our hearts already

and loving God we can't conceive

So while we lay in our caskets

six feet inside the earth

don't come to our grave singin'

about some holy soul rebirth

 Amazing Grace how sweet the sound

that saved a retch like me?

I once was lost, but now I'm found

hanging dead from a tree.

Ripped and Torn

My heart is ripped and torn
And the world won’t slow a bit
Gotta call for the medic
Before my heart up and quits

But how you gonna fix it
If it won’t stop and skip a beat
There ain’t no laying’ down
Still be walkin’ on my feet.

How’s it gonna heal
I don’t give a rat’s ass
All I tell myself
Is that this too shall pass.

But in saying what I feel
And feeling what I say
I wiggle and squirm
I don’t like it that way.

Tired of the fight
Of being self judgmental
It makes me crazy still
And feeling kinda mental.

I wanna let it go
Lay it down and walk away
But it only waits to get me
On some other day.

Maybe that’s all I can do
Its all that I can ask
Is that for a moment in time
I can leave it in the past.

And one day in the future
Hopefully not far down the road
I can lay it down one final time
Lay down the heavy load.

The Cutting Muse

If I don't write, I surely will explode

cause I'm carrying such a big emotional load

the airlines would charge me for all these extra bags

and I'd get writers cramp filling out the tags.

So what do I do with all of this weight

Its not that I like it, I really hate

but its in me and ain't gonna disappear

I ain't hangin' on to it like some souvenir.

So what do I do before I pop

before I kill over, before I drop?

sometimes the only thing I know to do

is cut the pain away and try to start anew.

Lord knows I'm a cutter and I know it gives you pain

but sometimes its all that keeps me from goin' insane.

but if I can put the pain into a jammin' rhyme

it buys me a minute, it buys me some time.

So I write mighty often and hopefully well

to keep myself away from a cutting hell

but some days it hurts and some days I weep

and I pray that the Lord, my soul will keep.

But thanks be to God, I write like I breathe

but when I can't, inside, my head, it  does seethe

and I look at the knife and I pick it up

and I taste once again from the bitter cup.

Maybe one day soon, I really don't know

I'll find a better way, to deal, when I'm low

but if its the only thing that keeps this chick alive

I gotta do what I have to in order to survive.

~~For all of you cutters out there...I understand~~

 If I don't write it on paper, I write it on my arm.

Your scars tell stories.

Someday you must share them.

Chronicles of the Insane

Originally written Sept 2010

I am determined that I will chronicle every moment I can of this craziness going on inside of me. I don't know if it is caused by the sudden onset menopause after my surgery, or if there is another explanation. I am just sure it is worse than the struggles I have had before.  I am afraid of myself. I am afraid of my own thoughts. In my logical mind I tell myself, it is the hormones going nuts, not myself. It is too coincidental to be happening months following the surgery. However, there is always doubt in your head that it is just you...something terribly wrong with you.

I want to be able to come back to what I have written during this time, and be able to see what I have overcome. I do not post these things for pity or to hurt anyone. I post them so that I and others will see the victory that can be theirs just by hanging on. I am very aware that this is so very raw and I apologize. It is real. In my mind it is so very real. I know that there are others who have been there, and thought that and I want you to know you are not alone. 

In my drugged stupor last night after having taken Trazadone as prescribed by my physician, I began to write what you will read below. The photo you see is the actual thing. I lay in bed, too drugged to get up, but the words kept coming and I kept writing. I cannot sleep until all the thoughts have been emptied onto paper on onto the screen. I did not create a happy ending to this poem, although I usually do. It stops quiet abruptly as I feel asleep without a solution.  

What I say can be frightening to those who love me, including myself, but again, I am still here, I am still fighting. I will remain. I will be okay. 

Chronicle of the Insane

This is a chronicle of going insane

this is a story of an exploding brain

you reach the point to where you fall

and hope you explode into nothing at all.

Tie me down, lock me away

cause I'm afraid to see another day

I'm afraid for the sun to rise

to look up and see the clear blue skies.

Cause it will mean that I'm not dead

just existing, sick in the head

and one tiny second will seem like several days

while I am stuck in this cold dark haze.

Its like having one of those fuc*ing dreams

where you try with all your might to fuc*ing scream

and though you stand in the middle of a crowd

and you breathe in deep and you scream so loud.

But no one hears a fuc*ing sound

and you feel that to hell your soul is bound

and the thoughts don't stop, the voices don't cease

and you will never have one moment of feelin' peace.

And you wake up in a cold hot sweat

thinking how much worse can this fuc*ing get

and it does cause now you are fully awake

and you wonder how much more you can really take.

....of a better day.

Shark Attack

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE

Fuckin' trapped in a box

floatin' on the open sea

sharks swimmin' all around

snappin' hard and fast at me. 

Ain't got nowhere to go

can't go up, only down

my fate to get eaten

an hors d'œuvre before I drown.

And now I just sprung a leak

and the water's rushing cold

the fear done turn to rage

this bullshit's gettin' old.

All you fuckin' sharks

better hope this is your day

cause I'm pissed as holy hell

and you best get out my way.

I'm angry and I'm tired

and I've had all I can take

and at the moment it would feel amazin'

if all your bones I could break.

And I know its mighty ugly

but its hard to give a shit.

when I try to stay afloat

and end up getting hit.

Time and time and time again

over and over til I bleed

what the fuck do you want

my first born? my first seed?

Well kiss my ass you fucker

I'm tired of all your praddle

I'll tear you into bits

use your shark fin as my paddle. 

Then I'll have something finally

something that's all mine

I won't owe you all I'm worth

a few pennies and a dime.

Thorn Cocoon

Hello dear friend, explosion suspend,

you know when I need your caress.

Your magic touch, no fight, this much

I know as fire sparks off your undress.

Your smooth, sharp blade, for it I have prayed

to sail smoothy down my flesh

and open a river, with barely a quiver

and create my soul newly fresh.

The pain so divine, the release so sublime

I can declare that I breath once again

For I feared to exhale until upon you I impale

and fall into a satisfying zen.

I long to cocoon in your thorn ridden room

as upon needles of love I abide

this hammock dripping wet, with blood and with sweat

and in this prickly peace I will hide.

Demon Date

This is the time of night 

when the demons come

and my heart races

and I can't feel numb

But I try, oh I try

to reach down low

turn off the faucet

turn off the flow

But the tears, oh they fall

and my heart, it does bleed

and I ask for a bandage

and i beg and i plead

But there ain't nobody out there

ain't no one awake

when the world crashes down

and I've had more than I can take.

And the sleep, it never comes

just tortures me to death 

and I can't see through darkness

and I can't catch my breath.

And I rock till I'm thristy

then I rock till I'm tired

and I can't even nap

cause I'm so fucking wired

Finally I collapse 

not even a pillow for my head

but I don't even care

just glad to have a bed

Then in mercy without limits

I finally slip to dreams

and I wake up with the daylight

and hope outweighs the screams. 

Guts

Take a knife

and cut me up

inside out

see my guts.

Read the signs

read them well

see what stories

they have to tell.

Tales with words

words of blood

pouring forth like

a crimson flood.

Can numb be painful?

Can light be dark?

Can outside be in?

the finish the start?

Makes no sense

no sense you see

this mind of mine

the mind that's ME.

Every Scar

These scars across my skin

tell you the story of the times when

I had to dig my way out of the muck

and try so hard to even give a fuck. 

To try to feel something other than numb

a reason to cry and reason to run

maybe to fight, I just don't know

looking for an out, a safe place to go. 

Other times, its to say  "you fucking queer"

"you're nobody, nothing, why you even here"

the voices so evil though they claim to be a saint

but if you're God's voice, going to heaven I ain't

I feel like I am 80, though I'm not even close

heavy weighs me down, and it looks like your ghost.

But I have felt the demons ever since I was 8

I hear their song of sadness and I can relate.

Some scars bear your name, given only in love

but memories if I could, I would get rid of

every moment a lie, every word a deception

you were born in evil, no immaculate conception. 

 You just added to the pain that was already there

but you didn't give a shit, you didn't even care

fucking tell me I was weak, when the weak one was you

even in my pain, I would have helped you get through

So many scars on my arms, my heart, across my chest

Long before you came, and long after I guess

Stubborn faith keeps me going, your bullshit don't matter

hope that pissed you off, cause I ain't gonna shatter.

I got paw prints on my heart, it bandages the bleeding

and the sadness is pushed back, like flood waters receding

and damn straight I will choose them over you any day

cause they love me as I am, and they never stray. 

Welcome to Suicide on Suicide Prevention Night

I haven't been there in 15 years. That moment where I don't want to see the next day.  But I was there last night. I crashed and burned

And this is not a story about anyone's effect on me. This is my story about dealing with the after effects of a hysterectomy to save me from cancer. This is about not being a person I recognize anymore.

After the surgery, the doctor told me it was going to be difficult because I can take no hormones or supplements to help me. Apparently, it would somehow encourage the cancer to return. Before the surgery, although I struggled with panic attacks, I was more evenly balanced. Not perfectly, but much better than now.  I could function day to day.

I look back in my writings and see a great deal of difference. Some of them are so raw I don't even publish them on Whisper Creek because I don't want anyone who comes here seeking peace and love to have to experience them. 

Last night was the rawest of the raw. It was ironic because it was Suicide Prevention Day. I had written a piece not long ago called The Suicide Project in an effort to help stop others from doing that final act. It told of my experience of 15 years ago and what kept me from completing it myself. Last night, it didn't matter. 

I can't tell what are my feelings anymore and what are raging, out of control, hormones. All I know, is I broke hard last night. I sat before my prayer altar, on the floor, weeping. And I don't mean crying...I mean weeping. I leaned against the wall, I rocked back and forth. I prayed hard, spilling it all out to God. And forgive me for my honesty, but I cried, "Why did you even fucking make me knowing I would be this way?" I asked, "When are you going to make the hurt go away? Its been almost 40 fucking years God...WHEN?" 

My dogs didn't know what to do. Pastor Panda came out from under the bed, and crawled onto my lap kissing away my tears. I hugged him and then let him go, because I was afraid of my own self. Mr. Blue and Miss Ruby sat on the bed watching me in concern.

I kept thinking of the gun that lay by my bed. I was afraid to go near it, not because I was afraid of the gun, but because I was afraid of me. Thank God, I had taken images of what my parents might find while writing The Suicide Project, because the thought of what my parents might find, kept me away from the gun. 

I had promised my parents that if I ever came to that point of suicidal tendencies again, I would call. So in my desperation, I picked up the phone and said through my tears "Momma, come get the gun." My parents live 30 minutes away and I promised I would hang on. The only way I knew how was to keep praying and to focus as I often do in my pain by forcing a dull knife into my thumb. The knife is too dull to cut me, it can only hurt me. And I realize that it is not healthy and it is destructive, but it saved my life last night.

So, I continued to cry, I continued to pray, and I forced the knife down nearly to the bone, begging God to have mercy on me. I repeated the 23rd Psalm as I recalled it..."The Lord is my shepard, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside still waters, he restoreth my soul. Yea though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me...." I paced the floor. I sat weeping in my chair beside my altar. 

I knew that my tranquilizer, my klonopin, lay in my drawer. I knew I could take them and it would be over, but I told myself to hold on a little longer. I looked at my dogs and worked through the pain. As I knew my parents were getting closer, I started to feel my old friend Panic. I took one pill to calm down, then I took two. I wasn't going to overdose, I was going to make it. The knife still pressed into my thumb. 

By the time my parents arrived, I had settled a bit. I'm sure I looked like shit and I still was rocking back and forth and I do when I am troubled. Dad got the gun and took it away. And Ms Ruby, when she saw my Mom, showed such relief as I have never seen before. My little Ruby feels the burden of caring for me. She feels the responsibility of me. She has stopped me from cutting myself before and gives me hugs when I need it most. But tonight, she didn't know what to do. For her, it was as if help had finally arrived.

My parents talked to me until the klonopin kicked in and I feel asleep. I hadn't slept except one hour in 48 hours. Another effect of sudden menopause. Dad took the gun home, and mom slept beside me on the recliner. 

And the sun rose again. And here I am with a hell of a headache and a klonopin, but I am here. And for right now, I guess that's good enough.

And I ask myself if I should even share this on Whisper Creek. It is not encouraging, its raw and painful. But it is honesty that few people will share and I hope by sharing it, others will see that they are not alone. If I pretend to be the perfect encourager, the healthy guru, I will be dishonest, and you will not connect with me. We all need connection. The desperate person needs to know others feel desperation. The suicidal person needs to know others have been there and survived. So in my honesty connect with me. In my pain, find healing. In my survival, find hope. 

And for now, if being alive is all I have, I'll take it, for I know it will get better.

The Suicide Project

Swallowed by despair and desperation....pleading for mercy and relief....wishing you could just rip you own heart out and smash it against the ground to make it stop beating....you debate. Should I or shouldn't I? 

At first you consider how your loved ones will feel if they find you dead. Then at some point,  you hurt so much you either convince yourself that they would be better off without you, or you simply don't care anymore. The emotional pain so profound that it consumes the life from you. You don't want to die. You just don't want to live like this. You can't live like this any longer. 

It is as if your body is on fire, and you know with no uncertainty that you will die a slow unbearable death fully conscious, so you beg for someone to end your suffering. You beg God to take your life, to spare you pain. You can take no more. 

With intense physical pain, the body is often merciful enough to close down your mind because it cannot deal with the pain. With emotional pain, it is rarely so merciful. You must endure until you feel as if you will explode and you wish you would. 

In these moments, the desperation to end the suffering is inexplicable. Until you have felt it, no words can give it proper measure. 

I have been one of the few who have been there and survived. I held a gun to my head. I cut my wrist.  I have driven toward a curve so fast praying to God that I wouldn't make the curve, but crash into the mountainside. I have mixed my pills with alcohol hoping I wouldn't wake up the next morning. I have stood on a bridge trying to get the nerve to jump.

And I am only one of many. Suicide rates are highest among gays, lesbians, bisexual and trans-gender people. I know few who have not tried it. Rejection from our families, our churches, our friends, our society, and our God lead us to deep despair. Yet suicide is not just a GLBT experience, it is universal.  It is a human condition.

A  friend recently asked me, what stopped me from doing it? Why am I alive 15 years later? The answer is not simple. And I certainly will not say "by the grace of God" because that would infer that those who did not survive did not deserve God's grace. 

In my most deepest moment of desperation, I sat by the river on Netherland Inn Road in Kingsport, TN. I had cut my arms several times. I cried out to God asking him why in the hell would he not change me into a straight person? Why was I like this? Why did he make me an abomination? I had come out to my husband a few years before and had begged and pleaded with God to take this desire from me because I loved Phillip. But God didn't take it away. I knew if I left Phillip, that he would no longer be allowed to pastor another southern baptist church again. This was his dream. If I were dead, they would have pity on him. If I were gay, then they would judge him. Wouldn't he be better off if I were dead?

The only thing that saved me that day was one thought. I would give life a little more time to see what happened. I thought if there was the slightest chance in the world that there was happiness out there for me, then I would miss it if I were dead. I reserved the right to kill myself. I had to. I had to feel I had an escape. In giving myself that permission, I gave myself time. 

It was not easy. I won't lie and say that there was a miracle and everything suddenly got better. I was lucky that I had a husband who was willing to adjust his dream and to love me enough to let me go. He has never once made me feel guilty about my decision to live even though he is still  not allowed to pastor after 15 years. We are in fact, still friends.

A little over a year after our divorce, I met someone and moved away. I began to heal and grow into the person God made me. I made peace with God. I realized that by living the life he has given me, I am honoring him. I am no abomination. I am his precious child.

Even now, in the despair that has visited me recently, I have been able to keep going because I proved to myself that life does get better. It does not get perfect. However, if I look back on all the things I would have missed if I made that final cut or pulled that trigger long ago, I am happy that I am still alive. 

This year, I lost my love of 10 years. I faced cancer and the surgery that came with it. I am under heavy financial pressure from medical bills and trying to save my home. I am still in physical pain from the surgery and a back injury. I worry that I cannot feed the 20 + animals that are now in my care on my meager salary. I have panic attacks that put me in inexplicable terror. I struggle with self punishing behaviors such as cutting. But I am alive.

If I had not survived this year, I would not have seen the development of Whisper Creek as a ministry. I would not have met a huge family of loving people like me through Wipeout Homophobia. I would not have met my new love. I would not have witnessed my affect as a writer on other people. I would not have seen myself become a person who can reach out to others because of the hardships I have faced. I would not have seen what a strong and loving human being I can be. There are so many blessings I would have missed!

I know there are so many people who are so tired. I know the desperation you feel. I know the temptation to pick up the knife, the gun, the rope, the pills. Know this: You are loved. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. You are a gift to this earth. It does get better. You may go around the next corner and walk directly into your new love. You may get a phone call from someone telling you they are sorry that they hurt you. You may login to Facebook and find a brand new friend who will stand by you no matter what. 

  If you are dead, none of these things will happen. 

Just wait...a little bit longer. Put down the weapon. Let the sun rise one more time. You are loved. If you want to give yourself permission to take your life later, then do it. Whatever keeps you alive now. You are important to this world. You may not see your importance right this second, but someone, somewhere needs you. Someone is waiting to love you. Life is waiting to give you blessings. They are coming. Relief is coming.  
It will be okay, my friend.