What it is that breathes
upon the embers in my heart?
Can it burn like it once did,
those years ago, when
I was glad to stand in the pouring rain
just so I could get a glimpse
of her? And who was she?
There have been a few who were
the only one, and how I
wrote poetry of the ways I loved,
and about the unrequited that I was.
Some of their names
still send me floating into daydream,
even these years later,
when I have seen nothing of them
in so very long. How close
I have been to giving up, too, that I should
settle on the next one
who gives me the time of day,
but every time, like this time,
Cupid sends wafting my way
the scent of true love, a hint
that I should yet believe.
I have said it more than once, that I will not
be taken merely by the
wearing down of the years,
but how persistent is time, and I have
felt as if my stony defenses
were eroded away, and again.
But today, I think I can
put it poetically: I looked up
and God winked at me.
Hope. There is always hope.
Even being how truly hopeless I am.
Anonymous
4:41pm saturday, 12th march
don't get too close to your heroes, you might be disapointed.If thats how you spell it, mister english master.
Anonymous
4:42pm saturday, 12th march
Yeah, there was a little negativity in the last post, my fault.
Strawberry
1:37am sunday, 13th march
It has taken me many years to be able to look back and say, the illness schizophrenia, it robbed my life forever of such a thing. In the beginning of the sickness I only worried about earning a college degree. After the schizophrenia started I wandered from college to college, each one easier than the last, each one less prestigious. A college degree was a nice thing to hope and strive for, once I had it the degree would then prove to myself and my family a truimph of recovery, - look - with steely determination I can both master my illness and fate. The human spirt can win over mind and body! When I finally gave up on ever attaining this thing I shed not one tear.
The hardest pain that I bear today is the loss of my first, true love Paul. It was such a fine friendship and romance that there was no doubt in either of our minds that one day we would marry and raise a family. It is sad to see the past with wiser eyes. I lost Paul because the girl who he loved truely died. There can be no resurrection of our relationship because the vitality and life that filled the days I spent with Paul my mind is unable to manufacture any more. There was a time when I could say that I was the best woman for him. Today I would say that he deserves far better. The gifts of a normal, healthy mind can bring him many joys that I can not.
Anonymous
1:47am tuesday, 15th march
strawberry, you are being way too hard on yourself. Its not how you start the race, its how you finish."It is sad to see the past with wiser eyes"
Anonymous
1:54am tuesday, 15th march
I always imagine, what other so called successful people would do in my shoes. And you know what? They wouldn't have a chance.
Strawberry
2:25pm tuesday, 15th march
Thank you Anonymous. Thank you.
When I was a child the girls played a game with an apple. We twisted the apple stem and with each twist we said a letter of the alphabet. The letter on which the stem broke off was to be the first letter of the name of your true love. I wanted the powers of this test to be real, but it seemed to me that the game was unfair to all the fellows who had names at the end of the alphabet, for an apple stem can't hang on much past a dozen twists.
In later years, my younger sister who was 14 lost her virginity. I was 16 and still a virgin and thought the imbalance of life experience to be enormously unfair. So I convinced my boyfriend that we should both right then and there loose our virginity. Virgin sex is about as much fun as a cough or a sneeze. But I knew from t.v., books, and my father (of all people) that the act of sex had great potential. Thus, one night several weeks later, I was falling asleep in bed and I wondered, as the little girl had done, what would be the name of my true love. Just before I lost consciousness I heard in my head my own voice say "Michael".
At first I just thought that now I had a favorite name, the prettiest name for a boy. It was of equal importance as having a favorite shade of color or favorite flavor of ice cream. In my late twenties I dated a fellow named Matthew who had a brother named Michael, and I thought "oh, so close". The man was in fact the second Matthew I had ever dated and when he and I became serious and moved in together I then thought "the two names are so close to each other, each long and starting with an "M", perhaps I was mistaken about Michael."
Then I went and married a Bill. Bill and I needed two years of marriage counciling to keep us safe and stable. But eventually our life was very good because this man was good and honest and we were friends with no secretes or worries. Also Bill had a trust account worth about 6 million dollars.
To make a long story short, I left Bill for a Michael who is as poor as a church mouse. Many people worried that I had become psychotic, for it seemed insane to throw away the smooth and enviable life I had with Bill. I left Bill's money with Bill. But with Michael I have come to feel like I have everything in the world, and that all my demons and tests are internal, the challenges that are left in life are now between me and my God. The man, companion and love thing is settled, for I have found the one that I will never leave but through death. I am a queer thing, and while I have never lacked for a boyfriend, and they were all fine men who honored me, none, except my high school sweetheart Paul, has loved me as if I were to be but an extention of them. While Michael sleeps he makes me be present and a companion in most of his dreams. I'm afraid that my mind doesn't return the favor, he rarely makes an appearence in my dreams.
Loving a schizophrenic is a difficult thing to do. I earn almost no money as an artist. I am either completely dependent for shelter, food, and medication from either the social security of my government or the income of the man I marry. Most men expect a dual income marriage. But because of my illness I am listless or mentally absent for many hours during the day. I must take a two to three hour nap every afternoon. My medication has slowed my metabolism and made me a heavy woman. My consciousness is constantly changing. I go from boyant, dignified, sharp and witty to dull, fearful, irritable and wishing for death all in one day. Usually it is Michael who cooks and does the dishes. Sometimes I don't shower for several days and my long hair becomes stringy. I wear the same clothes for just as long. I cannot drive the car in any direction for more than one hour. If another is driving after several hours I become over stimulated by the landscape and need to be blindfolded.
In my household it is a victory over schizophrenia to clean and to spend several hours making art. It is a victory if I take the dog for a walk or water our plants. Some days I never leave my bed. When I want company I go to a psychosocial rehabilitation center, my dependency on the place makes me wonder if it could be correct to say that I am partially institutionalized. This woman I have discribed, she sounds to be but one step up above an ugly street tramp.
I guess what saves me and makes me loveable, paradoxically, is my mind. Intellectually I am learned, but often emotionally I am like a child. The world can be astonishingly simple and bright and sometimes I can share this view with others. I say to Michael, "Is there a person in your body? Is there really somebody looking at me from behind your eyes?" This is not a game. It makes me happy when he says yes. Michael is proud of my art because I create a fantasy world that other artists can't - they have not the vision. So I have a talent that I work with discipline that creates astonishment and respect from those who see it. My sister says that I shock people when immediately in conversation I "go for the jugular", which means, I am only interested in what is closest to a person's heart. People are happy to be honest, it comes as a relief. I let Michael be Michael, as I let all those I love be themselves. I don't manipulate or play power games. Schizophrenia has taken a lot of my abilities away from me. So what is left has been elaborated upon. What is left has become rather good and healthy.
Strawberry
2:32pm tuesday, 15th march
P.S.
Michael is the best lover I have ever had. I think that I was predestined to find him.
Anonymous
10:07pm tuesday, 15th march
What you have just wrote proves you are intelligent to overcome your problems.What you have to do to overcome them is just understand yourself. Meditatation has helped me tremensly.Often our problems aren't ourselves,its dealing with the immature world, that doesn't have a clue of how just deep the rabbit hole really goes.Hold on, sometimes misery can be a blessing in disguise.I know how silly that sounds, but its true.
Anonymous
10:11pm tuesday, 15th march
another thing,talking with people who have the same illness(I don't like calling it that) really helps.Its not an illness, its just a way of coming to a higher understanding.Eventually.
Anonymous