expressions

A haphazard quest to regain my love of, passion for, and dedication to creative writing. Expect poems, short stories, observations, and occasional memoir-esque essays. Early posts will be comprised primarily of reblogs from my personal account.

[ebkf]

My body is nothing like a temple; my thighs are far more wide than a canyon’s gap; if girls are trim, then I’m no example; if my belly protrudes, then my body I’ll wrap.

I’ve seen the purity of a baby but no purity exists where I live. And in this wretched form, I’ll say maybe there is more to this world that I can give.

I tell people to love what they’re born in but I cannot follow what I say. No one looks at me as if it were a sin but that’s easy to forget some sad days.

There is only so much hope you can glean when you’re living inside your own crime scene.

September 2017

[ebkf]

Cigarettes & Silhouettes

The bowl crackles with the kiss of the flame glancing off the empty glass bottle by my bed and I wonder how it could be I only bought this handle 3 days ago

Next to a face I don’t recognize, in my bed I’ve never seen you before

There’s only one drink in the world that can fix this, the maddening boredom of being alive

We do what people in love are supposed to do but if I’m still awake when we or you are done I’ll take that blackout cab home. At least that way I’m not worried about forgetting your name since that memory never formed in my brain.

It’s all just a blur of drinks and bodies, ashes, never formed memories, just cigarettes illuminating silhouettes of this shadow life I forget I’m living.

A terse, quiet “I know” escapes my lips when people say what I did but at the end of the day we’re all aware that I never had a clue.

In that moment I give you something no one ever has, no one ever will, because in that moment I’ve got a use so you can use me til you’ve got your fill.

“Cash only” has no way of stopping me when I’ve already go all that money on me for any nearby euphoria I may need.

A girl will turn to rage when there’s a monster inside of her. Demons don’t just exist on the inside, you know. If I can’t remember the pain then maybe it doesn’t exist after all.

If I’m transient, if I never stay fixed in one place or stay fixed to one person then maybe I won’t exist after all either.

If tonight I fall asleep forever then that’s okay. I never want tomorrow to come anyway.

June 2016

[ebkf]

College Application Essay

In May 2013, my 58-year-old mother walked into my room with an ashen look on her face. When I asked her how her doctor’s appointment went, she told me the diagnosis she had just been given, delivered through a stranger’s sobs: “I have Alzheimer’s.” We didn’t realize it at the time, but in that moment our lives were irrevocably changed.

Alzheimer’s is so commonplace in our society that no further explanation is needed to show the devastation of the disease. I look at my mother and know the woman who raised me does not exist anymore; someone else wears her face. She taught me compassion, patience, wisdom. Her life-long feminism sparked my passion for social justice and human rights. I look into her face, a mirror image of mine, and all I see is a shadow.

I have spent the past three years becoming intimately acquainted with human mortality, watching my best friend robbed of her right to die with dignity. I’ve been rapidly cycling through an infinite loop the first four stages of grief, unable to reach acceptance because every day she loses a little bit more and I have something new to mourn. My days were full of desperate hopelessness knowing that, in a few decades, my fate could follow hers. I have also spent the past three years learning about human nature, specifically our capacities for compassion, love, and sacrifice. I have always valued those ideas and have tried to practice them, but it wasn’t until recently that I truly began to understand and embody them.

I left college to care for my mother, in effect putting my life on hold. No one will deny this is the worst thing that will ever happen to me, and I spent the last three years focusing on the utter unfairness of it all. I have needed those years to recover from the devastation delivered that gentle spring day, but during that time the most important thing I have realized is that this will not destroy me. I am resilient, and without even realizing it my mom taught me that. Through caring for her over the past three years, I’ve learned how to fully love and dedicate yourself to someone without losing yourself.

I thought leaving school to devote myself to her was the right choice, and at the time it was. It was not necessarily what she needed, but it was what I needed. Now I realize, to honor the mom I’ve lost, I have to devote myself to my care, my happiness. I learned how to care, both for myself and others, through the love and dedication she always provided me. To care for her, I have to care for myself, take charge of my life and demand my right to normalcy and happiness. In this way, we will both get closure on the sacrifices we have made for one another.  

March 2016

[ebkf]

Just three months ago I couldn’t see myself where I am now. I was doomed to my toxic, destructive, monotonous life, trapped in a dead-end job at a grocery store with backstabbing coworkers and no respect from customers or management. I was numb, loveless and unlovable. I was incapable of emotion, utterly broken and hung up on the people who tried to destroy me. I had no career path and couldn’t even muster the energy to think about returning to school, let alone start and finish my application in just ten days after deciding I was ready. 

In the past year I have grown the fuck up, which is something I used to angrily tell myself I needed to do. I needed to get my life together and stop dicking around. I couldn’t allow myself to have fun or cut loose or do something for myself, because I was just being a selfish, self-destructive party girl. I’m every parents’ worst nightmare: a lesbian bipolar college dropout who works in a grocery store with no prospects and no ambition. In the past few months I’ve really come to recognize that that wasn’t necessarily an accurate description of myself and my situation. I was traumatized by my mother’s diagnosis and watching her disappear and break down before my eyes reduced my life to merely a shadow. I was a shadow, deeply entrenched in a rut I could never escape. I had no one who cared to help me deal with the intense grief I endured, am still enduring, so I turned to drugs and alcohol in order to numb the pain when I felt too much, or to allow myself to feel when I simply couldn’t. The night tremors, waking up in cold sweats, being unable to sleep, having panic attacks that made me immobile until I drank....No one saw anything wrong with that. No one knew the problem with my saying “This is what feels normal” when I could finally get drunk. 

I find myself trusting people. I find myself loving people. These people whom I love and trust have helped me turn my life around because they see I’m worth it. If that’s what they see in me, then I trust them. I trust myself. I’m in tears because I realize, for the first time in my life, I know I’m worthy of love. I know I’m worthy of my love, and for the first time ever I love myself. That, more than anything, is what makes me feel loved.

March 2016

[ebkf]

Before my parents were married, maybe even before they were engaged (or shortly thereafter), they were a young couple in love, in adoration, who doted on one another and who were ecstatic at the simple idea of spending the rest of their lives together. When I was young, my mom used to love to tell the story of our gorgeous dining room table:

One day, this ecstatic young couple in love was out and about in Washington, DC, and browsed through a furniture store. To me, the table is nondescript, because I’ve seen it all my life and it is over 30 years old. To my mom, though, that day in the very early ‘80s, she saw something magnificent in that dark marbled wood, in the additional table leafs, in the soft oval of the table. She was so taken by it that she turned to my dad and said that one day she would have that table in her house.

And then, out of the blue, he showed up to her house with it.

“No, I think I bought that table for myself shortly before we got married and she just really liked it,” my dad corrected me when I told the above story.

“Well, let’s just remember it how she does,” I said. 

[mscoolcat]

All the rainbows in the sky start to weep, then say goodbye. You won’t be seeing rainbows any more. Setting suns before they fall echo to you that’s all, that’s all; but you’ll see lonely sunsets after all.

[ebkf]

December 2010

[ebkf]

Your hands, my waist, my lips, your taste, the way you take my hand and never let go – I can’t decide which is best: one of these, or the millions rest. The way you look with your eyes closed, blind to the world but open to me – all these thoughts and pictures run through my head, a wild film strip, slideshow. The harder I try to push you out of it the stronger they become, so clear and in focus; clarity. My mind’s been pervaded. I feel strangled at the thought of what you did. No air reaches my lungs – my hands shake as I write these words – I want to back away and forget everything, I want to forget you – vision blurred – a fire sparks itself in my chest, spreading through my body like a fire, consuming my heart and burning burning burning, burning longer and harder and more painfully than Hellfire – head compressing itself, trying to rid itself trying to hide itself trying to forget itself trying to erase itself trying to erase you… – Trying to get over this. I try to be mad at you – I try to hate you; it is my right, after all – but last night as I tried getting to sleep all I could think about was how much I want to kiss you.

December 2010

[mscoolcat]

I never fell in love with you: I met you, and I knew you were the one I’d spend the rest of my life with. You are the one I was born to meet. You have me dreaming of wedding vows, fantasizing about a time when people gather to hear me proclaim how I feel. Love never felt trite with you. It’s real and true and it makes sense, something I’ve never had in my life. It’s quiet and loud, drives me crazy and keeps me calm - but there is never any contradiction about how I feel. I don’t need you; I don’t merely want you; you are a part of me. My heart no longer lays heavy in my chest but instead beats strong and full of vitality. You give me a reason to write - not because you are a muse, but because you make reality clearer and magic a little more possible. I don’t get trapped or lost or confused. I dream of wedding vows, of naming our children after trees and of the little place in Provincetown we want to call our own after graduation. I think of the letter I wrote to myself when I was 16-years-old, the letter I have yet to receive, and how I knew even then that I would want to give you a ring.

[ebkf]

August 2012

[ebkf]

I’m going back to work today after a 2 month leave of absence due to mental health. It’d been rapidly on the decline since May and I was allowing myself to be controlled by unhealthy coping mechanisms. I was acting out in risky ways to harm myself, because why the hell not? It got me to feel, at least. When I wasn’t numb I was simply filled with anguish. My eating disorder made it easier for me to get drunker faster, and the drunker I was the less I had to deal with sobriety. I hated sobriety because I hated experiencing life. It was easy to get away with in part because of the culture at work. I’m not blaming it entirely, but there are certain aspects of the job that made it easier to get away with my downward spiral. I work in a grocery store, so it was easy for my obsession with food to go unnoticed. I can wear long sleeves and work in the dairy case so no one sees my cuts, fresh or faded. Hell, they require us to carry a box cutter so there are no questions asked about why I have razors in my room and my bag. Working odd hours with a bunch of people in their early-20s gave way to a culture of binge- and day-drinking, especially with the tacit rule in our store of “if it doesn’t interfere with job, you do you” when it comes to substance use. Also, it is a grocery store. That’s not a glamorous job and you get routinely abused and harassed by the people you are helping. All this - and realizing I was in a very toxic friendship with one of my coworkers - contributed to a very quiet, drawn out mental breakdown. There was never any specific moment that was the breakdown, but I can point to several incidents over the past six months or so that have been symptoms or evidence of severe psychological distress. Maybe I’ll talk about those later. This was intended to be a vague, one-sentence post that turned into a nervous ramble. Even though I didn’t do or get what I planned on for my leave, there’s a calmness in me, almost a feeling of triumph, knowing that I’m ready to go back to work. This proves that, no matter how tumultuous and turbulent my life is, no matter how dark my mind gets, no matter how chaotic my identity is, I am still and always will be resilient. 

[ebkf]

I did the Walk to End Alzheimer’s today and three of my dad’s siblings joined, along with two of my cousins. It’s ineffable how profound that was to me. It is my mom who has Alzheimer’s, and on that side I don’t have much of an extended family: my mom’s adoptive parents died long ago, she never knew her birth parents, and her adoptive brother, who lives across the country, got married two years ago and has zero children. When I think of family, I think of my dad’s side, and I think of how they unquestioningly accepted a relative’s loved one as family. A month ago, I was planning on doing this walk by myself. I didn’t think anyone I knew would have any reason to walk with me. Today I was proved wrong. Today I walked with six people. I live a very lonely situation - after all, how many 23-year-olds have mothers dying of Alzheimer’s? -, but today I walked with six people who were enduring what I was: the loss of her. 

I know one other 20something in the world who is losing their mother to Alzheimer’s: my sister. But I do know almost fifty people who are in my exact same situation, and those people are my family. We all love her. We are all losing her. In that love and loss, we’ll find each other a little bit more.

[ebkf]

You carried me from the moment I was conceived to the moment I was born, from birth until I could walk, and from then you held my hand. You carried me through the battlefields and through the storms. When every piece of me was shattered and run ragged, you collected every last one of them, insisting over it, because you knew the worth of every tiny jagged edge. You have held me, so tight and so strong, providing warmth in a world that had none -  you have held me since before day one. Now it is my turn. Let me hold you and carry you; I will pour back into you all the strength you have given me over the years, all that strength which led me to my true purpose in life: You.

March 2015

[ebkf]

Almost two years ago, my mother walked into my room and delivered to me the news she had just heard through her doctor’s strangled sobs: “I have Alzheimer’s.” Her face was pale; she was expressionless with grief.

Two days ago, my mom turned to me and asked a genuine inquiry: “What do I have?”

I was not surprised by the question, since just hours earlier my dad had said that reminding her of her neurodegenerative diseases was becoming a daily occurrence (she has Alzheimer’s that presents primarily through aphasia, which in its own right is a separate disease. Aphasia only atrophies the parts of the brain that control language, and she has difficulty comprehending both language input and output. My dad has started telling her she simply has aphasia now). This was, however, the first time she asked me that question.

“You have Alzheimer’s,” I said. 

“Oh.” She was confused, quiet, contemplative. “Well, everyone’s a little bit that.” She said it to herself, not me, not even aware she had vocalized her thoughts. Then she asked, “How do you know?”

“You told me, Mom.” The words tumbled out of me in shock; panic was rising as every fiber of my being screamed at me to run, to escape. All of a sudden I was launched into flight-or-fight mode: I had to fucking leave or I would scream and cry.

“No! No one told me that.” It didn’t come out like that, although that is what she meant. What she said was more along the lines of “no no tell me that.” It was gibberish what she said. Pure gibberish. She was so genuinely surprised, too. She has no idea she has Alzheimer’s. The disease has already taken that from her.

Imagine having to look your mother - your best friend, the person who gave you life, the person who raised you, the person who gave your life fucking purpose - imagine having to look her in the eyes and remind her of what she had told you just two years ago: You have Alzheimer’s, Mom. You are dying and disappearing before our very eyes. You’ve said it before: “I am not me.” “This is killing me.” It’s because of the Alzheimer’s. It’s taking you away from us, and it’s taking you away from you.

You’re drowning, and no matter how hard you cling on, no matter how tightly we hold you, the current will consume you.

 March 2015

[ebkf]

There are trashbags in my room that just keep piling up because I don't have the energy to move them. I know that's a metaphor for my life somehow but I don't even have the mental command to write something fanciful. I used to have it. I lost it. When I lost it, I became nothing but a void. I do not contain a black hole; I am the black hole, consuming and destroying everything around me while still being, in essence, nothingness.

September 2014

[ebkf]

To Former Friends and Maybe a Lover

It's strange, but, after all this time, I've finally found myself not giving a shit about you, about literally anything about you - just how you always felt about me.

March 2014

[ebkf]

“Wow – this is pathetic, you know that?” she said, pushing the heel of her hand against the back of my head, forcing my neck into the crook of her arm as she tightened her grip, further cutting off my air supply. “You can’t get out. You’re pathetic.” Pathetic – yes, I knew that. I was. I am.  She has told me that many times. I’m pathetic. I’m an emotional fuckup. She let me know that. Everything I do is pathetic. I deserved all the terrible things that happened to me. I did not deserve to be treated well. I needed to be grateful for everything she did to me, good or bad. It was obvious that I would never get anyone better. She was the best thing that could ever happen to me. Not because she was particularly great or anything, but because I was so awful. I would never get anything better, ever. She told me that time and time again. “I bet you’d let him do this, right?”

Him – a friend, nothing more. An awkward boy in one of my classes who developed a crush on me, unaware that men weren’t my primary interest. She loved to mock him. She loved to constantly berate me for the nonexistent possibility that I would leave her for him. Girls are fine, but I just really need cock, she continually reminded me. You don’t really…count. She was so satisfied with herself.

But she knew that this had happened before, with men, with men who ignored me when I begged them not to, with men who loaded me with drugs so I couldn’t tell what was happening – or so that I was simply unconscious. I hadn’t “let” them do anything, and she knew that. She also knew that I doubted myself, blamed myself. She had made herself into the authority, though. If she said I had “let” them, then I had let them, no matter what reality was.

“This is pathetic,” she reiterated, enunciating each word with pleasure as I continued to struggle, world blurry. Was I crying or was it lack of oxygen? “Everyone will think so, too. I’m smaller than you. I’m a girl.” It was as if, as she was halfway through crushing my windpipe, she realized that I might think she was in the wrong. It didn’t matter, though. How could she be in the wrong? She was a girl and she was smaller than me. I could hear the smirk in her voice and I knew that, no matter who I told, they would just laugh at me too.

I stopped moving. No more struggling. Just long enough to lull her into a false sense of security, just enough for her to relax her grip because she no longer had to prevent me from trying to escape – and I jerked out of her grip, using all the force I had to get out. I stumbled out of her room and back to mine, heart in my throat. Before I left, though, I caught her face. She looked confused – and hurt.

My anger and fear subsided into fear and self-blame. She was absolutely right: no one would believe me. Even if they believed me, they would still ask me what I did to provoke it. They would still tell me I deserved it.

She came by my room a little while later. “Everything okay?” She was demanding to know. If I had any feelings, she had to know them. She had to control them.

“Yeah.”

“What’s up? You look upset.”

“It’s nothing. I’m just…feeling a little tired, that’s all.”

“Okay. Good.” She laughed. “God, for some reason I thought you would break up with me!”

For some reason. Because of course I had no reason to. Because of course what happened was normal. Because of course what happened was my fault. Because of course no matter what she did to me, by staying with her, I was protecting myself from a lot worse from someone else. I sure was lucky, wasn’t I?

That was day one of our relationship.

February 2013

[ebkf]

The moon was a promise - not just to me, but to the world. I broke that promise and I’m worried I might one day break the moon. 

February 2013

[mscoolcat]

Things They Never Said About Growing Up

[ebkf]

My face no longer flushes when I lie: all the little secrets I keep aren’t that hard to hide. I can keep a straight face when anxiety attacks. Just sit there, impassive, while my heart’s consumed and my throat closes over. My expression, though, is totally intact. I fall and get bruised and there’s no one to blame. Everything that’s been normalized shouldn’t have happened, but it’s my default nonetheless - and it’s my fault, nonetheless. The days I can feel rage are considered good days, a relief, in fact, from disappointment, from numbness. Sometimes I forget to hate those people because to some degree I think they were right and so does everyone around me.  I’ve grown up and I don’t like it because who I am isn’t me at all. 

January 2013