In the Complex
I've isolated myself
only in awareness
of the Otherness felt
in heightened alertness
that we are not Ourself,
each now looking out
thru different window,
alone despite the crowd
no matter Our size...
a one thing at a time.
...so, will it be us, or I?
10.02.2023
Despite a Crowd of People challenge @Raynstar
A Child, Stolen.
I am sitting among my friends, who are laughing and content.
They call me by my name, but I respond to it half a beat too late.
Because I am not that name- that name belongs to a baby, unmarred by careless hands, and free of the silvery marks a teenager so disconnected placed on herself like a brand.
And now, I cannot in good faith accept that name.
That name is not purposeful hunger pains that come with a twisted satisfaction until sun down.
It is not gorging a stomach with alcohol until I nearly do not wake up, and then filling my lungs with acrid smoke that leaves me choking for air all before the sun is up again.
They call my name each day, and they tell me they love me.
But that love does not belong to me. It belongs to that baby I cry for. That baby I beg for forgiveness from.
Because she is starved like a beaten dog, and I am the imposter- the creature in her grown flesh that hurts her to forget everyone else that has.
But I look to my friends- and they do not know this.
And I smile back, and respond to their calls and pray that the baby with my name and my blood can hear their love, too.
Losing me
At my very lowest I was musing the following poem to life in a crowd of friends meeting for a birthday party a few years back. This is only part of the poem but it immediately came to mind when I read this challenge.
Here goes:
When you lose your dignity,
the world does not know
and does not care.
Because you are alone in this part of hell.
Where others also dwell.
But it wouldn’t be true hell
if you knew
you weren’t alone,
now would it?
NYCYL8R
When I was in college, I visited New York City for the second time in my life. The first time was with an aunt, an uncle and a couple of cousins, and we did the tourist thing. (One of the dumbest things I ever did, was when we were coming down the elevator from the world trade center, I decided not to pop my ears to see what the experience would be like. When I got to the ground floor, the experience was painful, muffly sounding, and ultimately regrettable.) So this time around in the big apple I was an untethered college student of drinking age, but with no monetary surplus. I was there for a journalism conference; the 101 dalmatians live action remake. Disney was paying for everything so my broke ass survived on room service, the gift basket contents, and the mini bar. When I took a walk outside of the hotel, I went to FAO Schwarz, and then sat down outside of Radio City Music Hall. For a few minutes I watched hundreds of people go by and I became intensely sad. My soft pretzel lost all its flavor. Maybe it was my Midwestern Ohio sensibilities, perhaps it was because I was alone there, but I got the feeling that if I sat outside Radio City Music Hall every single day at the same time every day, I would never see the same person twice. And that depressed me to my core. I think everyone feels a kinship with New York City based on how many movies we’ve seen filmed there or stretching back further in our cellular DNA there’s still some recognition of taking that boat to Ellis island and trying to find one’s fortune and safety in the New World. For me, New York is a nice place to visit, but I don’t think I could ever live there. Millions of people, lonely as hell.
A constant state
I do not consider myself to be a reclusive person, but I have a hard time feeling connected with others. I am an ambivert, so I feel energetic whether I am among friends and family or tucked away by myself. Despite this, I still find myself feeling lonely. Among my loved ones, there is a flicker of fear that my own feelings are not reciprocate, or that their feelings are pretentious. When I am alone near groups of others, I envy the connections they have. Their families are closer than mine. Their partners show more passion. Their friends seem closer than I am with mine. I attempt to replicate these behaviors in my own life, but it only serves to make me more isolated. If it doesn't work, I feel like I failed to please them. If it does, I feel like they only care about this false version of me. When I force myself to stop and think, I realize that I only feel alone because I am too afraid to belong to someone, whether romantically or not. I do not trust that I am worth loving. I self-sabotage without realizing, and wake up knowing that everyone I had has left. That's the way it's always been. Lately, I've felt close to more people than ever before. I'm starting to believe that I am really loved, and the isolated feeling I've always had is slowly fading away. But the fear of loneliness lays just behind my waking thoughts, and I worry it may come to claim me again one day.
Good Friends
I'm not sure why seeing other people with friends makes me angry.
It's funny---I have friends too. It wasn't because I was by myself and was desperate to find friends.
I watched a group of people hysterically laugh from afar.
I watched them nudge each other's shoulders.
I watched them soften their faces and drew out a teethless smile.
I watched them make jokes.
I watched them shed a tear.
And then I watched them bring themselves into a group hug.
And then I glanced back at my own friend group.
We practically do the same thing.
So why was I so angry?
They laughed like them.
They would make jokes about each other.
They would make each other feel secure.
They would do things that good friends do.
But it only took me a second to realize.
They would only do that when I wasn't there.
As soon as I stepped into my friend group,
they gave me a blank stare as if I was a stranger to them.
but I laughed it off
because I thought that was what good friends do
good friends aren't supposed to treat you like a stranger.
good friends are supposed to make you feel like you belong.
good friends have your back.
and good friends acknowledge that you exist as your own person.
maybe that was why I was angry.
I never got the affection that other friends group had.
I never got any of it.
despite giving the same kind of affection to them, did I ever get any in return?
despite being in a friend group
despite not being alone
I was still undeniably more alone than when I was actually by myself.
and suddenly, I was in elementary again
wondering why no one wanted to be friends with me
for seven years.
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My Color Monster
The monster under my bed has changed colors many times during my life. Each stage of living has brought with it growth and experience, and as a result, my monster has worn many coats and appeared in many forms.
When I was young, it was black, and its name was SOLITUDE. It lurked in the shadows and threatened to take away my parents. They were my world, and the thought that I might lose them gave my monster teeth. It knew how to bare them too, and it made me hide under the covers.
As I grew, it became the brown of mud and dirt, and its name was HUMILIATION. It knew I was smaller than the other kids, and scared of many of them. It loved to see me get pushed down to its level where it leered at me, laying prone and helpless, laughing along with the other kids.
In my teenage years it became red, and its name was LUST. It was mysterious and held out the promise of delights unseen and pleasures unimagined. It found joy in my rejection, and teased me mercilessly because I could do so little about it.
As a young man, it turned green, and changed its name to JEALOUSY. It lurked in public places, and taunted me in the leers of those who wanted my partner. Reflected in their eyes, it whispered in my ear that she wanted them as well.
In middle age, it was yellow, and went by PRIDE. It threatened at every turn to destroy everything I worked for, and more than once turned me away from the path that would have brought me rewards untold.
Eventually, it turned blue. It grew long fingers that reached all the way back in time, and its name was REGRET. It made me hate many parts of myself, and waste precious moments wishing things had been different, laughing the whole time at the futility it generated.
Finally, I learned to see it for what it was. It had no true color, but was made up of the worst ideas and habits that I possessed the entire time. It was a reflection, and it’s true name had always been FEAR. It had stood in my way and caused me to veer off course many, many times.
Once I knew its name, I faced it head on. I realized I had allies against the monster. I drew on the shield of FAITH, the sword of TRUTH, and the armor of TRUE LOVE. Thus prepared I slayed the monster, and as it exploded in a cascade of shining white light, I glimpsed the face of God behind it, telling me I had done well.
So, what color is your monster?
-----------------------—
© 2023 - dustygrein
(This is an updated reposting of a challenge entry from earlier this year, to describe the monster under the bed.)
NOTE:
Dear Prose Family,
I haven't seen some of you on the tag list I posted below in a long time, but I would like to see how many of you are still actively doing your thing. Please drop me a smiley face, or a p/m to let me know you are here
- Dusty