(no subject)
January 9, 2014-
Oh, the words that fester in my soul, aching to be said, with no one to say them to. Such is the isolation that immerses my spirit.
(present)
I lay here sick, with nothing to do but think too much... It seems to have been a theme for most of my adult life... Here's some notable throwbacks, the first from a texting conversation just yesterday.
January 9th, 2014-
Everything in my life is so uncertain right now, I don't know how to feel. I'm so sick. I've been getting surgery after surgery after surgery since last April. Recovery has been slow and hard. Having an IV feed you antibiotics directly into your heart is a serious thing. It makes you think. I'm tired from all of it. I have had no respite. Meanwhile, I sit in my apartment alone having nothing but time to think. And the more I think, it seems, the less I know.
The Picc Line doesn't hurt. At least, not enough to sway my attentions from other pains. But it didn't have any medicine going into it when it didn't bother me. It does now. It makes my arm sore. But more than that, I am sick to my very soul. My blood is sick, and that is where my soul lives. The antibiotic failed to vanquish the illness once, and I'm not confident that it will do any better now. My soul felt so weak before this. What if it dies before I get better?-If I get better... I am not myself.......
(from my handwritten journals)
(WP June-July 2013)
June 30, 2013-
I can ordinarily write when I want to. But sitting here with a pen to paper is much more difficult than having a computer in my lap. I want to write. I want to write about why I'm here. I want to make sense of it all. I cant just be some sap to fall for someone and then when shit hits the fan, I self destruct. There's more. I keep saying there's more, and there is, but words can't describe it. It's more than just the fact that I have no will to live. I can't think of a way to express how I feel in a way that anyone would understand. If I were starting a painting, I would start with black. I feel enveloped in darkness. After dying in December, brief as my trip beyond was, Death seems more welcoming than life ever could be. I long to be floating as part of a cloud again. To be coasting along through the heavens- weightless, carefree, no more pain, no more tears. I long to be back there, where time didn't exist, nor did anger, discord, or hate.
July 1, 2013-
I'm getting more and more homesick. But at the same time I know I need more help. I know pretty much how I need to be, and I am throughout great stretches of the day. But something will happen. Someone will say something, or do something, someone in my life; and I wont know how to level out. I cut myself yesterday and I scoff when I think about it. And how people must look at me. I feel pretty stupid about it, but I just want to feel something different. I wish I could stop thinking about everything. I wish I were stronger than I am.....
Days seem to be jumbling together in here. Its not hard for that to be the case though. There's an extraordinary lack of windows- at least ones you can look through. I don't know when I got here. I know though that it has been 8 days since my overdose. I wish I could scream. I keep thinking. Thinking and over thinking. I wish I had someone to talk to. I wish that in the times I have had and the times I might have to do so, I could be able to leave my mask off and actually get through what I'm going through. Maybe today......... Maybe they'll give me a worker I can actually talk to, and maybe then, I can just figure this out.
July 5, 2013-
I've now lost everyone I love. I am totally alone. How am I going to get past this? When I thought I lost her before... I laid in bed and waited to die. I had no intention of getting up. I can't believe this is real. I'll never be good enough. Never. And I'm supposed to pretend that's okay. Why should I dare hope?
July 6, 2013-
I keep thinking about Aaron. And about Kaley, and about Steve. What a mess. My heart is shattered. Can it even be put back together? I'm beginning to forget what it was like to feel good. Sitting on Steve's lap in front of our house on VanBuren. I felt good then. Or running into his arms at Beaver Lake Park Campground three years ago... I wish I could say that I felt good kissing Kaley, but I felt full of sorrow, knowing she would never be mine. I think I loved Aaron, but I never fully trusted him. I wish I could scream. Even though I know it wouldn't help, I sincerely wish I could scream. I need a release. I need it so badly. And yet I think it would be best if I would only stop thinking. It is more painful to me to think than any damage I have yet done to myself. I don't want to hurt this bad, I don't want to hurt at all. But I can't stop thinking, and it only seems to get worse.
July 7, 2013-
I'm hoping to leave here within the next couple of days. I'm having a pretty decent day- for being stuck here anyway. I've had conversations with people, played yahtzee, walked around with people. I had a cool conversation with someone last night. I might actually be beginning to feel better. But I've done a lot to keep busy-to not think. It is exhausting. I want fresh air and sunshine. I want to feel rain fall on me. I want to go fishing. I want to get lost in the woods. But I don't want to be alone. I want to drive and drive and drive and drive. I don't want a destination. I want to take a random trip like I used to. I want to find myself in the middle of nowhere and never wonder about who I am or why I'm here ever again. I want to either live or die. I don't want to be in this middle place where pain and emotions run wild and wreak havoc. I want to live. I don't want to ever think of Aaron again. So long as I don't think of him, things seem okay.
(Poems-April 2007)
(April 2, 2007)
Deep wells with no bottoms
Never ending, empty
Pools of darkness
Shadows of what once was hope.
Where did it go?
Hands once steady now tremble,
It doesn't stop...
Tremble, Tremble, from hands
to shoulders no longer steady.
What happened?
Thoughts once bright, now dark, dim, forlorn.
Once haunted by a painful past,
Then nearly healed, but now
Tormented by a horrifying present.
What's going on?
A jaded spirit. Picked at by vultures.
Too many. Worn for so little time thus far,
Yet beaten so badly.
Inconceivable.
Who did this?
Hope burns out...
Steadiness leaves you...
Happiness ends...
Even a spirit can turn to dust...
But does it have to?
-Jessica Warner
(April 5, 2007)
Ever-present Darkness
The black, deep, dangerous thoughts of my mind
swallow any light left behind
from anything good before.
Whats left now is a dark pile of ashes
A burnt mass of rubble.
What could have once been a caged being waiting,
praying, hoping to break free,
To no avail.
This being then, why was it caged?
Kept too close for fear that it may not respect rules,
That it may damage itself?
Foolishness. It should not have been caged.
It should have been shown faith and trust.
There lies a broken spirit,
Inside my mind,
In ashes and its me.
Burnt pile of rubble of me.
But then, like they did with the light,
the black, deep, dangerous thoughts of my mind
swallow the ashes and rubble until there is nothing left,
and I am alone.
-Jessica Warner
(9:20am April 4, 2007)
I'm broken battered bruised
tattered torn twisted
worn weak weary
and I want to be better
to be me again...
Oh, the words that fester in my soul, aching to be said, with no one to say them to. Such is the isolation that immerses my spirit.
(present)
I lay here sick, with nothing to do but think too much... It seems to have been a theme for most of my adult life... Here's some notable throwbacks, the first from a texting conversation just yesterday.
January 9th, 2014-
Everything in my life is so uncertain right now, I don't know how to feel. I'm so sick. I've been getting surgery after surgery after surgery since last April. Recovery has been slow and hard. Having an IV feed you antibiotics directly into your heart is a serious thing. It makes you think. I'm tired from all of it. I have had no respite. Meanwhile, I sit in my apartment alone having nothing but time to think. And the more I think, it seems, the less I know.
The Picc Line doesn't hurt. At least, not enough to sway my attentions from other pains. But it didn't have any medicine going into it when it didn't bother me. It does now. It makes my arm sore. But more than that, I am sick to my very soul. My blood is sick, and that is where my soul lives. The antibiotic failed to vanquish the illness once, and I'm not confident that it will do any better now. My soul felt so weak before this. What if it dies before I get better?-If I get better... I am not myself.......
(from my handwritten journals)
(WP June-July 2013)
June 30, 2013-
I can ordinarily write when I want to. But sitting here with a pen to paper is much more difficult than having a computer in my lap. I want to write. I want to write about why I'm here. I want to make sense of it all. I cant just be some sap to fall for someone and then when shit hits the fan, I self destruct. There's more. I keep saying there's more, and there is, but words can't describe it. It's more than just the fact that I have no will to live. I can't think of a way to express how I feel in a way that anyone would understand. If I were starting a painting, I would start with black. I feel enveloped in darkness. After dying in December, brief as my trip beyond was, Death seems more welcoming than life ever could be. I long to be floating as part of a cloud again. To be coasting along through the heavens- weightless, carefree, no more pain, no more tears. I long to be back there, where time didn't exist, nor did anger, discord, or hate.
July 1, 2013-
I'm getting more and more homesick. But at the same time I know I need more help. I know pretty much how I need to be, and I am throughout great stretches of the day. But something will happen. Someone will say something, or do something, someone in my life; and I wont know how to level out. I cut myself yesterday and I scoff when I think about it. And how people must look at me. I feel pretty stupid about it, but I just want to feel something different. I wish I could stop thinking about everything. I wish I were stronger than I am.....
Days seem to be jumbling together in here. Its not hard for that to be the case though. There's an extraordinary lack of windows- at least ones you can look through. I don't know when I got here. I know though that it has been 8 days since my overdose. I wish I could scream. I keep thinking. Thinking and over thinking. I wish I had someone to talk to. I wish that in the times I have had and the times I might have to do so, I could be able to leave my mask off and actually get through what I'm going through. Maybe today......... Maybe they'll give me a worker I can actually talk to, and maybe then, I can just figure this out.
July 5, 2013-
I've now lost everyone I love. I am totally alone. How am I going to get past this? When I thought I lost her before... I laid in bed and waited to die. I had no intention of getting up. I can't believe this is real. I'll never be good enough. Never. And I'm supposed to pretend that's okay. Why should I dare hope?
July 6, 2013-
I keep thinking about Aaron. And about Kaley, and about Steve. What a mess. My heart is shattered. Can it even be put back together? I'm beginning to forget what it was like to feel good. Sitting on Steve's lap in front of our house on VanBuren. I felt good then. Or running into his arms at Beaver Lake Park Campground three years ago... I wish I could say that I felt good kissing Kaley, but I felt full of sorrow, knowing she would never be mine. I think I loved Aaron, but I never fully trusted him. I wish I could scream. Even though I know it wouldn't help, I sincerely wish I could scream. I need a release. I need it so badly. And yet I think it would be best if I would only stop thinking. It is more painful to me to think than any damage I have yet done to myself. I don't want to hurt this bad, I don't want to hurt at all. But I can't stop thinking, and it only seems to get worse.
July 7, 2013-
I'm hoping to leave here within the next couple of days. I'm having a pretty decent day- for being stuck here anyway. I've had conversations with people, played yahtzee, walked around with people. I had a cool conversation with someone last night. I might actually be beginning to feel better. But I've done a lot to keep busy-to not think. It is exhausting. I want fresh air and sunshine. I want to feel rain fall on me. I want to go fishing. I want to get lost in the woods. But I don't want to be alone. I want to drive and drive and drive and drive. I don't want a destination. I want to take a random trip like I used to. I want to find myself in the middle of nowhere and never wonder about who I am or why I'm here ever again. I want to either live or die. I don't want to be in this middle place where pain and emotions run wild and wreak havoc. I want to live. I don't want to ever think of Aaron again. So long as I don't think of him, things seem okay.
(Poems-April 2007)
(April 2, 2007)
Deep wells with no bottoms
Never ending, empty
Pools of darkness
Shadows of what once was hope.
Where did it go?
Hands once steady now tremble,
It doesn't stop...
Tremble, Tremble, from hands
to shoulders no longer steady.
What happened?
Thoughts once bright, now dark, dim, forlorn.
Once haunted by a painful past,
Then nearly healed, but now
Tormented by a horrifying present.
What's going on?
A jaded spirit. Picked at by vultures.
Too many. Worn for so little time thus far,
Yet beaten so badly.
Inconceivable.
Who did this?
Hope burns out...
Steadiness leaves you...
Happiness ends...
Even a spirit can turn to dust...
But does it have to?
-Jessica Warner
(April 5, 2007)
Ever-present Darkness
The black, deep, dangerous thoughts of my mind
swallow any light left behind
from anything good before.
Whats left now is a dark pile of ashes
A burnt mass of rubble.
What could have once been a caged being waiting,
praying, hoping to break free,
To no avail.
This being then, why was it caged?
Kept too close for fear that it may not respect rules,
That it may damage itself?
Foolishness. It should not have been caged.
It should have been shown faith and trust.
There lies a broken spirit,
Inside my mind,
In ashes and its me.
Burnt pile of rubble of me.
But then, like they did with the light,
the black, deep, dangerous thoughts of my mind
swallow the ashes and rubble until there is nothing left,
and I am alone.
-Jessica Warner
(9:20am April 4, 2007)
I'm broken battered bruised
tattered torn twisted
worn weak weary
and I want to be better
to be me again...