The Yaak House, Part Nine

 Part Nine of The Yaak House is now live on my Darker Thing Blog!

https://andiwritedarker.blogspot.com/2021/01/the-yaak-house-part-nine.html

Physical Thing

 I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired and sick and tired.

Tired of the weight unseen that drags me down and down and down as my mind spirals deeper into the abyss of itself as I learn to accept who I am.

I hate myself; this broken mind that slips and breaks and shatters.

I hate my physical being. 

The soft and aching body; the hips build weird, the feet that point awkwardly in, that don't walk right. I hate my nose, I hate my ears, I hate the gap in my teeth and the shape of my face. 

I hate that thing I do when I laugh, because I went so long faking laughter that I had to relearn the real thing. 

I hate my eyelashes, I hate my fat and stubby fingers, I hate my arms and I hate my thighs. 

I hate the shape of my neck and the shape of my chin. 

I hate my womb, the thing I never wanted.

I hate the sunburn scar on my chest, the thing that beats beneath it. 

I hate my ribs, I hate my rolls, I hate my knees. 

I hate the physical thing that is me. 

I hate my brain because it cannot produce the chemicals.

I hate my eyes because they're haunted and hurting, but people call them beautiful when I cry.  

I hate my arms, I hate my legs, my lips, my voice, and my eyebrows... 

I hate that I can only been seen in this physical shell. I hate that people can't see me... but I guess that's my only blessing... because who wants to see that?

Forgive The Growing Pains

I'm needy, I'm needy, I'm needy...
It's not needy if I need it.
It's not needy if I need it.
I'm weak if I'm needy.
I'm strong if I feed it.
I despise having grown into a social thing this year.
I despise that I have regrown enough trust to be human and weak... to be pathetic.
I outgrew one shell, and now I must suffer growing pains as I adjust to the next.
I cast aside the years of silence and suffering what was familiar...
I cast aside the things that bound me, belts, rings, books, and things... things.
Things.
Yet here I am needy.
Here I am needy and pathetic and weak, because I cannot breathe if I am alone now.
Yet I risk being unable to breathe around others.
I am being destroyed.
My character was pulled apart because March came with thoughts of my  suicide, April came with isolation, May came with defeat, July ripped out my heart, and I haven't even stopped to process 2019.
Forgive me if I am not the one you've known, I've grown.
Forgive me if the year has broken me down.
Forgive me if I am only human and will only take so much.
Forgive me if the broken edges are sharp unless you know how to hold them.
Forgive me if I don't talk to you about my life as much anymore, if I have retreated into my silence... but know I don't do it to spite you.
February came with me seeing myself as a burden, and January I was already seeing the writing for the year. The omen in the tea never lied to me.
August dug into me with anger and strife, September, I didn't even feel like I should celebrate my life. Already October has come and gone with a reminder of July, that smile is gone.
Forgive me if I can't be a human being... I'm tired of feeling defeated and weak.
Forgive me if I've been corrupted, if I snap, attack, and bite.
I've grown into a woman who stands for herself; a bitch. I would prefer though, to simply be called a Witch.
Yes, I have chosen some people over others; sun and moon and stars forbid I choose me.
Skies forbid... that I have the audacity to choose me.
Self care isn't equal and fair, it isn't a color coded checklist, therapy isn't forgive and forget.
No.
Forgive my bitterness for the growing pains...
But this year isn't going to end folks.
This is our reality now.
And yes, praise the optimists, but I would rather not die a Gatsby.
I am uncertain, I am afraid, I ache and shake, my depression?
It causes me physical pain.
And yes, it's in my brain.
My brain is the damn problem. I cannot just grow some serotonin. I cannot trade you for some dopamine.
I can't go vegan and gluten free to take my "gay" away (and fuck you; you know who you are, keep the book, that is a proper "thing"), I can't inject essential oils to chase it away, no amount of reiki or Chakra work, there's not magical crystal I can shove under my skin, no amount of asshole sunning can change the build of my brain because I have a revelation for you!
Depression? Anxiety?
They damage brains over time.
Emotional Abuse? Untreated concussions? They do too.
Some bitter news, I have all of that, my brain is bruised and blue.
It cannot heal. I have to take care of myself. Myself first and foremost.
My neurons are fried.
My nervous system is full of glitches and triggers, I'm sorry I can't always "just get used to them".
I'm sorry I'm not a normal fucking human...
At least it's my best that I am doing...
Maybe it doesn't look, doesn't feel, like yours, but it is mine.
I'm sorry if I've never been enough.

Pain in the Neck

Some deeply personal rambling poetry for an early Halloween... because the scariest thing to be is honest.

"Pain in the Neck"
My mental illness does not define me; but it doesn't leave me be.
Newsflash: I have PTSD from being violently abused. Even if my mind doesn't consciously remember all the time, my body does. And I cannot seperate my actions easily from who I am because I have a broken brain.
So when my neck hurts in white hot pulses of agony from holding enough  tension to pull it out of alignment, let me explain what I go through, rather, where my mind goes to;
I am back in high school, with a loser's hands wrapped around my neck.
My jaw aches too, because I am clenching my jaw to keep from screaming on the exhale as I force myself to do stupid breathing exercises, as useless as they feel, to try and override my own body. To calm myself.
But then that brings back another memory I can't face, hands pulling my hair, my head, thumbs pressing my jaw so I can't bite. I'm choking and gagging in the past and in the present on air.
But I can't bite here because I have to be polite, especially when I don't feel safe, because fear makes you prey. Fear makes you useless.
I have been traumatized time and time again; my brain is broken. My brain cannot be as it was.
Too much, too much, too much, stop, too much...
But the world doesn't give a fuck... that is the task of people. Yet too often, that is a task neglected.
I cannot breathe.
I am in a mask to protect others, I work a job where I serve others, I write to enlighten others, I used to be a leader to others, I used to be a Confidante to others, I am an empath and I have to feel the emotions of others...
I try to live my life low maintenance to please others, so I don't inconvenience others...
I have lived my life for others.
But then my neck hurts and my body remembers.
That is the only thing I can do for me is remember, but only painfully.
I try to forget but I don't feel safe, I can't when the one I cry out to doesn't hear me, but meets my molested eyes.
oh teacher teacher, wretched creature, I called your name and you walked away.
I can't breathe, I can't bite, and I know he's only going to be more aggressive when I try to fight.
Because I can't rely easily on others... I have to rely on me, at some point, everyone leaves.
Then the mask starts to feel like a hand again and it's hands on my neck, hands over my mouth, arms squeezing the life from my chest, hands hands hands crawling over my skin again.
And then my body remembers through the beeping and the screaming, but I'm at work, there's tortillas I should be steaming, but my brain is broken and down my face tears are streaming.
Now I look weak, now I'm broken, a workhorse gone lame or worse, human.
The coils in my neck wind tighter, I can't see through the pain, and I don't feel safe because I'm afraid.
I'm afraid to misstep, I'm afraid to set him off; him in past and him, irritable of the present.
My brain is broken and I cannot seperate now from then because my body remembers and it is afraid.
I cannot seperate my actions easily from who I am, so when I am overwhelmed, I am instantly failure in my eyes.
I am disappointment.
I am, yet again, a let down.
I am, once more, the problem child.
I am a rose and my traumatized brain is the thorn...
I love, with a passion I rarely utter, roses for those very things.
But I cannot love and accept myself because I have only in sad recent time been shown what it is like to feel those things... 2019 brought love, and 2020 brought acceptance.
I have a broken brain because my body holds my emotions too close to my pain.
I am medicated and dedicated to my mental health, but welcome to the modern world where you can't exactly have those things without work or wealth.
I have a broken brain, my illness does not define me... but some days it binds me. Some days I break, I shake, and I can't keep the tears down. Then the tears won't stay down because I cannot easily seperate my actions from who I am.
I never learned how to live for me because I was always ready to die for others... and I did time and time again. And again. And again. And again until I had to step back from being somebody to being nobody again.
So I'm sorry if I'm a pain in the neck...

The Yaak House (Part Eight)

 "The Yaak House" has moved to my dedicated Darker Things Blog! https://andiwritedarker.blogspot.com/search/label/The%20Yaak%20House

I Write Darker Things

 As I've continued writing on "The Yaak House" I have realized that I would do well to put my works of macabre horror on a blog dedicated to such so that my readers can enjoy my poetry unadulterated.

I will not move my short suspense story, "Echoes" as it is a milder flavor  than "Yaak House", which has progressed into new and darker realms as I have written on it. 

This new blog is still under construction, but the address is https://andiwritedarker.blogspot.com/ 

Things will be a tad messy on this blog insofar as "The Yaak House" is concerned, but I intend to keep the initial posts as placeholders, but replace the contents with a simple link to the corresponding label on my Darker Things blog. The link to all current posts pertaining to "The Yaak House" can be found here.

The Yaak House (Part Seven, Feat. Illustration by McCallum J Morgan)

(Special thanks to the talent of  McCallum J. Morgan for his incredible illustration! You can view his blog in the link on his name there.) 

"The Yaak House" has moved to my dedicated Darker Things Blog! https://andiwritedarker.blogspot.com/search/label/The%20Yaak%20House