Tag Archives: Sorrow

Dropping Tears of Rage to the Floor


My dream starts off in a dim cafeteria that only has small windows towards the top of the double story ceiling to provide any light; I’m volunteering through hannaford by servicing people in need when I hear a familiar voice “I wanna see carol, I miss her so much.” I’d recognize that pouty voice anywhere since I served her for almost 3 years as her team leader. I come rushing around the corner and give becky a huge hug and begin cry my eyes out with her on her shoulder, saying I’m sorry over and over again. Danielle, my supervisor at hannafords, looks on fondly.

Later I run into my former boss Sarah, and ask her how I can help out. She hands me a box of gift cards to be stocked from local stores and restaurants, mostly from outback steak house. I dropped the box as I’m walking away and they all spread across the floor; the box is no longer usable. I organize the cards in piles and pick them back up, and drop them again, but they remain mostly in the piles I put them in. I put them away and look to the back of the room… That’s when I see her… Gina. She now drops something and I go over to help her pick it up. She doesnt know I’m here and doesn’t make eye contact, so in my generosity there’s a spiteful “fuck you I’m nice” element. “Kill them with kindness” comes to mind.

“Oh im so glad you guys are here. The work you all do is wonderful; you guys should come work for us” she says with a faux simper.

“Sorry, but I already did that once before, and I’ll never do it again.”

She finally looks at me and I’m beaming at her. She’s stunned, and I continue on holding on to my power and a slow simmering rage towards her to exert my dominance, tell her how much I love my job now, and how much it’s a shame that I’ll never work for such a terrible employer again. Gina struggles to find a snarky comment, and I leave before she gets the chance.

This time I’ve given a clothing donation to take care of,  but to my horror my dirty shirt and 2 pairs of underwear are among them! I’m trying desperately to conceal them by wrapping them up in a bundle, but they keep falling out and the stack gets bigger and heavier. Gina walks by and snarks “you should be more careful next time” with a smirk on her face. I ignore her and make it sound as if I can’t hear her. I brush it off and pick myself back up, not wanting to be phased.

In the next row I hear someone say “oh look, it’s carol Simpson! Oh, never mind, you’re too tall! Ha ha ha” when I look I see Ellen had said that to Bee in gest as a way of making fun of me. “Oh fuck you” I scream at the top of my lungs, but no one hears me or cares in a room crawling with people. I storm off and try to center myself.

I’m outside and near a body of water I think, but before me buried in sand is a bunch of stones – onyx, hemetite, jasper, sun stone, moon stone… And these are all mine! They’re from my bedroom! My brother Jim is nearby, and where he’s stolen from me before I furiously storm up and confront him. “DID YOU TAKE MY STONES” I screm at full force. Jim can’t take ownership of what he’s done, and mom and big Jim are now standing to my left. “Just tell her you did it” mom says, since jims face is now twisted with embarrassment and guilt. He says he did, and I launch into a speech asking him why he feels it’s okay to treat me like shit and disrespecting me through my belongings, but most importantly those are healing stones, and he tried to sabotage my ability to heal in stealing them.

Just then my mother snarks “ironic isn’t it; now you know how I feel.” She was referring to when I was 14 I had stolen from her, but when I tried to explain to her that was different cause little jim is now an adult, big Jim (his dad) steps in and says something, but I don’t remember what it was. I know I threw my hand up in a “stop” gesture, and told him I didn’t give a shit what someone as abusive and negligent as him has to say; what I do know is that I was seething with rage.

Suddenly there’s a restaurant dining room connected too the home kitchen I’m standing in, and I’m screaming at mom and Jim, but they don’t care and disregard me as crazy and irrational with a whole restaurant of people judging me silently and taking my moms side. I felt like telling people off in that moment and defending myself as not crazy, but I chose to ignore them instead, pretending the kitchen is a barrier that keeps me safe from the crowd of diners. Little Jim never apologized, and I don’t recover all my stones from the beach; there was one in particular that has gone missing and I start contemplating making Jim pay me back or just buy me a new one.

My Dearest Nightmare

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Day 1

To My Dearest Love,

Forgive me if I don’t know where to begin – I’m afraid my thoughts and feelings fall and scatter before me like a summer rain; I welcome and observe with a sense of melancholy what lays before me, but try as I might, I cannot catch them all. I suppose if I might run or dance through them, I may catch more, but in this moment, I need to stand back and observe my thoughts, my feelings, and the sensations that occur. Unlike most, I welcome the storm – I do not fear it, but I suppose you knew this about me already.

Since you’ve set sail for the sea, twice now I’ve attempted too swim, twice now I’ve laced my life with death, twice now I’ve drowned, and twice now I’ve washed ashore to the starting point on the sands below the precipice where we built our home.Be it Odin or Poseidon curse or vengeance towards a goddess who could rival the Gods, I know not, but what I do know is that the emptiness consumes me, the longing embraces me, and this wretched turmoil has been forever immortalized by sonnets and prayers. Of all I’ve had to carry, being the burden barer that I am, this is the one that sits like a boulder within my chest. I imagine the sea beside our home regularly supplied by the tears I’ve shed.. watching… waiting… my blessing is the location that I’m in for the beauty is still distracting. 

Day 2:

I’ve slept on the shores again. As I awoke I caught the sun shining through the cracks of dark clouds, promising the warmth of a new dawn, a new hope, and a new life. The vibrancy of blue casts a spell on this land, enchanting all out of it’s slumber; two doves of white were soaring overhead, one carrying an olive branch… who knew this prison could be so beautiful? The symbolism of the branch however is not lost on me, for perhaps, just perhaps, those doves were messengers of hope. I go now to set the table for two, pray chance you should surprise me at the table.

Evening of Night 2:

My love, I wish you could watch the sun set before me over the ocean – hues of red, and gold, and purples mix into the realm of twilight. Legend has it that demons come pouring forth about this time to lace the world with sorrow and suffering, but I refuse to believe it.

I listened to the pastors sermon today; it was a message of what faith can do if we can just believe. A family had nothing to eat for the holiday of Noel, and the parents had told the children that a feast would come. The children then countered ” but we have not set the table, if we believe that food will come and have faith that God will deliver, then we must set the table.” The rest of the logistics escape me, but someone remembered this family, and delivered a feast for 5 by the afternoon. The irony of this morning is not lost on me, and indeed, the many mornings before… but it becomes a painstaking process the moment I question why you are not here, but my faith so palatable. It was difficult to clear the table and dispose the food… there is something sacred about your chair, as if your aura should have been here. I can’t tell if it brought me comfort or grief, but this home has become a temple for you that I worship from. Oh, how I long to have you near me.

Midnight Hour:

I can’t tell for the life of me if it is morning or night – it’s too dark to know for certain. I just woke up dripping in sweat and tears, the salt of my wound mixing with the salt of the sea. I must calm myself… I must get this emotion out of me. The terror of the night enveloping me in the very same darkness that would hypnotize most to slumber, but instead, the darkness of time betrays me. The scent of you is fading from these sheets of ours, and the longing comes back with a vengeance.

The dream… I must get these fragments down… there was you, maybe 10 years ago, standing above the rose hedges at your grandmothers estate in Darbishire; the sight of you was breathtaking and overwhelming, surpassing the handsome features the country has to offer.I could feel the tears as they pricked against my eyes, and I ran to you, as fast as I could, feeling each step getting harder and heavier with each passing stride… but I made it.Nestled in your warm embrace, the maelstrom of emotions breaks free, and I cry into your chest, banging my fist against you as a child might do.You chuckle, most likely amused by my reaction, and simply hold me, kissing my head on occasion, waiting for my tears to subside. Slowly, things fade away with my eyes closed nestled in your embrace… how much time has passed… seconds… minutes… hours… then panic grips me.

“Shit!” I open my eyes while and find myself plummeting to my knees…. you’re gone, and suddenly I find myself in an ancient forest that hasn’t touched the light of day or the silhouette of the moon for centuries. There’s something in here that threatens my very existence, and I know my life is on the line. Briefly assessing, the woods are somehow gradient mixtures of black and gray with no discernible source of light – dust seems to cover everything, and I’m not sure how any of this is possible. Not a sound exists… no sound is capable of existing here… no wind… no movement… it’s terrifying. There is no life other than the trees which somehow maintain enough energy to block anything from entering this place… or leaving. “I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be here…” 

Suddenly I am running, unable to contain the panic; I know I’m running from something.The darkness closes in again, and the harder I run, the more painful it becomes, and the faster the darkness approaches…

“No”

It’s coming…

“NO”

It’s hard to breathe…

“NOOOO”

I jolt from my bed, screaming aloud. 

>>>>>>>>>>>(Blah…. too much to write and edit. I’ll be fixing this later… yes I know it’s rough, but this is just copy pasta from my journal I keep in my room anyway.)

Forlorn Lover

How long must I still be chained, tied down, and buried by the memories of you. My thoughts of you are soul consuming, and my gaze is hazy from your spell; I see, but never clearly. My strength has been weakened by your lingering blows, and I lack the ability to stand outside myself. I fear my life without you, so I cling to what does not exist. My dreams recollect the fantasia that pulled at the symphony of my soul – without you, my songs turn to silence like a bird trapped in a cage. I need your light, your whisper, your prayer. Your name is a litany that is just barely audible. The heavens have forbidden me from testifying of you, the demon that I am – the angel that you are.

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Murder

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I’m out and about with my dad at nighttime in this highly crowded place – most likely Florida and during Mardi-gras. People have drinks in hand and as they walk down the street, and a few were a little too obnoxious. We make our way to the car whens some heavy African american dude tries to get into a rumble with my dad. My dad tries to get him to back off, but then they exchange words and a gun is produced from the fat guy who picked a fight. Before he can fire in his inebriated state, the gun falls to the pavement and my dad scrambles for the gun. I try to stop them from a fight but getting the gun out of my dad’s hand so no one would get hurt, and I dont know how it happened, but as I was trying to take the gun from my dad the gun fired and it shot and killed him on the spot. I wept bitterly over my father. I really dont know how it happened, but I blamed myself – even though I didn’t pull the trigger. He was pronounced dead on the scene.

I wasn’t arrested right away, but a detective did take me to some school. He was also heavy set, white, dark hair, brown eyes. “Remember this?” he asked. “No” I replied, what is this place – and why are we here? It was a classroom with a single classroom desk in the middle of the room and no chairs. It was in some massive business building on about the 17th-23rd floor. It had the traditional 90’s school floors – white cut out tiles that were made of some kinda linoleum or plastic. No matter how much you mopped it, there was always dirt. Anyway, the detective starts to ask me questions about the room and if I remember it. I said I have no memory of the room itself, but I have a bad feeling about this place that I can’t put my finger on. Then he told me this is where I murdered a little boy when I was a child. I was dumb-struck and couldn’t believe it. Then we went through the details of how it happened. It was also an accident, but they let me off because I was a child, and I genuinely had no clue what I was doing – I was too small. As he tells me the details my mind starts to unfold as I envision what he said and was made to believe it. “Where did he lay?” I asked the detective. He pointed to the floor. I broke down over that spot and wept bitterly. First I killed my dad, and now I’m forced to remember killing this little boy who was no more than 4 or 5 when I was his age. The gun back then belonged to the teacher and he irresponsibly left it out, so he was charged instead.

Never the less, people start going into the room when another gentleman shows up; he was a light-skinned African american, about 35, handsome – dressed in a wal-mart blue button-up shirt and jeans. Both of us were under the impression he needed to speak to the detective, but he was there to speak to me. I step aside for them to talk and he approaches me for a chat. He asked me about the details as to what happened with my dad, and I explain them. I bitterly wept again having to try to relive the trauma. When all was said and done I told him I knew what happened was an accident, but legally I’m held guilty and plan to plead “guilty – no contest.” Someone had to pay for what happened and I felt too grief ridden to try to blame the owner of the gun or seek a lawyer.

I leave outside and am transported back to the scene of my fathers murder; it’s night time again. I look for dads car to take me home. I get inside and find the keys. Out of nowhere, dad shows up in the front passenger seat from beyond the grave. He tells me he forgives me and that Nana and pop are gonna take it really hard, and there’s a will with money I need to look for for Jamie and myself. I drive back to his apartment in Sarasota and walk inside to look for Jamie first and see if he knew what had happened. As I step into his room his head hangs low and he refuses to look at me. The blinds are shut behind him, but the light from the morning sun invades the darkness, creating a blanket of shadow that envelops my brother. I try to tell him it was an accident and that I’m eternally sorry for what has happened, but he looked so lost. I weep as hard as I can on the floor again. Dad steps in and tries to say something, but only I can hear him. I translate what he said back to jamie, but he’s still too angry and upset to listen.

I wake up with tears in my eyes and a runny nose.

Run

I was on a well paved road in Maine against the coastline. It was a beautiful & rich suburban area on top of a mountainside. To my right were houses nestled within a thicket of woods that contrasted the bright green leaves; to the left were a few darker evergreen trees against the edge of the road, but behind that was a cliff that was barred off which overlooked the seaside. It was beautiful. The endless blue above me lifted my spirits and sent me soaring against the salty breeze that refreshed me as I went for some exercise. I’m jogging in this serene state and really wanted to sweat this sense of purification that comes from the inside out. As I progress forward, two guys are also jogging. We meet at this 3-way intersection. I was coming from the right, and they were coming from the left – nothing was on the third path except the “camera angle” momentarily. To my surprise the two guys were Jay and Peter. The moment we all saw each other we stopped for a moment to say hi. Jason was in a really good mood, and I was happy to see them both, but I wanted to keep the momentum up and start running again. Jason decided to run with me instead since Peter was close to where he needed to be, so he was good to go home. Jason and I are running together and talking about everything random under the sun; video games, movies, college, siblings – it felt like the good old days. I don’t remember all the details since I’ve been hesitant to share this dream. It took place a day or two ago.

I must confess I miss my best friend – I don’t know how else to interpret it.

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Prayers for the Lost: Connecticut Shooting

I have been closely following the tragedy unfolding in Connecticut. Today. I must have cried at least 3 times putting myself in their shoes – especially as a parent.

Words cannot express the level of grief I feel for these children, and the loved ones who wont see their kids ever again. Gone are the opportunities to watch as their kids learn to drive, fall in love, head on to college, or create a family of their own. Friends of the children who were murdered now face the coldest and harshest wake-up call into the real world, breaking the innocence of their youth.

What I wouldn’t give to be down their with everyone else to help them in their suffering – but there is a way to help.

I know at least 1 SDA church who will be holding a prayer service at 6pm this evening in honor of those who’s lives were cut short. While I may not be able to join them physically – I can at least meet them in spirit as I pray for those who have fallen as well. My hope is that you will do the same.

Support for these families is critical at this time, and many will move on:

http://www.cnn.com/2012/12/14/health/school-shooting-trauma/index.html?hpt=hp_t1

For the parents however – if I were in them, I wouldn’t want to smile anymore. Its a brief moment of joy spent without the one I love. I hope they don’t feel the same way.

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Autumns Passage of Time

I’m at the SDA church one crisp autumn afternoon. The sun is high in the sky and theres a lot of hustle and bustle. It’s  something thats never really happened before, so it must not have been a Sabbath day. I was 14 because the bachelder girls were there, and they were all quite young. Everyone is preparing for a Christmas program for some weeks out in advance. The Portsmouth Pathfinders have all gathered downstairs and random people are making decorations.  A few people said hi to me here and there – all very light-hearted small elevator chit chat.

Now I’m a bit older, 15, and the sun is bright, though not as high in the sky. I’m sitting in a pew when Molly and Abby come up and sit two pews behind me. They had to try to one up me and snub me in their usual obnoxious fashion by talking about how they’re more christian because their whole family goes to church and holds an important position of authority. They’re loud enough to be heard, and it’s all directed at me cause they keep staring at me, but they don’t actually speak too me. I refuse to acknowledge their presence. Abby was more or less leading the charge with Molly snickering in agreement. In the end I remain physically passive and maintain the appearance of having brushed it off. Gaining no satisfaction from me they leave and then I move.

I’m sitting in the front row closest to the piano with a few kids who are all practicing some Christmas song. The microphone gets passed down, one by one, everybody singing their lines. Finally it’s my turn. I think it was Charlotte playing the piano for me. I screwed up the song and tripped over my tong until I forgot the lyrics. All I could do was hum the remainder, and everyone heard it over the microphone. When it was over I embarrassingly got up and started to walk out. Only a few people were in their seats; everyone else was cleaning and prepping the church… Jehovah Witness style (for those who don’t know Jehovah Witnesses get together once a year to scrub the church top to bottom with refreshments laid out for everyone.) I’m almost completely out of the room when I turn my head to the right and look out the second to last window. I admire at how beautiful everything looks. Cars are parked in the lot without a single space left. The sun is setting more and more, and the light glistening over the glass of the cars. Autumn leaves of red and gold are scattered everywhere, and provide a painted backdrop of trees in the background… and theres even a gentle breeze that rustles the trees. Very cinematic the way it looked. Autumn in New England was at it’s prime.

Then I noticed something…. or rather, someone. My heart lurched into my throat as Jay came out of his moms grey dodge from the front passenger side. He was holding some kinda dish in a clear tupperware container with a blue lid. I turned my head and walked out just as he was rounding the front of the car. By the front door I pause for a moment at what I’d just seen and contemplate what I should do. I age another year as I make my way downstairs with tension setting in. At the bottom of the stairs I’m 16 years old. There’s still the same flurry of activity, but he hasnt come in. I walk out to the back door and wonder where Adam is, half expecting him to stalk me, then I look for Jay. I walked outside and around the back of the church, ageing another year again – 17 years old. The sun is almost gone by now, and the sky becomes cloudy and cold.

Finally I found him sitting on the swings. I wanted to join him, but I know he didn’t want to hang out with me – he’d take off running again. It was our place, our special place almost. Hours of church time wasted just chatting the day away. He always sat on the seat to the right; the left was there for me. No one had taken it. Suddenly I see his dad, Peter, as he walks past me, exposing where I thought I was safely hidden. He approaches his son and they have a brief conversation. Peter doesn’t seem too thrilled, and Jay’s affect subtly changes. I assumed he was warning Jay of my presence. Peter takes off and I slowly creep forward, waging an internal war within myself. Should I say hi? Will he run away? Will I be scolded? Oh how I wanted to say hi. Then he gets up and is momentarily gone from my sight as cars start to pull up in front of the swings and leave, blocking my field of vision… one of them was the gray dodge. My heart leaps into my throat as panic sets in, afraid he’s going to leave before we’ve even laid eyes on each other. That’s all I wanted at the very least is for him to acknowledge my presence; to know that we were walking the same damn terra firma. I’m alive and I am here. Please stop acting as if I’m dead. I am alive and missing you – though living in fear of you now.

I bolt from where ever I was hiding and march to the swings, just barley running; my resolve to see him was firm. Carpe diem seemed to scream through my head… then there he is. He’s on the swing again; his head hangs low as he grabs onto each of the metal chainlinks supporting him. He’s wearing a dark gray t-shirt, blue cargo jeans, and some slightly worn-in brown hiking shoes. He’s shaved, and his hair is still as brown and messy as ever. The sigh of him was….. intoxicating, for lack of a better term, but he’s also…sad? Apprehensive? I don’t know. I momentarily froze while drinking him in. The sun has set now and all thats there is a dim blue and heavy gray sky thats dark, but not 100% dark. It starts to flurry I think. Now that I’ve been exposed from where I was watching, I can no longer go back to hiding. What will he say? What will he do? Will he ignore me and run? Will he allow me to sit beside him? I’ve aged one final time, I’m 18, and he’s an adult too. Because of my own apprehension as I get closer,  panic courses through my veins. My dream fades to black from the edges and slowly getting closer to him. The harder I run to him, the darker it gets. Finally he’s out of sight.

Gone.

I wake up to a pounding heart and covered in sweat. I was holding my breath while sleeping again.

The Facebook Dream

So I woke up and remembered one little blurb of my dream.

I was thanking someone for saying happy birthday on facebook when I got a message from someone saying “Stop checking your birthday comments. Your birthday was yesterday, and no one cares now. Were sick of seeing you like and comment on your birthday greetings so stop it. No one cares anymore cause it was yesterday.”

Afterwards I went though and thought about whether i should unlike or delete any thank you comments I made, but I was too heart broken and didn’t want to.

I kick myself out of the dream. It was just too cruel.