Dreamers (9-29-1991)

Dreamers

Crouching amidst a clump of saw grass, she waits patiently. Behind her the sleepy blue gray sky is just beginning to blush with the rays of the morning sun. Her orange checkered dress offers her slender legs little protection from the nippy wind darting about the sand dune; so she tucks them up into the womb of her ratty once yellow sweat shirt.

Perched on Shaa Dossa hill se has a panoramic view of the forest and nearby ocean with its waves rearing impatiently like frisky colts eager for breakfast. She excitedly smiles as the sun swells over the crest of the hill sending her shadow oozing like hot tar down the dune.  At the base of the dune it is absorbed by a pool of water. Like frozen glass he pond remains empty of reflections. 

The energy in the cool air rises and sets the saw grass bristling around her. Shedding her clothes she rises to stand naked in the sun.

The mule deer dance like fairies across the damp dunes. Their chiseled hooves bring up dry sand and sent it skittering across the darker surface. One by one they halt in a staggered rows at the edge of the still pond. Like a conductor signaling the start of a symphony, a buck lowers his velvety lips to the water and disturbs the enchanted surface. The pond quivers and comes to life.

The wind tickles her body with sand as the saw grass pokes accusingly at her tan legs. 

“Dreamers” she softly calls to the herd.

So musically is her young voice that only a few graceful scooped ears flick her way. They sense no threat in this naked child as she glides down the slope. A buck pulls up his head and watches her with water dribbling erratically from his swaying mouth.

Joining the deer she kneels next to them at the edge of the shimmering liquid. Reaching towards the magical pond she waits. The wind gusts and blows swiftly across the water sending it rippling to her outstretched hands. With her tongue she gently licks the water crystals from her sandy finger tips. Her eyes meet  a does eyes in the mirror of the pond. 

The suns light finally reaches the tiny lake and shatters like quicksilver across the surface. Her reflection dissipates with the fleeing deer as they bound through the pond. When the water stills, only her clothes and pool of murky rainwater  trapped between the sand dunes remain.

Rollercoaster (TRIGGER)

life

and endless rollercoaster of events

its climbs and drops

a random chaotic gut twisting adventure

some so slight we are unaware of the rise and fall.

giddy laughter at the ride.

others.

oh others,

are stomach dropping plunges into a dark unforeseen abyss.

terrified screams.

Some times we see those drops ahead of time.

We brace for them

hunkering down in our seats

tighten our belts

white knuckle grip on the bar.

but other times...

when we see it coming,

we see our belt is broken and inoperable

the bar rickety and loose.

and

we just relax into our seat

place our hands on our laps

and wait

wait

wait

for the force of it to throw us from the car

into the pavements silencing embrace.

Recipe for a Sunday afternoon (4-10-1996)

This one really got me. Such a simple little poem, hiding such a long slow, difficult process.
I wrote this for a recipe contest in my works newsletter.  We forget now days with the invention of spell checker how slow and painstaking it used to be to edit things.  My spelling was BAD, like holy-crap-is-English-her-second-language?-BAD.  In order for me to type this out on paper to submit it, I first wrote it, then copied it onto a clean sheet, double spaced, and then looked up each and EVERY word in my little hand held dictionary and wrote the correct spellings above the words. Anther handwritten cleaner copy, then carefully typed the poem out.  It was soul draining. It was crushing as I found words I thought were correct that were wrong.

my spelling stopped me from being a writer. It stopped me from pursuing my dreams and cultivating my talent. It changed my vocabulary. I can recall countless times wanting to use a word, but not being able to spell it, had to settle for once I could spell. Looking those words up didn't help, sometimes my spelling was so butchered I couldn't find it in the dictionary.This crazy, incredibly slow process also stopped me from submitting stuff.  Ralph Gorin, sir you are my hero. I know you didn't have me specifically in mind when you invented spell checker, but you might as well have. You changed the world, and gave millions the way to communicate clearly with others.

Recipe for a Sunday afternoon

MIX six assorted grandchildren
(they don’t have to be yours)

Into one city park.

ROLL them in thick green grass

Until hand and knees are well

Coated.

SPRINKLE with water from the

fountain and air dry on the
Swings.

Be sure to SIFT the sandbox

For shoes and socks and remove.

FILL them all to the brim with 

Banana splits and root beer floats.

BLEND in six CUPS of kisses and 

four POUNDS of hugs, and ten TSP 

of giggles.

When the TEMPERATURE cools,

STUFF into the car and go

Out for pizza.

Dear Mom and Dad (SIV TRIGGER) 4-27-2005

 [Again some wicked perspective shifts that I never attempted to iron out. ]

I’ve put all my old SIV posts on my blog. This one has been sitting in the to-be-blogged folder forever. It took me a bit, but I think why I never typed this one in is because, I would give different advice now. Having my own kids and having gone through seeing my child SIV and being mindful of my reactions, would change what I would say.

Dear Mom and Dad,

So your 14 year old burned themselves.

First order of business is for you to stop and take a breath. You need to deal with your emotions and thoughts first.

When someone you love is abused, you get angry and want to hurt the abuser.  But what do you do when the abuser IS the abused?

It gets hard. It gets scary. It stirs up a lot of feelings. “Am I lacking as a parent? How did this happen? Did I do something wrong? How can I stop it? What is everyone going to think of my child? What should I do?

What should I do?

Self-inflicted violence (SIV) is a coping mechanism. It has a way of “releasing’ inner pressure/tension/anxiety.

SIV is a language. It  has a way of expressing painful inner feelings that get translated into wound, rather than words.

SIV is way of transferring emotional pain/wounds on your soul to the surface where:

1.       Everyone can see them.

2.       You can symbolically “heal” the pain.  You can’t bandage the injury on your soul…but you can bandage the injury on your skin and see it heal. The scar remains behind as evidence of the pain. So others will KNOW of the pain you are/were in.

3.       SIV is a way to have control. Most children do not SIV to manipulate parents/adults. They injure because they have control of this ONE thing in their life.  

Gosh growing up is tough.

Take another breath. Your child needs you to act responsibly and calmly …and now.

Sit them down and talk to them.

No judgmental parenting. Just open and honest communication. Speak to the adult in your child.

You can say “see that burn on your arm. You must have been hurting awful bad inside.”

“What is that injury saying?”

“I see that pain you are in, what can I do to help?”

Tell them you have been paying attention to their lives and point out what you believe to be contributing factors to their unrest. Tell them how you cope when you find yourself swamped and drowning in stress. Tell them how you cope with intense emotions.

{Regarding the sentences above…..I am not sure in 2019 that I would still offer this same advice. This was a letter to a co-worker who approached me after seen a burn on her 14 step-son. I fired this off without much editing or allowing the words to sit with me for a length of time. If I were to redo this, I would encourage parent to close their mouths and listen…give the floor to the kids…ie keep the focus on the child, not self.}

Ask them what they need from you, absent parents, from life. Ask them to tell you what they need. What will help them.

Listen, listen and listen until you hear what they are saying.

SIV has a nasty habit of silencing voices. Soon people find themselves “cutting” red mouths into their skin to speak.

Hug them. Hug them tight. Tell them again you see their pain. “I SEE YOUR PAIN.”

Let them know you are on their side and you are going to be a active participant in getting them help.

Understand that most people need the assistance of a skilled therapist to help them learn healthier coping skills.

Tell them they are NOT crazy for injuring.

NOT CRAZY.

You feel crazy when you start SIV. You think you have gone insane and that you have slipped into some neither region of darkness

NOT CRAZY…not crazy, just in pain.

Is the injury public or private?

Public = visible, not concealed by clothing, put in a place you will see it if you are looking.

Private = concealed by clothing. You only know about it cause someone told you, or you saw during summer months of less clothing.

This is an important detail

Public wounds are put there on purpose. They are risking that someone sees them, daring someone to take action. It is a subconscious, SEE ME. SEE MY PAIN. Statement to everyone.

Private wounds are of more concern. They are a silent voice of …”help I am hidden here…lost…I’ve given up hope.”

What you SHOULDN’T do.

You should NEVER tell anyone who self-injurers:

[omg this is so disjointed and stumbling. I can sure tell this was a forced letter. It doesn’t flow and lurches all over so badly. Yikes. My from the gut-I'm-responding-to-you-emotionally writing has a flow to it, I can see the letter stumbling all over hell because I made my self write it. ]

“Stop it.”

“promise me you won’t do it again.”

“I forbid you to do that.”

“you are crazy.”

This is counterproductive and harmful. Do not allow anyone to tell your child this. Not mental health professionals, not nutty ex-spouses, doctors… NO ONE.

Act now. The longer the SIV goes unaddressed the more it creeps in and makes its self at home. SIV is highly addictive, because darn it, it works.

I wish someone would have intervened when I was a child. I have spent a lifetime fighting the damage that SIV has caused my heart and soul.

Act now. Help your child

Evaluate if it was a copycat injury (my friend did it, so I thought I would try it.)

Even if it turns out your child wa experimenting and trying something new. Your concern and visible interest in their life/mental health will have a powerful impact on them. You need to keep the doors of communication open and life teachings flowing.

Your attentiveness to their mental health and physical wellbeing will speak volumes to their heart.

You need to determine if this is something you would like to address as a family or if a health care professional is needed to offer professional help.

Whatever you decide…act today

TODAY