Cycle Day 8

*Sigh*  Last night was a tough night.  I couldn't sleep.  I don't know if I couldn't sleep because my mind was racing or my mind was racing because I couldn't sleep.  Doesn't really matter I guess.  So what was my mind busy with?  The short answer...Fear.

Fear that this cycle wouldn't work.  Fear it would never work.  Fear of all that that means.  How how I would deal with that?  What would I do?  I lay in bed, (lie in bed? whatever) staring at the ceiling.  The room is dark, meaning there are no lights on.  Dark isn't really dark you know.  Not in populated areas.  You can still see.  I don't know what I expected to appear.  Specters laughing at me?  Mocking me?  Pitying me?  But the only thing I saw were shadows.  When my hair was wet enough, I looked around the room.  I never really thought about he phrase, "Silent Tears."  Now I understand it.  I let tears slip from my eyes where they disappeared into my hairline.   I thought about stopping them.  I thought about getting up and going to another part of the house and wailing.  I settled on turning over, taking a tissue and planting it so the tears would be caught without soaking my pillow.

I would talk about my fears in more detail, but quite honestly, I'm not ready.  Way too close.  Way too painful.  I won't even go into the outside imagery that contributes to the pain.  But I figure admitting you have the pain is the first step.  Confronting it and admitting it to others I think must be like step 700 or something.  So when I get my feet under me, maybe I'll talk about that more.

So tonight, I have taken three, yes three Extra Strength Tylenol to get rid of this splitting headache brought on by drug withdrawal, new medication, lack of sleep and crying.

How's that for keeping it real?  Enjoy some poetry...

Broken

by Cole Goodwin

Crack my eggshell heart on the spine of a book
Watch the bruised and scarred memories spill out in the light of day
Over the pages and into a cracked life
Pain hidden in the dark and under pressure
The book’s words demand their due

The tome's debt is paid with torturous memories
Vials of blood
Syringes of synthetic life
Aspirated hope
Inconsolable tears and unfathomable grief
All shed from denial of instinctual needs

Close the pages and return to lying
My world is ok, my soul is happy
Sweep the crimson mess under the smile
Return the empty shell to my chest.