I want to punch
I want to punch the wall
I don’t know why
I don’t know when or how
any wall has offended me so.
All I know?
I want to punch the wall
A wall is not pushed
A wall is not soft
A wall does not budge
A wall stands
It doesn’t matter that people are lying
It doesn’t matter that people are crying
It doesn’t matter what anyone tries to say
Because it’s a wall.
So it stands there all day
Last time I punched the wall
It didn't learn its lesson.
And I hurt for two months and a half
But I'd do it again
It doesn't matter that people are trying
It's a wall
A wall is not pushed
A wall does not care
It's a wall.
So it stands there all day
Ode to Recovery
While little girls and boys were trying to mold clay into flowers, I was trying to mold my body into a Barbie doll. My stomach was the canvas and my hands were the paintbrush, and I tugged at my skin until it was the color of fire and burned. Now I use my hands to hold prayer books and I bless every time my body carries me through the day without wanting to faint. I bless the times I cry through meals but eat anyway. I bless my friends who listen to me vent, even when my problems are too big for them to grasp. I bless my therapists for listening to those big problems. I bless the times where I wake up to men grabbing me in my sleep, but realize that it’s only a nightmare. I bless the nights when I hold a razor blade to flesh but don’t break the skin. I bless the times that I called the suicide hotline. I bless every day that I am alive and every day where being alive isn’t my only accomplishment. I bless fresh air and sunsets and furry cats and sand and all the little things that I can see now that I’ve conquered the big things. And for all these blessings the greatest one of all is the one called recovery.
Parting is such sweet sorrow
As my wife lays in bed, I make her a cup of tea. I think about all those years ago when we said “in sickness and in health.” I remember smiling into her eyes as I said the words. I remember holding her hands in mine, feeling like we were wrapped in a love so strong it would keep out all the ugly in the world forever.
But forever is a long time. And ugly didn’t creep in. It burst out our mouths and lived right there with us.
No one ever tells you how hard every day can be living with someone. Getting used to annoying habits, divvying up chores, trying to keep old friends. Arguing over toilet seat etiquette, crumbs on the counter, or how to put dishes in the dishwasher. No one ever tells you that adding a kid in the mix can spell disaster if you still argue over the toilet seat.
Then came house hunting. Growing family, needed more space… I think the real estate agent started a pool in her office: The odds were not in our favor. We had knock down, screaming fights about what we needed in a house. Forget what we could afford. But we did manage to buy a house. Ugly came along as part of the family.
By the birth of our third child, I’m not sure we loved each other anymore. It was all used up in worrying about paying bills, constant exhaustion and who was going to do what when and where the fuck were you until 3 am, Billy? Like I wasn’t supposed to have a life with my friends anymore just because we were married with children. I mean, I get it, it’s not easy taking care of three kids and keeping house, cooking and cleaning. But damn, I commuted four hours a day and worked long hours so she could stay home with the kids and we could live in her fucking dream house, and sometimes I just wanted to have a drink with the guys without getting my head handed to me when I got home.
And now this. She’s so sick she's withering away before my eyes and I keep thinking about those words we said so long ago. She could live another 20, 30 or even 40 years the doctors say, but she'll need constant care. I’ve stuck by her through hell, but am I supposed to keep sticking, watching her fade away and with her any hope of being happy with what life I have left to live? I don't think so...
So, that’s what got me here, holding her as she sips a cup of her favorite chamomile tea laced with a little something to help her sleep with the angels. Parting is such sweet sorrow…
