true colors

I locked the door behind me, leaving the house on foot, heading North and waiting for a tear to fall but there were none. I lifted my sunglasses hoping a tear would fall but instead the feeling stayed in my throat, my gut churning and my mind wandering far, far away from where I was and where I was headed, still paying attention to my loyal companion, Ashley Marie.

My head pounding and my nose running, I continued on a journey, a ride never given a second thought as the mere asking caused chaos as it most always does.

I had a prescription to get and knew my dog, my music would keep me company as I watched the cars passing me at a steady rate, wishing, simply wishing as I turned again and vomited along side of the road in one of the bags I brought with me.

Someone saw me, they had too and someone most likely knew me, the neighborhood is not that large, but no one stopped, that would be too kind, a random act, something only seen in a Hollywood movie or an occasional commercial for attention sake and nothing more.

I got the Z pack and paid my co-payment, the technician telling me I did not look so good. If she only knew the truth, the truth hiding my true colors buried under the layers of dust and clutter I see from room to room as I walk through the house wondering what I will get yelled at for next, what I might be blamed for or accused of, knowing my body too weak to fight back as it continues on and praying tonight under the mystical glow of the full moon to leave so much sooner than later...

The plane flew by as it usually does and I watched the blinking of the lights flicker in a set pattern, knowing not where it was going but wishing, always wishing I was on it, smiling and talking to those sitting next to me as they learn who I am out of want and me telling them out of need, the feeling of excitement squandered as the engines can no longer be heard and the lights too far in the distance to be seen.

My body walks slowly back to where I try to slumber, my mind having left many a month ago, not to return as the pain is too great, the hurt too deep and the reality of where I am sadly soaking into my pores as I try to scrub the feelings away only to scrub so hard I bled gen myself out of what I have been made into...

... the child that was, still afraid and scared at all that surrounds him just like yesteryear and before.

SHAMEFUL

The fact that those who professed to be most supportive of my plight, most concerned and pleading, begging that I return to my roots where I could and would receive the comfort any family member deserves and should receive upon doctors believing that what is before you is life threatening, no option for a cure starring me in the mirror, are having what appears to be a joyous time of mocking that which the doctors have said over and over, is beyond appalling, its SHAMEFUL.

To walk through a room minding my own business, my back in spasms as I prepare to get on my bicycle and obtain groceries using my food stamp card is my purgative. To not even be offered a ride or asked if I could what until a ride was available is SHAMEFUL. For others to be told how much their life has been changed as they are my caregiver, not even knowing my list of medications, the quantity, when and why I take what I am prescribed is dangerously SHAMEFUL.

To have my physician deliver my prescriptions to the pharmacy as he has, unfortunately, heard the exchange about how unnecessary it is for me to be placed on another medication as if the person doing the speaking in the background had the medical degree in place of my physician and those he consults with is SHAMEFUL.

To have parents who know me as a child, treat me as such afraid I am going to 'burn their home down due to my careless antics' to the point that rules are put into place as to when I can and cannot cook and how that cooking should be done is SHAMEFUL. To look at the kitchen table with six place mats for sitting and only two cleared away for usage, is SHAMEFUL. To be mocked with the sounds of one vomiting in the background as if to imply that is who and what I am as it was done before, when I was thirteen and fourteen the same way, in the same manor, is SHAMEFUL.

To be asked time and time again to help with chores that do more damage to my body physically shows a lack of caring, a lack of understanding and the fact that the denial of my plight is so great it now has become a situation where by I have less or the same freedom I had as a thirteen year old, but not much older is SHAMEFUL.

To be accused time and time again for that which is a falsity, told so and disputed as another lie on my part is SHAMEFUL. To say I am not grateful for the roof placed over my head and do not respect those who cannot respect me as they do not know me is SHAMEFUL.

To know that I am scolded for not eating, accused of vomiting and being anorexic if I do eat and wasting food that I bought myself is SHAMEFUL, proving further the lack of knowledge those supposed to be closest to me and most concerned with my plight have, being so far removed from my medical truth is SHAMEFUL.

To know that I write my thoughts only for them to be paraphrased within a matter of hours if not a day or two and read to benefit the one doing the reading and making me look wrong for merely thinking and feeling is SHAMEFUL.

To know that promises were made, demands already put into motion without my consent or knowledge but to benefit the one making such demands is SHAMEFUL.

To know that this is the final phase of my life journey and truth is not spoken, I am told I have 'ruined a life ' for continuing to be alive and continuing to be here is SHAMEFUL.

To know that when another feels bad physically can be quiet, removed and alone but I am perceived as hiding something, plotting or being completely dishonest is SHAMEFUL.

And to know that I might die in an environment full of bantering and bickering when I lived peacefully on my own for almost twenty (20) years, not being told how and why every step of the way is SHAMEFUL and will make me fight harder so that I can shut the door on this chapter and leave, emotionally and physically damaged but left to die a peaceful existence with that which is most important, unconditional love, knowing it will never happen here and I was sold on an idea when I was most vulnerable, most fearful in and about life, is SHAMEFUL.

To hear who knew and who did not know I was or was not coming and the grudge being held that I remain alive by my own flesh and blood is beyond sad, but SHAMEFUL.

Alexandra Lauren is

Today, Alexandra turns one. Its her day just as it was a year ago as we all sat and paced, occupying our minds and our bodies until the word came in that April had given birth to a beautiful baby girl.

So many questions I had and so many I still have as it has been a joy, a pleasure and a unique privilege to watch as she has grown and is now taking her first steps, sharper than a tack, never missing a beat and always dancing, smiling and teaching the simplicities of life if we allow her to.

And allow I do and thus I let her in, past my eyes as she gazes deep with her baby blues into my soul, speaking in a language to that voice within me that speaks back to her and I wonder what her future holds, what spark she has brought me and know that happiness is a plenty as she has more than most, much more, but gives too in a way that is pure and real and wholesome and honest....untarnished as it should be for now as things will change, they always do.

Its not jabber to me nor baby talk but signs and signals from where she came from as she begins to exude a personality and her language, although not always distinguishable, has a diction that forces one to look and take notice as soon, she will not be so innocent, learn the rules forced upon us all and that which she tries to convey lost and the only thing she will remember are the stories told, the pictures and videos shown as she grows and matures, asking and being taught along the way but me knowing I had the joy of knowing her and she me, the uncle who will be a memory but the uncle that always looked from a distance as I had more fun watching her than cuing over her...

The uncle that knew every visit was precious, every touch worthwhile and every stare meaningful as her journey begins and mine winds down as it was meant to be...