Grieving

My Dad died in February and I have kept a journal of thoughts, emotions, etc. about him, and how his death has affected me. I wrote the following after noticing that I felt a swell of emotion rise through me from my heart to my throat and being aware of how my mind came in and tried to block the emotion/energy. I then just wrote and this flowed out. I’ve tidied the writing up a little, but it’s basically as I wrote it.

 

The flow of emotion
that needs release,
a sudden burst that
comes up from the heart.
A wave that can’t be stopped, until
it reaches the head.
Then the mind comes in
swiftly
and stops the energy. Dead.

For longer it is trapped,
adding to the years
of imprisonment.
The trauma of the girl
must be kept
under wraps.
Don’t show it.
Don’t let them see
the pain and the sadness.
Keep strong.

But…
It is getting harder
to keep that control.
It’s taking over,
it’s seeping out, and it wails
and it shouts.
It has a force.
The force is strong,
has a million years
behind it.

Not just the little girl
but all humanity is voiced.
The line that goes back
into history needs to speak.
To be spoken.
The damn has to break,
the tears allowed out.
To cry a river,
a sea,
an ocean.
The force taking with it
long held hurt and
emotion.

‘I want my daddy’
the voice cries.
Speaking
for man, woman
and child.
Snot flowing, tears streaming,
the release at last.
Heart taking place
of the mind
and is part of the healing
and calm that can take place.

Now there’s more room
for clear thinking,
less stickiness,
more true feeling.
A clarity rings out,
and
within the clear vessel
that is the girl, the woman,
the being.
Part of all and part of
nothing.
A space, an energy is here.
Never ending, always flowing,
and it goes on
and on and on…

This piece of writing
can’t be ended
as this energy
never dies.
So
to stop but know
there is no ending
is what my heart now decides.

Still not the end,
it is true, but
something has to stop and
somehow.
Let’s just pause,
and say thanks
to everything and no-thing.
Just be in the now.
Why can’t I end this?
Am I afraid?
Do I think I won’t be here
any more if I can’t write
and keep on?

To end is so difficult,
I don’t want you to go,
but
remember I must,
that you’re with me
and you know
that I loved and love you still.

My heart is content.
I can rest and stop needing
what seemed always out of reach.
I now grasp it but knowing
that it is not true,
somehow.
What I needed was trust,
was being grounded and true.
I did that,
I let go
and then,
at last,
I found you.

CAT Studies Crew

Wow! It’s been a very long time since I last posted. A lot has happened…I have been diagnosed with M.E. and an now a mature student on a degree course studying Creative Arts Therapies. I feel I may share some things from time to time on here as I am now being more creative and enjoying the process of creating without worrying about the outcome. It’s very pleasurable and it means that I actually DO end up with finished pieces rather than doing nothing! Win, win.

So, today in Uni I did a presentation (creative presentation, not a powerpoint) about my experience of a module that we have now finished called ‘Self Awareness’. At the end of my presentation I read out this poem which was well received by my peers and tutors.I had a lot to say so it’s rather long (and could have been longer) but hopefully I captured my experience of the module.

Note: CAT = Creative Arts Therapies (so you will understand the reference at the end!)

 

Wow, what a tricky beginning

Fears, anxiety, expectations in the making.

Part mine, part outside, taking on more than enough,

Is it empathy or am I taking on other’s energy and stuff?

Feeling cloudy, confused and dumb,

it just made me want to run.

Staying put, I ought to be proud

taking on the challenge, speaking aloud

Doubts, irritation, frustration and fatigue

Pushing through, trying to take care of my need

Endless discussion, and tangents abound,

being with that, trying to stay rooted to the ground.

Reading theory, forgetting, trying to understand,

head hurting from discussion and continual sound.

Understanding the deluge of emotions that can plague me

don’t have to overwhelm but can be set free.

Perhaps not free but parked for a while

until I can look at them in a calmer style.

These dramatic demons are rearing from my past.

Mine but also from the long history of my family they are cast.

They are valid, they are true and I accept they mean something,

though going deep into them is not a place I always have to delve in.

Creative sessions being a safe place of revealing.

Not only free and clear but also incredibly healing.

More content away from the words and the talk,

my creativity revels in the opportunity to walk.

At peace with the freedom of no finished piece.

Completely open and flowing, a creative feast

Affecting my life outside, not only in class,

writing poems like these in a way to pass

through the overwhelm of emotions and drama that don’t serve

me, or my present, or future reserve.

And what have I learned, what do I know

through exploring and surrender, allowing the flow?

I’ve learned that my voice is valid in this room.

That this place that I’m in is like coming home.

I have known all along that it’s here I belong

That my story, good and bad, has all been part of this sojourn.

I’ve learned I am victim, persecutor and I rescue

Yes, all three, when I thought it was just one that I go into.

Moving in and out of the states with everyone else,

a continual dance at a varying pace.

I’ve learned to feel things by moving my body,

to feel how it feels whilst watching somebody

who is doing the same, allowing to be seen,

and the honour that comes when let into their scene.

I’ve learned that we ALL come from a good place.

That everyone deserves some time and space.

I’ve learned that I’m doing this to share with other souls

the benefits of creating, to prevent falling into the dark hole.

I’ve learned I don’t have to do feel everything all of the time,

that I can stop the spiralling, sit down, write a poem or a line.

If things are overwhelming I can create, and be saved

from the monsters, past and future, wipe them out in a wave.

Of present, of here and now, of basically just being

and not being scared like before when I’d go into hiding.

I know that I hate that, for this course, I have to explain in words

That nameless thing which is not really seen or heard.

But this is the whole point, what we’re showing, what is true.

Art, dance, music, writing, movement and drama – make way for the CAT Studies crew!

Smiles from the Heart

My cat waiting for me at the gate,
my niece presenting me with a drawing just for me,
walking along the pavement and pausing under a tree
which seems to have a hundred birds tweeting happily…
All these happenings have brought from me a smile.

Not any ordinary smile,
but a smile from the heart.
Do you know the type?
It’s not a huge wide smile, it’s quite small physically.
You feel it in your body, in your heart actually.

One thing today, and has been for a while,
I can’t smile from the heart without tears coming.
It’s so bitter-sweet or, maybe,  sweet-bitter…
Every time I smile from the heart I feel love,
I’m aware of my heart and it’s aches, so I feel sad and I weep.

What does it mean?
Perhaps joy is love, and love is sadness, and sadness is love.
Perhaps my idea of love was pain…and so is again.
Do I really need to know? I don’t think so.
I am just allowing it to be, and trying not to question, and to just see.

‘Chasing Pain’ pastel drawing by RomsArt

 

Celebrating a Wonderful Woman

I wrote a blog a short while ago with a poem I wrote after my wonderful friend Claire died suddenly. I would like to post the poem again as I have made a few small changes (please see the end of this blog).

One night last week, a few nights before I was to attend the celebration of her life, I was feeling so restless. I don’t know where it came from (well I actually I think I do know….it came from Claire) but I suddenly had a compulsion to draw one of her cats. I chose a picture and got the paper, charcoal, white chalk and eraser out. Not long later (it seemed not long but, as it such a meditative state, I have no idea how much time passes when creating) there in front of me was a drawing of her cat Darcey.

I am so grateful that I can now recognise the moments when I need to be creating. I have picked up a pen, pencil, piece of charcoal, paintbrush several times over the last few months rather than wallow in sadness, anger or whatever emotion is taking over at that moment in time.

I feel that the creating of the poem and the picture is a fitting tribute to an amazing woman but, more than that, it somehow made me feel close to her even though she is physically not here any more and that has given me some sort of comfort. It has been a therapeutic part of the grieving process. I shared the poem and picture with those that loved her and it felt that it brought some sort of comfort to them too.

Here is the slightly amended poem:

Feeling Feline

So lean…
What do you mean?
Well…you know, lithe and clean?
But, what do you mean?
You are elegant and soft, holding that intelligent head aloft.
Oh, I see….I think…
With your silver sheen
you stretch and preen.
You can be quite a match for those not quite clever enough
to know what you really mean.
I still don’t understand.
Ahhhh, but you are far too special you see, not like them or me.
You are, in fact, so matter of fact…
and yet an enigma, you are cryptic, mysterious and,
let’s face it, you are…
JUST LIKE A CAT.
Now do you see?
With those impossible blue eyes you are
cool as a cucumber, warm as can be.
You live to be free, yet you hold those special ones close.
You give your heart to all those you love,
especially to your dark beauty…
The one who stayed true, the one who really knew you,
Knew you the most…the one that
you knew, you loved.
You love us all…we know and we absolutely without any doubt…
LOVE YOU
Meow…
Meow.

For Claire and all who knew her by RS
5 March 2016

Feeling Feline

My dear, beautiful friend died a few days ago. It was unexpected, she was young. I am still reeling. She loved cats…they absolutely meant the world to her. I have written her and those she left behind a poem…it’s for me too.

How wonderful to be creative again and have that to help me through.

I haven’t managed to share it with her partner yet…I can’t quite do it. There will be a right time I hope. I thought I’d share with you first…

 

Feeling Feline

So lean…

What do you mean?

Well…you know, lithe and clean?

But, what do you mean?

You are elegant and soft, holding that intelligent head aloft.

Oh, I see….I think…

With your silver sheen

you stretch and preen.

You can be quite a match for those not quite clever enough

to know what you really mean.

I don’t understand.

Ahhhh, but you are far too special you see, not like them or me.

You are, in fact, so matter of fact…

and yet an enigma, you are cryptic, mysterious and,

let’s face it, you are…

JUST LIKE A CAT.

Now do you see?

Cool as a cucumber, warm as can be…

You live to be free, yet you hold those special close.

You give your heart to all you love…

Especially to your dark beauty, the one who stayed true

The one who really knew you, knew you the most…the one that

you knew.

You love us…we know and we absolutely

LOVE YOU

You’ve got to stop chasing pain because pain isn’t love; it’s pain.

The Grip of Despair (or the alternative title ‘Am I Really Sharing This?’)

This is what I wrote last night, word for word, in the grip of despair:

I looked at myself in the mirror and thought about pills tonight.

I cried like my heart was ripped out and torn into pieces.

I hated myself more than I could hate my worst enemy.

I nearly phoned the man who is the last person I should call.

I felt more alone than I ever have before.

I felt like a spear was in my chest and it was being screwed in and around and around…scratching, scraping, boring, cutting, ripping…

I felt like I haven’t felt anything like love from anyone for me for ever and ever……….

I felt like death was the only opportunity for release.

I felt like no one really wants to be around me.

I felt like even if I was the only one of two people left on earth the other would look for someone else to talk to.

I felt depleted.

I felt cheated.

I felt abandoned.

I felt like a pointless speck of nothing.

I felt like if someone did decide to give me a go I would only fuck things right up.

I felt like no one believes me.

I felt like no one understands.

I felt like no one cares.

I felt like closing. Bringing up the barrier.
Pulling down the shutter.
Leaving here forever.
Not bothering with ‘goodbye’….or…’I love you’ or….’see you again’…or…’please notice me’ or…
or…or
Nothing.

I felt like a cliché when I read over these words.

I felt like a twat, a wanker, someone who should just shut up.

I’ve noticed people shifting away from me. I’ve noticed me shifting away from others. I feel that people can’t stay near me for long. I must be draining them. The thought of this makes me sick. This is the last thing I want to be. I would rather be dead.

I’d rather be dead than bore people, than make people want to get away from me, than draining people’s energy.

It’s ok, I am now retreating.

I feel patronised.

I feel like people have just been pretending but they can’t pretend any more.

I feel sick, dead, dying, choking, gagging, blackened, dirty, worthless, not good enough.

So – that’s what I wrote in the midst of it last night. What was the trigger for all of this? Someone, who knows me and my insecurities, said this to me today:

‘You’re quite intense aren’t you? Maybe men can’t handle that and that’s why they run away’.

They said it after I told them about something, because they asked me about it, that had been very difficult and upsetting for me and had left me feeling very vulnerable and abandoned.

My answer to them now (I was driving in heavy traffic at the time and was also quite stunned by this ‘out of the blue’ statement so didn’t get to answer them there and then): Perhaps think before you speak. You don’t know how fragile and vulnerable someone is and how your judging words can cut like a knife.

It’s not this person’s fault the way I reacted when I got home last night but why did they feel the need to tell me who or what they think I am and apparently what I should or shouldn’t do? Why do they ask so many personal questions and then wince or frown and look confused when I answer them? Sometimes I feel like the freak….no one understands but they want to have a look and poke around …and when I tell a truth they react in a rage and make me out to be a bad person so that I end up apologising for being real. For being me. Last night and today have been really difficult.

Awakening, breakdown….whatever you want to call it…

I’ll tell you how I feel these days and how I have felt for quite a while…I feel like my whole being, what I stand for, what everyone else stands for, why,what, when and whom….basically everything….is being challenged. It’s very contradictory… it’s exciting, difficult, lonely yet not lonely, tiring, yet quite empowering and it seems that only good things can come of it (though I am aware that life will still be a series of ups and downs) and that there is absobloodylutely no looking back!

I am not surprised at all that the homeless man has a huge heart …..

Best to see (some of at least) the link in bold below before reading this post …

The headline is ‘This Guy Gave $100 to a Homeless Man to See How He Spent it. Here’s What Happened’. Some thing the the ‘guy’ said was  “This has to be one of the most amazing experience so far on this channel. I did not only just help a homeless man, but I actually met an incredible human being and a friend. We were following him for a couple miles for almost an hour or so. Later that day we took him out to eat and got him a hotel to stay. The more I talk to him, the more I sense how genuine he is…. I gave him my number and told him to call me when he needs help. This again is proof that not all the homeless people are bad people. Never judge a book by its cover. One love!”

http://theantimedia.org/guy-gave-100-homeless-man-see-spent-heres-happened/

I can’t watch all of this video, I don’t need to. I am not surprised at all that the homeless man has a huge heart and a sense of care, compassion and community. Why is it assumed homeless people are bad anyway? The default setting HOMELESS = BAD. Shouldn’t the default setting be ‘shit! What the hell have they been through to end up where they are?’

I am spending tomorrow (Christmas Eve) and Christmas morning with homeless people at a temporary shelter. I’ve done it the last 3 years. I can’t imagine not doing it, it’s what Christmas means to me now.

These people labelled ‘homeless’ are ridiculously appreciative…not just for the food, bed and warmth but appreciative of someone who just listens without judgement. Someone who doesn’t answer back telling them what they should do, someone who listens with empathy and doesn’t start talking about their own apparent problems.

I have heard many stories…interesting, courageous, sad. Yes, there can be some awkward moments but when I walk away, every time, I feel more like a human being should feel. I feel that I have been around realness rather than the commercial idea of spending a shit load to show other people how you feel.

I actually feel a bit crap today as, even though I haven’t spent shit loads, I have fallen for the commercial thing again this year. I got Theatre tickets for my six and eight year old niece and nephew because they have got everything they need and more so it’s the only thing I can think of and I get to spend quality time with them enjoying a great production BUT I still got them some other ‘touchable/material’ presents (I was going to just get one but got more) because I knew they’d be disappointed if I didn’t hand some presents over. 

I’d rather not do Christmas, not in our new traditional, commercial way anyway. What can I say? If I can’t not have Christmas at all, which would be preferable to me, I can at least help some people who are having a crap time in their lives have a decent day with a bit of nosh and a chat.