In going through my files from… well, let us not talk about how old these are and how out of order my files are… I found this poem I wrote in 2006 for creative writing in high school. Making it a decade old. Shush. I’m not that old. 😉
So I present…
Fluffy White Clouds
fluffy white clouds,
against crystal blue,
floating. falling. shapeless.
we try to make them
into something they are not
castles. bears. dragons.
against the emerald cushion,
prickly. rough. sticky.
I stare up at the sky,
fluffy white clouds,
against crystal blue.
life. beautiful. simple.
starting without a shape,
trying not to fit
into the mold,
we are given.
trying to make it,
into something it’s not.
like fluffy white clouds,
against crystal blue.
it can look like
whatever we want
we could be
famous. beautiful. brilliant.
it all depends on the angle
and how we look at it.
fluffy white clouds,
against crystal blue
is life really as simple as this?
being able to mold it into
what we desire, what we long for
what we hope for?
fluffy white clouds,
against crystal blue.
molded into what we want,
and becoming what we desire
One day, you will be loved. One day, you will break free of the vicious cycle of abuse. One day, you will find hope, peace, comfort, and joy again. You may scorn now. You may feel like no one could ever love you. If the people who created you can’t love you, how could anyone? If your boyfriend beats you, why would you deserve any better? You may scoff and feel like you’ll never truly be loved.
I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to cry myself to sleep, feeling lost and unloved. I know what it’s like to be alone in the world, to have no one but yourself to look out for you. I know what it’s like. I’m no stranger to abuse.
But I also know there’s another side. I know that there’s another way. And you don’t have to be here forever. There are people who want to love you, if you just let them. There are people who want to help you. And if your abuse is “just” emotional? Emotional abuse hurts too. There is never any “just” for abuse. Here is a PSA I did on emotional abuse last fall for a class.
If you are a teenager and a victim of child abuse, please get help. It doesn’t matter if it’s happening now or if it happened in the past, if you’re still feeling unloved and in danger, seek help. Check out childhelp.org . If you are being abused by the ones that claim to love you, young or old, check out thehotline.org
You don’t have to live this way forever. You did nothing wrong. You did nothing to deserve it. And one day, you will find someone that is waiting to love you.
Not even a month ago, I was started on a new antidepressant. Before I was trapped in depression. Trapped.
But now things are looking up. I’m having horrible side effects, but maybe my nice shrink with a southern accent can find a similar one or maybe he can find something to counteract them.
There is just one week left of classes. One week!! It’s at this lovely state in the semester where things are just not going all that well..
But it doesn’t mean things are going poorly. I’m at my breaking point stress wise, but things are looking up. It doesn’t mean things are perfect, but it means they are looking up. Things won’t always be this way.
Some days are still terrible. Some days I feel like relasping into self injury. I know, I know, it sounds silly and maybe it is. I recently passed the ten year mark from the first time I cut. I still remember that day, still remember it so clearly. And for so long, I thought I was so clever. That I was masking my pain. That I was dealing with my pain. That I had my own little secret way of dealing with the world, hidden under my shirt sleeves. But I was young, I was naive. I didn’t know, couldn’t know, wouldn’t know that by masking the pain, when it came to surface, it only got worse. And so, when once one cut would suffice, now it would take two. Then three. Then four. Until my arms looked horrible. Until I had to move to my legs. And as much as I would welcome the nirvana, the bittersweet Ecstasy of cutting again… it’s not worth it. At times I think the break from the pain would be worth it, then I’d deserve it coming back so much.
But the thing is? I don’t deserve pain. For years, and I admit, some days I still do, it feels like it was all my fault. Maybe if I had been a better behaved child. Maybe if I had been cuter. Maybe if I would have run away. Maybe if I would have done drugs. Maybe if I would have drank. Maybe if I would have told someone what my father was doing instead of hiding it, even denying it for years. Maybe if I would have fought back. I had so many chances in high school to say what my dad was doing. There was the time I fell apart in youth group, and one of the sponsors asked if everything was okay at home. There were the countless doctor appointments that asked if I was safe at home. There were the teachers that reached out to me.
The thing was, I was young and I was scared. Would people have believed me? Would things have gotten worse had I told? I don’t know. But the thing is, it’s not my fault. It wasn’t my fault. It was never my fault.
And even if, for some reason, it was my fault, it doesn’t make any of it okay. It doesn’t make my childhood okay, even if I did mess up at times. It doesn’t make what my dad did right, not remotely. And even if my actions DID cause him to act that way, it wasn’t right. Not in any way shape or form.
That said, I started this blog taking one track, and it took another. Things are looking up. I’m finding hope again. Moreso, I’m enjoying things again. I’m not playing games just as an escape, but I’m enjoying them. It’s the little things. I’m starting to sleep again, even! Sleep is good. Usually.
And now I’m going to play Final Fantasy 8 and talk on MSN for a bit before going to bed early, so tomorrow I can talk on MSN, clean, and do homework. So I can do what I love on Sunday and play music in church then come home and study and clean. I’m going to close this entry with lyrics to one of my favourite songs. ^_^
Spoken – Promise. (Verse 1) Yet another day seems like its wasted You don’t feel youre any closer to the prize A dead end job where there’s no future Praying that tomorrow things wont be this way
(Chorus) Things will get better this I promise you And I know that you won’t feel this way forever Things will get better this I promise you And I know loneliness wont last forever
(Verse 2) Yet another day, another tired morning You’re catching up to your intentions Your’e thinking life has to be easier than this Maybe tomorrow things wont be this way
(Chorus) Things will get better this I promise you and I know it won’t feel this way forever Things will get better this I promise you and I know we can find a way to make it better things will get better this I promise you
(Outro) Things will get better this I promise you And I know it won’t feel this way forever Things will get better this I promise you And I know loneliness won’t last forever Things will get better this I promise you And I know things will get better this I promise you And I know things will get better this I promise you And I know loneliness won’t last forever
I’m pulling out some of my younger poetry from, well, when I was younger. It’s terribly written, but it’s who I was then.
Wednesday, Oct. 03, 2001 – 3:17 p.m.
They tell me to make a Christmas Wish
To wish for whatever I please
And the wish for I want
Gets me down on my knees
I do not wish for money
I do not wish for toys
I do not wish for clothes
Or other little joys
My wish is for my Daddy
For him to take time to think
Before he decides to sip
His achocalic drink
Wednesday, Oct. 17, 2001 – 9:56 p.m. If you had a choice Between beer and family Let me ask you a question- What would your choice be?
Let me tell you my father’s choice One that brought so much pain A choice that brought me Tears that fall like rain
He picked his beer Over the family At times I feel It’s more valued then me
How could he pick His beer over me Hurt and destory His whole family?
I’ll never understand I’ll never know why I’ll be able to stop The tears which I cry
If you have that choice- Please choose your family Because I come from Experience, you see.
Monday, Jan. 07, 2002 – 8:45 p.m.
Even though you hear my laugh You don’t know what I hide For as the joyous sound comes out Tears are flowing inside
A smile may be on my face But that smile’s a lie For hidden, deep within I frankly want to die
I may seem happy But I am depressed I may seem joyful But I am upset
And when the tears Brim in my eyes Telling you it’s allergies Is one of my lies
So when you ask me “How do you do?” I might not tell The truth to you
So remember when you see me…. Looks aren’t always what lays outside For with every smile I smile Another tear I cry
Tuesday, Jan. 22, 2002 – 8:43 p.m. I sit back and wonder If I would to die If anyone would care If anyone would cry
I sit back and ponder The meaning of life Why I was given All this pain and strife
Friendships fading away Old friends are gone Time to pack up Time to move on
Schoolwork is falling I’m starting to fail I’m starting to cry Starting to wail
Family is shattering My heart is in two I’m hiding the pain In my big eyes of blue
Mabye if I just Curl up and die No one will care No one will cry
I was so broken all those year ago. And I’m so sad I was so lost, so alone. If only I could go back and tell 14-year-old Nora that it gets better. That she’ll find friends! That she’ll find love! That she’ll find hope! That she’ll break ties with those asshats, that she’ll break FREE of that pain. That she’ll still fight with PTSD, ED-NOS, major depression, chronic pain… but she’ll find a support system.
Nick was my friend. I was an idiot for letting petty disagreements get in the way of our friendship, and completely lost contact with him – even being childish and deleting him from my Facebook friends. Which, in retrospect, was stupid and pathetic, considering that he was one of the people who was there for me in one of my darkest phases, when I just needed a friend the most. He’d stay up with me when I was sick. He once skipped Streetlight to watch A Little Princess with me after taking all my sharp objects from me, so that I not only couldn’t cut myself but so that I would have a friend. He helped me lobby for the back surgery I so badly needed and he was there (along with other friends, but this post is about Nick :P) when I was having medical drama. He helped me process some things, and showed me God in a way I hadn’t seen him until that point. We enjoyed watching Scrubs on random nights for no reason other than, well, we felt like it! Thanks, buddy, for introducing me to the awesomeness that is Scrubs.
I’m bitter and angry about myself for the way things played out, and I suppose I need to let that go. I’m sorry, Nick, for being a stubborn idiot. I don’t think that you were right in that series of three slightly heated convos, but Lord knows I wasn’t fully right either. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for being such a buttmuffin.
But all and all – Nick was the only friend who ever peed in a cup for me. Out of context, that’s a really awkward quote. It was June of 2010, and I was living in the hotel-turned-dorm at Northwestern. It was previous to my gluten intolerance being diagnosed, and I was incredibly sick. Nick gave me a ride to the University of Minnesota Medical Center ER and stayed with me (well, on my computer. I later hijacked his Facebook status *grin*. Buddy, you never did learn to log out on my computer :P) during it. Problem: they demanded a urine sample and wouldn’t leave until I gave them one. Problem 2: I don’t pee on demand. Solution: Nick takes the cup out my hand, goes into the bathroom, and PEES IN THE FRICK-FRAKING CUP FOR ME. Me: “O.O NICK YOU CAN’T DO THAT!” Nick: “I just did.” He then goes and hands the cup to the nurse. “Here, she went.” Me: “NICOLAS!” After the nurse left, he turns to me and asked me if they could tell he was a boy from his urine and if they’d find me. Me: “Um, not sure?” We were very relieved, let me tell you, when the nurse came back and announced I wasn’t with child. Naw, really?
The funny part? The next day I got a phone call from the hospital, telling me that my urine sample showed a kidney infection and to see my primary doctor. Me: “Um…”. That was an awkward text to Nick, let me tell you.
I don’t think that Nick peeing in the cup was the right thing, and I do feel kind of bad about it. But, how many people can say someone would pee in a cup for them?
I’m sorry I was an idiot, Nick. I’m sorry that I let our friendship fall due to my stubbornness and slightly idiotic streak. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you the way you were there for me. You were one of the few people who truly understand my medical stuff as while not all our disorders were the same, we had many similar ones. I wish I could have shared with you stories of my surgery recovery. I wish you could have seen my morphine-ridden poetry that I wrote post op. I wish we could have traded spinal fusion/back rod stories. I’m sure we will one day in Heaven. I’m sure it’ll happen one day – on that glorious day when we ALL are without our bodily pain and we can celebrate in that freedom together at last.
I love you.
Every lament is a love song, yesterday, yesterday, I still can’t believe you’re gone Every lament is a love song, yesterday, yesterday, So long, my friend, so long. -Switchfoot