Okay guys this is my first crack at poetry. Do not be alarmed at my mental state, but I am really mad at a piece of legislation and the closing down of crisis clinics in my area. Here it is "Clinic":
I am cut open like a trout
Feast upon the entrails
Consume the bloody mass
Picking the lillies by the day
War became an open day
Sometimes I believe in god
Sometimes not
Willow, willow
I was eviscerated by the tree
They feast upon my lillies
They gut me like a trout
I watch as they slowly let me die
I watch as the monsters eat my entrails
Sometimes I believe in god
Mostly not
There is a knight who should save me
Sometimes a fairy comes my way
Both do not cut off my head,
But leave the scourge to eat my entrails
There is war
I pick lillies as the soldiers go by
No coat hangers to rid the baby inside
They gut me like a trout
Entrails soaking the lillies
The unwanted child allowed to die
Sometimes I believe in god
Forever not
Showing posts with label nonfiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nonfiction. Show all posts
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Speech
Tonight I am giving a speech at a rehab center in front of 50 recovering addict/alcoholics/anorexics, etc, and their family and friends. The title of the speech tonight is "Bottoming Out: How to Recover from the Lowest Point." I was invited not only because of my personal experience with addiction, but also with my volunteerism with the center. Bottoming out is a term used for people who have gotten to the lowest points of their addiction where they usually have no facilities to handle their addiction, or are suicidal. Here is a rough version of it:
"Thank you for inviting me tonight. I have been invited by (N/A) and (N/A) to talk to a room full of people who love each other and want to make the steps towards recovery and overcoming self-infliction to create a better tomorrow. I first became aware and involved in the center around the age of 17 when I fell in love with someone being treated here. He was 19 and scared to death of the recovery process. We first met when I was 15, when he was already down that path. He and I hung out with the token burn outs and jr. junkies that populate every high school. Not very close, I began dating a friend of his who would become addicted to PCP and methamphetamines.
"He and I became closer when I came to school with a bruise on my neck. I have never had a hickey, and it covered the back of my neck. His stepsister, who he was closer to than any of his family members, shared an art class with me and saw the bruise when my hair fell. She told him and he passed a note to me saying "Need to talk." We skipped class for the rest of the afternoon, went to the park, got high on spray paint and swung on the swings. I do not advocate for any of these behaviors, but it was probably the most fun I have ever had. He and I talked for hours. We fell in love.
"A month later my boyfriend broke up with me and the summer was dedicated to me and him. We got high everyday, and went to Trade Street to give money to prostitutes, one of which we knew. Why I am telling you this story is because we were both junior junkies on a similar path but somewhere we diverged. One night we both tried heroin. I woke up with a needle in my arm and he asked someone where the best dealer was.
"That was the beginning of the end. For the next five years it was a back and forth of recovery and hitting rock bottom. Fortunately, I did not get addicted to any of the substances we used. There were times we talked, when he left rehab and was on the up and up, we didn't talk anymore when he became addicted again and I told him to never to speak to e again. He killed himself that night with a lethal dose of heroin and a noose.
"To this day I wonder what would have happened. If my friend instead of taking himself out of the equation, solved it. If he could have realized how much me and his sister loved him. How much he made me laugh with his silly poems, how we would play on the playground at three am wondering if the sun was ever going to rise. When I cried or had nothing else to do, I could always call him. My mom nearly died from a colon infection a few years ago and he was the only person other than my father and brother to visit her at the hospital.
"He loved deeply and fully and I want to tell you that when you leave here, you may hit rock bottom for the first time or again. Remember that there is someone like me, or his stepsister that will love you no matter what. That when we reject you that does not mean we no longer love you. I love him till this day even though when he was, he said things that made no sense and hated when he didn't really mean to. We reject you, because hopefully the person we fell in love with will come back.
"I will never get him back. His ashes on my bookshelf are a daily testament to his passing and struggle. He died when he was 23. I rejected him because I wanted him to live till 80, so when you think all is lost, there are places like (N/A), who will love you as unconditionally as me. Some of you may say I do not have as much to lose as the person next to me or vice versa. All of you have something to lose, so when you hit rock bottom the only way you can go is up because there will be someone there to help you.
"My name is Gillian and thank you for letting me come and tell my story."
"Thank you for inviting me tonight. I have been invited by (N/A) and (N/A) to talk to a room full of people who love each other and want to make the steps towards recovery and overcoming self-infliction to create a better tomorrow. I first became aware and involved in the center around the age of 17 when I fell in love with someone being treated here. He was 19 and scared to death of the recovery process. We first met when I was 15, when he was already down that path. He and I hung out with the token burn outs and jr. junkies that populate every high school. Not very close, I began dating a friend of his who would become addicted to PCP and methamphetamines.
"He and I became closer when I came to school with a bruise on my neck. I have never had a hickey, and it covered the back of my neck. His stepsister, who he was closer to than any of his family members, shared an art class with me and saw the bruise when my hair fell. She told him and he passed a note to me saying "Need to talk." We skipped class for the rest of the afternoon, went to the park, got high on spray paint and swung on the swings. I do not advocate for any of these behaviors, but it was probably the most fun I have ever had. He and I talked for hours. We fell in love.
"A month later my boyfriend broke up with me and the summer was dedicated to me and him. We got high everyday, and went to Trade Street to give money to prostitutes, one of which we knew. Why I am telling you this story is because we were both junior junkies on a similar path but somewhere we diverged. One night we both tried heroin. I woke up with a needle in my arm and he asked someone where the best dealer was.
"That was the beginning of the end. For the next five years it was a back and forth of recovery and hitting rock bottom. Fortunately, I did not get addicted to any of the substances we used. There were times we talked, when he left rehab and was on the up and up, we didn't talk anymore when he became addicted again and I told him to never to speak to e again. He killed himself that night with a lethal dose of heroin and a noose.
"To this day I wonder what would have happened. If my friend instead of taking himself out of the equation, solved it. If he could have realized how much me and his sister loved him. How much he made me laugh with his silly poems, how we would play on the playground at three am wondering if the sun was ever going to rise. When I cried or had nothing else to do, I could always call him. My mom nearly died from a colon infection a few years ago and he was the only person other than my father and brother to visit her at the hospital.
"He loved deeply and fully and I want to tell you that when you leave here, you may hit rock bottom for the first time or again. Remember that there is someone like me, or his stepsister that will love you no matter what. That when we reject you that does not mean we no longer love you. I love him till this day even though when he was, he said things that made no sense and hated when he didn't really mean to. We reject you, because hopefully the person we fell in love with will come back.
"I will never get him back. His ashes on my bookshelf are a daily testament to his passing and struggle. He died when he was 23. I rejected him because I wanted him to live till 80, so when you think all is lost, there are places like (N/A), who will love you as unconditionally as me. Some of you may say I do not have as much to lose as the person next to me or vice versa. All of you have something to lose, so when you hit rock bottom the only way you can go is up because there will be someone there to help you.
"My name is Gillian and thank you for letting me come and tell my story."
Friday, July 15, 2011
End of childhood
First (semi) Nonfiction essay:
Yesterday was the midnight premiere of the last Harry Potter film as you all know. Practically everyone I am friends with went to the midnight premiere/already have tickets to the film. You all know my personal opinion on Harry Potter and how little I know of this phenomenon. What you guys really don't know is my probable reasoning for not getting into the Harry Potter culture. Here is my story of the avoidance of Harry Potter.
Around the time Harry Potter was first becoming popular I had a terrible learning disability, which I still struggle with, making it hard enough to get through my homework, my vacations in New York usually consisted of me and my cousin running around the city and window shopping, and my own experience with the ridiculousity of fan culture. Harry Potter was way at the back of my brain at that point until I got to college. Yes, my father being the nerd he is read all the books and watched the movies sometimes even dragging my brother to book releases. It was annoying and already had to suffer through Star Wars conventions as Princess Leia. In college I started meeting people who were avid readers and obsessed with Harry Potter. Their obsession left me feeling odd and sort of guilty.
People would literally berate me for not reading Harry Potter to a point that I cried once in front of Becca and had to admit my learning disability and home life. After that point I was so turned off to the franchise that I locked it out. One time I was having a conversation with some friends and they were going on and on about HP. They asked why I wasn't talking and I said "I've never read Harry Potter and I don't care to." So many people were so cruel about it that at that point I just stopped caring and went along with my own interests. The crushing 'guilt' of being left out of a cultural milestone now eludes me.
So what did I replace Harry Potter with? Cinema, comic books/graphic novels, cooking, writing, but really do I need a replacement for Harry Potter? Simply because it was not in my life do I really need to search out things to replace a gap that does not really exist? No I do not because I did not initially reject HP because of its pervasive fanaticism, but because I could not even read its text, because completing simple reading assignments would take me hours. Extra reading was hard, so I was put into classes with other people with learning disabilities. Many of the books you read when you were younger like The Secret Garden, Diary of a Lost Girl and others I have only just read in the past few years. That gap never existed in the first place because I had other things to worry about.
Since I did not have the heart full of HP, the end of the film series affects me in no way. I am not crying, loathing the end of some great entity in my life. I fell asleep at midnight and woke up this morning to go to work. My world fortunately enough did not end. Something I did notice was the amount of Facebook statuses declaring the end of their childhoods. I was confused, because isn't the traditional end of childhood like 16-18? This made me begin to wonder when did my childhood end?
I think the descent began when I figured out my dolls did not come to life after I closed the door. I did something my parents called the 'door game.' This is when I opened and closed the door for no apparent reason, but this is the only instant where I remember my intent in frequently opening and closing the door. I would slowly close the door, then peel it open hoping to catch them talking, or beginning a great adventure. Did I mention this was around the time of Toy Story? After a small amount of time I figured out that all the factorials were there: toys, magic existed, and the door was closing. Awhile later it became clear they weren't coming alive. My inanimate objects were never going to hug me closer when I held them at night, because they had no autonomy.
After I figured that out I donated many of my stuff animals to homeless shelters and goodwill in order for other kids to believe in their powers. Puberty, life experiences and college really added on the maturity which pushed what little childhood I had left away. At the end of Toy Story 3 there is this scene where Andy is showing a little girl his dolls. He gallops with Woody and Bullseye, tells her about Buzz Lightyear's space travels, he had the same believability I had when I believed my dolls were having the same adventures. My childhood did not end at that point. It probably ended so fast I didn't even notice. At that moment I realized that somewhere along the way I was no longer a child. Believing in the probability of inanimate objects being autonomous was my childhood. I wanted to have conversations with my bunnies and tell them about my day.
Maybe that's the reason why I write, because I want to capture the personal feelings I have that I used to tell my stuffed animals. I do like the ideas of great adventures and for the impossible to happen. Honestly I will probably never read a Harry Potter even though it looks interesting. Seems like most people captured it in their childhood and identify it with that. If I read it now what will it define? It will be forced and hate being forced to read because it always ruin the experience for me.
So, I will never read Harry Potter and I'm alright with that.
Yesterday was the midnight premiere of the last Harry Potter film as you all know. Practically everyone I am friends with went to the midnight premiere/already have tickets to the film. You all know my personal opinion on Harry Potter and how little I know of this phenomenon. What you guys really don't know is my probable reasoning for not getting into the Harry Potter culture. Here is my story of the avoidance of Harry Potter.
Around the time Harry Potter was first becoming popular I had a terrible learning disability, which I still struggle with, making it hard enough to get through my homework, my vacations in New York usually consisted of me and my cousin running around the city and window shopping, and my own experience with the ridiculousity of fan culture. Harry Potter was way at the back of my brain at that point until I got to college. Yes, my father being the nerd he is read all the books and watched the movies sometimes even dragging my brother to book releases. It was annoying and already had to suffer through Star Wars conventions as Princess Leia. In college I started meeting people who were avid readers and obsessed with Harry Potter. Their obsession left me feeling odd and sort of guilty.
People would literally berate me for not reading Harry Potter to a point that I cried once in front of Becca and had to admit my learning disability and home life. After that point I was so turned off to the franchise that I locked it out. One time I was having a conversation with some friends and they were going on and on about HP. They asked why I wasn't talking and I said "I've never read Harry Potter and I don't care to." So many people were so cruel about it that at that point I just stopped caring and went along with my own interests. The crushing 'guilt' of being left out of a cultural milestone now eludes me.
So what did I replace Harry Potter with? Cinema, comic books/graphic novels, cooking, writing, but really do I need a replacement for Harry Potter? Simply because it was not in my life do I really need to search out things to replace a gap that does not really exist? No I do not because I did not initially reject HP because of its pervasive fanaticism, but because I could not even read its text, because completing simple reading assignments would take me hours. Extra reading was hard, so I was put into classes with other people with learning disabilities. Many of the books you read when you were younger like The Secret Garden, Diary of a Lost Girl and others I have only just read in the past few years. That gap never existed in the first place because I had other things to worry about.
Since I did not have the heart full of HP, the end of the film series affects me in no way. I am not crying, loathing the end of some great entity in my life. I fell asleep at midnight and woke up this morning to go to work. My world fortunately enough did not end. Something I did notice was the amount of Facebook statuses declaring the end of their childhoods. I was confused, because isn't the traditional end of childhood like 16-18? This made me begin to wonder when did my childhood end?
I think the descent began when I figured out my dolls did not come to life after I closed the door. I did something my parents called the 'door game.' This is when I opened and closed the door for no apparent reason, but this is the only instant where I remember my intent in frequently opening and closing the door. I would slowly close the door, then peel it open hoping to catch them talking, or beginning a great adventure. Did I mention this was around the time of Toy Story? After a small amount of time I figured out that all the factorials were there: toys, magic existed, and the door was closing. Awhile later it became clear they weren't coming alive. My inanimate objects were never going to hug me closer when I held them at night, because they had no autonomy.
After I figured that out I donated many of my stuff animals to homeless shelters and goodwill in order for other kids to believe in their powers. Puberty, life experiences and college really added on the maturity which pushed what little childhood I had left away. At the end of Toy Story 3 there is this scene where Andy is showing a little girl his dolls. He gallops with Woody and Bullseye, tells her about Buzz Lightyear's space travels, he had the same believability I had when I believed my dolls were having the same adventures. My childhood did not end at that point. It probably ended so fast I didn't even notice. At that moment I realized that somewhere along the way I was no longer a child. Believing in the probability of inanimate objects being autonomous was my childhood. I wanted to have conversations with my bunnies and tell them about my day.
Maybe that's the reason why I write, because I want to capture the personal feelings I have that I used to tell my stuffed animals. I do like the ideas of great adventures and for the impossible to happen. Honestly I will probably never read a Harry Potter even though it looks interesting. Seems like most people captured it in their childhood and identify it with that. If I read it now what will it define? It will be forced and hate being forced to read because it always ruin the experience for me.
So, I will never read Harry Potter and I'm alright with that.
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