Loving the Wounded Child

Today I send love
to the wounded child within me.
I give her a tight embrace
and tell her that everything
will be alright.

I comfort her
with whispered tales
of my adventures
as she sits upon my lap.
Her eyes close as she pictures
these places in her mind.
Her ear rests against
the beat of my heart;
a rhythm that assures her
that I still live for her.
A beat that assures her
that I have found a way
to carry the burdens this far;
that her horror stories
did not mark the end.

My wild journey,
I assure her,
was only this wild
because of the past
she so bravely survived.
The hard times
and good times
have since become one;
neither could have existed
without the other.
For I would not have been
spurred to travel
had I not suffered,
had I not experienced
such powerlessness.

So today,
I send love
to the wounded child within me
for being so courageous.
I bless her wounds and her scars.
I bless her tenacity,
her fortitude, and moxie.
I bless my soul for choosing this life
knowing the pain
it would have to endure
before being able to bring
comfort and solace to others,
for this was a divine choice
and I take this time to honor it.

Today I acknowledge
that despite surviving
very real traumas,
I have truly won
many lotteries in this lifetime.

Each of my surviving siblings
got adopted into safe and loving homes,
and though we were split,
we were able to see each other often.
I have had amazing friendships.
I had the inner strength
to ignore the doubts of others
and instead make my own slow way
to success after success.

The pain of the past
became a motivator
for travel and volunteer work;
I continually threw myself
into something bigger than myself
so I could make what difference I could.
So I could alleviate the suffering of others
with my love and compassion.
Today I send love to and thank
the wounded child within
for her resilience and strength,
for her courage and steel will
to defy the odds.

A Thousand Capacities

I wish you all could see
how far I've come to be here.
I wish you could see
the countless trials,
the plethora of triumphs
that brought me to this moment.

There was almost never a time
when I felt life was easy
and those times mostly consisted
of summers.
Summers in which
I didn't have to face
my teachers or my peers.
Anxiety was my constant companion,
an ever present undercurrent
which meant small inconveniences
could make me cause a spectacle
despite the fact that
all I really, truly wanted
was to remain invisible.

After a few years in school,
I started feeling indifferent
about my existence
and often wondered
why I was even here.
But despite the struggles,
I found I loved learning
even though I couldn't
always prove my intellect.

For one time,
in fourth grade,
I failed a five question
math quiz,
and yet the following year,
I moved up a level in math.

And this has been the pattern.
No one expects me to succeed until I do.
Even to this day,
I don't know what gave me the strength
to ignore the doubters
and keep my head down
until I could show them
that I had "a thousand capacities"
ready to spring up in me.

Perhaps my soul,
had been fully aware
all along,
of my true potential.
Perhaps my soul
has always been
the source of my strength.

Suicide Awareness

I've written this post as a way to honor all those we have lost to suicide this year and to those lost to suicide every year. And to anyone who stumbles upon this during a time of great suffering, please know I see you, I am you, and I love you. Please know that I have faced many of the thoughts and feelings listed below. Know that you have worth. Know that you are so loved and know the joy you have brought and continue to bring others just by being you.

                Dear World,

                      I'm so sorry to have left in a hurry,
                     but I felt all alone.
                    I felt like no one could see me,
                   like no one could hear me.

So I figured if I no longer exist to anyone,
then maybe it was time to go.
I know it wasn't fair to any of you,
but I couldn't take life any longer
because I couldn't feel alive.

                Being dead seemed better
                than being half dead.
                For nothing seemed to matter
                to me anymore;
                I couldn't see
                a future in which I'd be
                happy.

There seemed to be nothing
for me in this broken world.
There was no place for me;
none that I could see.
I swear I couldn't
find a way out.

                Who could possibly understand?
                Who would have the patience
                to listen to my anxieties?
                And how would sharing them help at all?
                Every lie that resided in my head
                would still be there,
                just as real as they'd be before.

I didn't believe that anyone
would have been able to find
the words to comfort me.
For there was no comfort in the world.
I felt that no one could possibly
save me, especially not from me. 

                Nothing made sense.
                Nothing seemed to matter.
                I'm truly sorry I did it
                but it's not your fault.
                I couldn't see straight;
                I couldn't see anything.
                I couldn't think straight.

What was a 25 year old like me
supposed to do in such a broken world?
What was the point
of my insignificant existence?
I couldn't come up with answers
to these and other questions.
Again, please don't blame yourself.

                My head was lying to me.
                It led me to believe all these terrible lies.
                That I was utterly alone,
                that no one missed me
                or thought about me.
                That no one would understand
                or even want to listen
                to my melancholy.

It also seemed to me
that receiving your assurance
would only make me feel bad
that I couldn't shake the sadness.
I was almost in a place where
I didn't want comfort
even if it did exist.

                I love all of you dearly and wish
                I could take this action back.
                But my battle was already lost.
                I was tired and could battle no more.
                I swear I tried, but I was just
                too tired to continue.

The demons in my head
got louder every day,
every minute.
They drowned out my sanity
causing me to lose sight of my reality.
I knew I was loved,
but didn't feel loved.
I knew I had my family's support
but felt that I couldn't trust it.

            I'm sorry I gave up the battle.

           The darkness won; I could see no sun.

           I'm sorry I gave up the battle.

          The darkness won; I could see no sun.

          I'm sorry I gave up the battle.

         The darkness won; I could see no sun.

A Bygone Age of Grief

A decade ago,
I began grieving my loss of innocence.
Until God reminded me
that I was and have always been
innocent.

A decade ago,
I began grieving my loss of faith.
Until God found a way
to restore it
in my mind,
in my body,
in my soul.

I grieved my brokenness,
for I felt shattered.
I grieved over my sense
of powerlessness
and insignificance.
Until God assured me
that I was perfect,
whole,
and complete.
And that I was loved
just as I was.

A decade ago, I began grieving
over my trauma tarnished
childhood.
Until God reminded me
that I still had experienced
wonderfully carefree times
as a child.

My prayers then
began "If there is a God",
and now they begin
"Dear Mother, Father, God"
And end with "Thank you, God"

Dear Mother, Father, God,
I ask that you stay with me,
today and everyday,
so that I shall never again
believe those lies.
I ask that you
continue to fill my mind
with the truth of my
power and divinity,
with the truth of my
perfection.

May I never again question
whether or not
I am Your beloved
child,
Your beloved
daughter.
May I never again
claim the victim-hood
identity as mine.
May I trust today and every day
that I always have
Your protection and provision
every step of the way,
every hour of the day.

May today mark this decade
a bygone age of grief and self-pity.
May the grieving reach its end today.

Thank you, God. Thank you, God.

Writing is My Lantern

Writing is my sword; the blade I use to slash through the belly of the beast, whenever the darkness threatens to swallow me whole. Writing is my life raft, keeping me above the waves whenever I find myself adrift at sea. Writing is my lantern that guides my steps through the impenetrable darkness. Writing gives me freedom and at times an egress. Writing provides a counterweight for the burdens I carry, until I find a way to let them go.

Alchemizing Burdens into Blessings

I've come to the crazy conclusion
that my trauma serves a divine purpose.
For I have taken the time
and made the effort
to find some way to alchemize
my burdens into blessings.

I allowed my loneliness
to empower me to reach out
and befriend those
who felt isolated by their awkwardness.
I allowed the imperfections
that I noted and disliked in myself
to be the very things that I loved about others,
and eventually recognized this
as a stepping stone to self-love.

My hardships, my trials and tribulations,
my struggles all have had
a divine purpose all along.
But I was too caught up in grief
and self-pity to see it.
The truth of this alchemy
can be seen in my poetry,
can be seen in my empathy.
The divine purpose was shown
every time I chose to reach out
to those who reminded me of myself.
The divine purpose was visible
every time I helped a child.
The divine purpose manifested itself
in the form of deep, lasting friendships,
in the form of the patience and compassion
I have for others.

Could it be that these challenging experiences
were digging a cavernous well within me
to be filled with love, light, tenderness, and grace,
enabling me to walk through life with compassion
as my knee-jerk reaction for every interaction?

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time,
I dreamed of having a life
other than my own.
Any other life would do.
I'd dream of being someone else,
of swapping with another,
or of reincarnating.
For death seemed
easier to face than grieving.
Death occurs in an instant,
grief can last a lifetime.

Once upon a time,
I felt like the only way
I could love myself
was to be someone else.
Once upon a time,
I despised myself
for all of my behavioral
idiosyncrasies.
I hated that I couldn't
get others to understand me.
I hated that I couldn't
pretend to be "normal",
though now I know
there's many more than one
definition of "normal".

From where I currently stand,
I can see that all of my
idiosyncrasies
stem from my early traumas;
the friction between me and my peers
also stemmed from these.
All of the reasons I felt I had
to hate myself
were the unwanted gifts
my biological parents
left me with.

But these unwanted gifts
have already been useful.
These traits I used to hate
have made me more patient
with children.
These traits I used to hate
have made me more empathetic
towards others.
These idiosyncrasies
that I used to despise
have become gifts for others.
For whenever someone displays
a behavior that I have noted in myself,
my first response is compassion
instead of judgement.
And that is no small gift.

And when I learn to love my story
enough to share it,
people will be comforted to know
that there is still hope,
even after trauma.