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caolark

Consolation

Lord knows I’ve been away a long long time.

who on earth have we become,

you and I…

are touched-up photographs;

black and white belied by colored hues.

No one here can tell us who to be, or where to go, or what to do,

and you know how much we love the truth.

But love’s the utmost compromise,

deliberately blurring already dashed and broken lines.

It is allying ourselves upon the losing side

where the only consolation is knowing that we tried.

Well, we tried.

telluricurrents

there are moments when i want nothing more than to have an absolute meltdown, to scream and cry and maybe set something on fire because at least the flames would signal that something’s ablaze.

if anyone is willing to step closer, they’ll realize it’s my soul that’s smoldering. there are no flames. only smoke.

the fire’s gone - has been for years - but that doesn’t prevent the fumes from polluting my lungs and now when i exhale everyone around me starts coughing too. then they leave.

some go politely, others abruptly. it doesn’t make a difference because once they’re gone, they’re gone and off breathing clean air while i’m left inhaling toxins. i can’t exactly blame them, not since i’ve tried running away from me. i’ve tried paths of perfection and paths of self-destruction but they all loop back to where i was. to where i am.

i’m not sure if i started this fire or if someone else did or if it was natural and then society rained gasoline over everything, applauding as i embraced the heat. it made me interesting. powerful. unique. but then i was scorched and the praise vanished with the flames.

there hasn’t been a fire here in ages. i’d like to light something again to justify while i’m clouded in a perfume of smoldering ash. then someone might understand.

caolark

To the covert rebels:

Dear girl,

It would have been more honest to take a baseball bat to your parents’ home. It would have been truer and braver to fail your classes, chop off your hair, start playing hooky, and refuse all the things they thought would help you grow.

It might have been a lot easier to heal from.

At the very least, you would know how much anger there was in you.

But you didn’t do that. You did something that required less courage, and caused more damage. You took all your anger and rebelled, but instead of flinging knives across the dining room table you set a fire under your own chair where no one would see it.

You burned yourself into ashes and hoped it would let out the heat and the hurt and use up all the anger and there would be no consequences. You wanted to fight, but you chose to flee. You tried to escape your own life.

But you know that short of dying, you can’t.

What are you going to do, girl?

You can cut them out - the people who hurt you, your family. You can refuse to accept anything from them, ever again. Hurt and support. You will lose a lot, but you will be free.

You can choke it down. Try to be perfect, so no matter what goes wrong the blame falls on them. But that is to continue living a lie - and you know you will never succeed at perfection.

Or you can make a change. You can decide you are brave enough to embrace your own hurt and choose honesty. You are free, if you choose, to lay your story, your grievances, at their feet, and refuse to take on their pain when they hear it.

You know that some of the people in your life will fight it. The picture you paint will threaten everything they have built their world around.

You can say it anyway.

For once in your life, you can be truly angry, but you can do it believing that what you know is real. You can stop pretending, stop hiding, stop needing to be anyone but who you are.

You have to be brave enough to rebel and accept the consequences.

You have to make your life, not try to steal away with it before anyone notices.

And girl, now you are strong enough to do it without a baseball bat.

From,

another dying rebel

[Note: I credit two remarkable books with my ability to write this letter: Eating in the Light of the Moon and Wild Bird]

caolark

04.24.2018

Apology

I am sorry that I have been so angry.

That I have lived as though I had all the time in the world to set things right.

I am so scared, and I am sorry that I have been willing to suffer any kind of pain except that of facing what scares me.

I’m sorry that I am willing to risk dying, but not living.

I want to say that I have learned my lesson - but old habits die hard, and I am not much in the habit of being hopeful.

Desert and Deep-Sea Space by @caolark and @telluricurrents

#art #space #ocean #speakingofthesolstice #caolark #telluricurrents

#surviving #keep going #it gets better #caolark #speakingofthesolstice

telluricurrents

people think cutting is scary but cutting can be seen cutting can be stopped cutting can be healed these thoughts cannot be seen cannot be stopped cannot be healed and that is terrifying — you’re afraid of what you see; i’m afraid of what i don’t // 3.31.18

You think it will help you feel,

You want only to feel something real.

But this, this hurt is the opposite of feeling,

This is numb.

It is focused, it is easy to understand,

But it is not emotion,

That ocean inside of you,

It is not.

Why can you not lay there and cry?

Remember, my dear:

This is not truth.

This is not feeling.

This is not the hard edge of reality.

This is only numbing out.

And you don’t need to do this anymore.

//on hurting oneself//03.27.2018//

#mental health #self harm #eating disorders #caolark #speakingofthesolstice #recovery #feeling #numb #emotions

writing-prompt-s

Every worker at Ikea was once an average customer who got lost. Today you’re at Ikea for some furniture, but you can’t find the exit anymore.

mannagryn1

I can confirm that this is the truth. If you don’t want to become a worker at IKEA, follow the path that is marked. Don’t leave it. Whatever you do, don’t leave the path.

writing-prompt-s

SIGNAL BOOST!

speakingofthesolstice

“Don’t do it” she says.

“But look at the succulents!” I squeal to my friend. Almost to the cash registers, we can see the exit. The arrows mark the path clearly. But I’ve spotted a cart of succulents marked “clearance” way off in a corner. If we could just run over, grab our discounted cacti, and get back to the path, we’d be home free with new plant friends to show for it!

“Let’s GO,” my friend says. “It’s getting late and the store’s closing soon.” She seems nervous. But I whine and plead and she agrees to come with me and scope out the tray of waxy green succulents.

We’ve just chosen our new plants and we turn to head back to the cash registers. “Wait,” I say, “where did the arrow path go?” It’s vanished. Every direction contains stacks of sofa cushions and plastic shoehorns, but the registers are nowhere in sight.

We hear footsteps behind us and turn - a tall young man is standing there, half obscured by shadows. He holds a tray in his hands.

“Excuse me sir,” says my friend in a shaky voice, “do you work here? Can you point us toward the exit?”

He responds in a low gravelly voice, “leaving? So soon? Wouldn’t you rather stay and try a -“ he whips the cover off of the silver tray in his hand, unveiling a pile of plump, round brown objects - “veggie balls?”

We try to resist but the pull of the veggie balls is too strong. We find ourselves reaching our hands out, stuffing them one after another into our mouths. Soon the tray is empty, and when I look at one of the windows I can see the sun beginning to rise across the parking lot. My friend and I turn back to the man. “It is over,” he croons with a dark smile. “Welcome to the ranks of the IUR - the Ikea Underground Resistance. Your training begins tonight at sundown. Until then - you may serve the veggie balls.”

(@takecare-bewell all hail the veggie balls)

#ikea #writing prompts #veggie balls #caolark #speakingofthesolstice

caolark

Wild Goose Chase

I’m tired of thinking everything to death.

I’m tired of trying to understand HOW to achieve something when I don’t even know WHAT it is.

I’m tired of hating myself.

Like really, really tired of it.

I’m exhausted from this fight.

Maybe the only answer

Is that the ones who are able to LIVE are those who can just stop thinking.

How many parents~friends~therapists~teachers have told me:

“Stop overthinking it!”

“You don’t have to analyze everything, you know.”

“You overthink things a lot, don’t you?”

I’M TRYING.

I CAN’T JUST TURN IT OFF.

IT DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY FOR ME.

I don’t want this.

I would give my mind up if I could.

Its gifts are worthless to me if I cannot breathe because I cannot find hope.

But I cannot calculate~graph~dissect hope.

So it evades me still.

ambermaitrejean

Cosmos. Fleur phantasmagoria. Photo by Amber Maitrejean

I made this out of sheer boredom but maybe I should actually design it and print some...

#worthy of love #sleeping at last #three #enneagram

part i: the unlearning hi my name is scaredconfusedashamed and i’ve just made my first counseling appointment i don’t know what’s happening but i’ve not told anyone i’m afraid of myself

i called from an empty common room in the dorms legs shaking, voice wavering, brain whirling i found their number online of which i was encouraged to google by a youtuber who often closed her videos with ‘everyone can benefit from having a therapist!’ and well i guess i’m everyone? i was introduced to her channel by 7cupsoftea, from their self help library and that website was recommended by tumblr because i’d been searching the kinds of tags that prompt ‘are you ok?’ yes.

no.

maybe.

i want to be.

… hi my name is anxioustimidwired and i’m sitting in a windowless office staring at the floor, spine refusing to touch the chair i remember almost nothing from that first session i’m not sure if i left feeling better or worse still, i returned every few weeks that semester i mostly used writing and art to communicate ‘talk therapy’ intimidated me besides it’s a lot easier to lie to someone when you’re not delivering the message i wrote things that weren’t true i drew things that weren’t mine anything to convince her (i.e. me) that my struggle was the realest of reals i desperately wanted to show her my scars (which right now, four years later would be the last thing i would share in therapy) i was so l o s t well i got my wish she saw and now i regret it not because of embarrassment or vulnerability but because i’m just like b.f. skinner’s rats operant conditioning makes for a quick learner i’ve since done quite a lot of research regarding nonsuicidal self-injury ‘should clinicians look at the wounds?’ remains a debate in the field i fully agree with one professor’s answer: ‘no. you might inadvertently reinforce the behavior because some individuals use it as a way to signal how much distress they’re in, instead of learning their emotion words.’ it’s taken years but now if my body starts screaming i try to let it out of my mouth rather than onto my skin

part ii: the beast hi my name is restlessecstaticdepressed and i don’t understand i do not understand. i’m the happiest-saddest i’ve ever been being so low that i’m principally dead being so high that i’m above it all being so low that i’m prepared to make myself dead and around the carousel i go i’m feeling sick i’d like to get off please, someone stop this ride … hi my name is dizzydisorientedtorn and that’s a fun state to meet a new therapist in her accent says she’s from london although she doesn’t say much again, my back doesn’t dare rest on the chair how can i allow my body to be comfortable when my mind remains cramped? i take a deep breath and read a raw, precarious poem when i remember the things i shared that day i still prickle with humiliation but she listened she listened without judgment and that was enough she believed me when i spoke of the beast she believed me despite my lack of evidence and contradicting stories she believed me when i didn’t believe me i’d like to think i was honest with her but if i’m being honest right now i probably wasn’t i could only see this counselor for a few months, but T1 was waiting for me wasn’t she?

part iii: the explosion hi my name is suicidaltensefragile and this depression just won’t let me go or maybe i just won’t let this depression go i’ve built a home here it’s not fantastic but well it’s home it’s familiar it’s a place i can always come back to summer’s nearly over and i call my university’s counseling service ‘therapist no. 1 has moved from our office. would you like to see someone else?’ … hi my name is recklessangryvulnerable and that doesn’t bode well with a new counselor, new semester, new living situation first off, he’s a guy so i suppose that’s another new thing i was wary, but the gender difference actually helped tremendously the mucky mother transference began to fade and i let myself get comfortable in his space not too comfortable of course but for once my back rests on the furniture i sit with knees hugged to my chest finally honest this guy is fantastic and funny and he understands tumblr and shit now i like you not in a romantic sense but in a ‘wow we could probably be friends if you didn’t have a code of ethics to uphold’ kind of way the evading, the redirecting, the half-truths begin again as i try to save face thankfully we’ve already accomplished quite a lot i discharge myself it’s for the best because prolonging it will only make termination later that much more painful really, i’m the most okay i have been a long while almost ready to leave behind these self destructive habits exactly two days after i say goodbye e e y h n v r t i g e p o e x l d s that bomb requires a poem of its own so all i will say is i was forced to see yet another counselor … hi my name is betterbitterdefiant and i am not talking to you i’m so fine i have nothing to say (( what is going on? )) i’m so fine i want to scream (( why am i here? )) i’m so fine but i’m about to be not fine because you’re convinced i cannot possibly be we’re talking about something but my mind is elsewhere i fantasize over smashing the obnoxious mirror behind your chair then sprinting away from this vapid office want to know why we can never seem to resolve that trauma? because it never. fucking. happened.

part iv: the aftermath hi my name is defeateddesperaterelieved and i’ve landed myself on another therapist’s couch this time for an intensive dbt program thus my summer became diary cards-meal logs-likert scales galore mindfulness-paced breathing-progressive muscle relaxation distress tolerance-emotion regulation-psychoeducation group therapy-ensure-ssris therapy-therapy-therapy recovery-recovery-recovery it became my full-time job and i was ready to put in my two weeks notice starting sertraline was too much i’d given the counselor my razors so all i had left was restriction it was not a good time but at least i was honest i got help … hi my name is mortifiedpatronizedvigilant and the family session is just wrapping up if i ever have to endure another one of these i’m bringing headphones and a pillow and maybe a knife

i hate that you don’t understand and that i can’t explain it i hate that you assume you’ve failed as a parent when really i’m the one who failed as the child but most of all i hate myself for what i’ve put my family through

part v: the rebuilding hi my name is embarrassedneedystubborn and i can’t admit that i want to be here can’t accept that i need to be here so i lie lie lie i’m counting on resistance from you maybe even a few warnings or threats i need you to fight for me but you don’t ‘behold: the miracle client who was cured in 2.5 sessions!’ i’m not ready (eating remains a challenge) i’m not ready (i got more razors) i am not ready (i flirt with high places) but still you close my file … hi my name is renewedhonestaware and i’m giving ‘recovery’ - whatever that is a try for the umpteenth time i’m ready to do the work i guess it only took seven therapists a few physicians and a psychiatrist the support of friends, family and several strangers on the internet to undo years of self loathing and destruction except you can’t exactly reverse that kind of internal perversion so i suppose what we’re really doing is rebuilding

i am under construction.

i am a work in progress.

hello my name is rebuilding.

— hello my name is // 2.24.18