Lost in Space (Poem)

How can someone who burns so hot be so cold?
How can something that feels so right be so wrong?

It’s like I’m lost in space and I can’t go home

The further I drift
The hotter I burn
The colder it gets
The more I yearn

For something less painful than the stake in my back
I can’t relax
I can’t look at myself
This can’t go on
I’m still trying to make sense of it

I can’t make amends to it

Drag Me to The Pit (Poem)

Here comes the dragon
I know he’s kreeping around the way

I could smell that bird coming out the pit from miles away

I act like I don’t see him as I go about my biz
Check him in the mirror like I’m locked up in a prison

These walls, these walls, they’re all around
A dungeon in my mind

His shadow kreeps like candlelight
A traitor to my eye

He’s there but he’s not with me
He’s coming in for the kill

I Will Fight (Journal Entry)

It’s so weird to be alive. I wake up, eat, shower, get dressed, check up on the happenings of this strange world, run errands, eat, sleep, dream and wake up. The days meld together. Weeks turn into months. As I drift into the future the past seems more like a dream.

I try to make sense of it all, try to live each day unto itself. I try to dig a little deeper, try to better myself. I try to strengthen my spirit and lend a helping hand. Be a friend to my neighbor, and be grateful for what I have.

The Hardest Step (Poem)

The disease of isolation
Self-pity and self-harm
Anger and resentment
Selfish lies and selfish wants

It’s baffling
So obscure
Cunning and hard

It’s your own personal Satan pounding at your door

It’s the first place you run to when you want to hide
And the last place that gets you where you want to go

It gives you everything you want
But nothing that you need

Step Nine: Apologies to my fellow Twitterers (Twleve Steps)

Oh me oh my… Sigh… This may be a little early in my recovery, but I decided to do my first 9th step in response to my distasteful behavior on Twitter. I was recently put on a timeout by the Twitter police for calling someone a moron, thus prompting me to spend twelve whole hours thinking about my savagery and how it affects others. 

A Letter to My Evil Alter (Journal Entry)

Dearest Mean Mean Maria Jean,

We’ve been through many tough times together, and you’ve always been there to stick it to anybody who tried to hurt me. You’ve made me laugh, cry, gag, cough, sneeze and damn near crap my pants all at the same time, and for that I am grateful. 

However, the time has come for me to let go of all my anger and resentments. I can no longer partake in pity-parties and mud-slinging contests with you. Although the things you say are funny, certain people might misconstrue some of the mean and hurtful things you say and do as childish and lacking in self-awareness. 

Step One: Dicking around with my thumb up my butt (Twelve Steps)

The thumb is a symbol of great power. It represents a vital step in the evolution of man. The anus symbolizes repression, feelings of shame and self-esteem issues. And dicks? Well, I’ll let the reader decide the meaning of that vernacular.

Anyhoo, I’ve been doing a lot of dicking around with my thumb up my but lately. Indulging in pity parties, self-loathing, whining, complaining about everyone and everything, harping on what this one or that one did to me. Basically throwing my hard earned tools of recovery into the fire. 

Step One: Liquid Courage (Twelve Steps)

“The courage to change the things we can,” is one of the many messages we hear at every Twelve Step meeting. And with every meeting, the message grows, transforms, evolves into a battle cry that echoes through the darkest nights. But when we stop going to meetings, we lose our momentum, we forget the tools that kept us sober, and the war drum slowly fades into the distance until all we hear are the devil’s lies.

Step One: Getting out of my own way (Twelve Steps)

Is there a wrong way to heal? When I say it like that it doesn’t feel so bad. People keep telling me not to isolate, talk to someone, go to a meeting. But the less I think about the pain the less I want to punch someone’s head.

Everything gives me bad memories. I find myself avoiding such triggers everywhere I go. I never want to go back to that place. Of helplessness, of isolation so consuming that I don’t even have my own thoughts to keep company.

Step One: Cleaning House (Twelve Steps)

When I exited rehab I had a new sense of order in my life. I was on schedule. I woke up every day at seven o’clock, showered, dressed, made my bed, cleaned my room, made a to-do list, read some daily reflection and wrote in my journal. Most importantly, I attended meetings and maintained a fellowship with recovering addicts.