Watercolor Endeavors

Recently, I've been spending entire days working on art projects. Something I haven't been able to do (see : allow myself, see : depression sucks) for over 10 years.
I'm proud of both these pieces and how the vary emotionally for me.

Aspire

I wanted to be her.
With paintings and sculpture lining the walls,
books bursting from each nook and cranny.
I stared in awe, my heart fluttering.
The knowledge wept from her,
a sinuous circuit connected by her poise
and the room.

Coffee

In honor of National Coffee Day ... a poem I wrote a while back in honor of my mother. Who always honored coffee.

Mornings

Coffee held her
its grip a richness
black liquid gold
she could not live without

She smelled of freshly brewed beans
her arms tight
breathing her in
Coffee is home

-September 30th 2013

Dream Anxieties

     I know that my recent issues with nightmares have something to do with the medication I am taking for my depression. This worries me and also strangely is thrilling, to know that I can have such vivid dreams again after years of seemingly being disconnected from that part of myself. A bit of background; I am on 40mg of Viibryd, a newer anti-depressant. I have been taking it for nearly five months. It has done wonders for my level of concentration and my anxieties. But for the last two months I have been randomly having what I first described as 'night terrors'.
    I'm falling asleep and my thoughts seem to turn dark. I have no control over the pacing or intensity of what I see, what I begin to hear and feel. The sheer vividness of everything is frightening, the realism is terrifying. There is no understanding that I am indeed dreaming, only a sensation of being trapped, a fight or flight response that is overwhelming. The theme of the dream shifts constantly, faces and scenes roaring into life. In both reality and dream my heart is beating wildly, my breath is quick and shallow. I begin struggling to get away, to change what is happening, to save myself- and within an instant I realize that I am indeed asleep and the terror becomes all encompassing. As if I will never wake up again.
    Sometimes it feels instantaneous, the realization and then waking; more often than not however, time crawls- seemingly stops, and I cannot wake up. I begin to struggle, knowing that if I move, I will break the cycle of intensity and be able to find peace. I start to cry out, to call for help, yelling- screaming for someone, anyone to please wake me. But my body does not move, my lips are still, and the only sound I seem to make is a low mewling in my throat.
    I keep fighting, struggling to kick or thrash my head from side to side- anything to break the spell of the nightmare. I hitch in imaginary breaths, forcing my lungs to burn from the force of my screams. I cry in fear and frustration, begging in repetition- "Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" And somehow, each time, the nightmare comes to an abrupt halt, hurtling me into reality.
    My eyes focus quickly on the spinning fan blades above my bed, a stabilizing vision as my heart pounds against the inside of my chest, my breath erratic, my fingers clawing at whatever they can. If I am lucky I will be able to stay awake for a few minutes, a moment of peace. But no matter how long I get, the nightmare returns, something different- but just as all encompassing and petrifying.
    My husband will hold me, take my hand, offer me reassuring words- but the nightmares return. I cycle through them in quick succession for two to four hours, without fail. I imagine that it is mental exhaustion that finally allows me to sleep in peace at the end, in the near dawn hours. But when I wake it is always the same bleary eyed remembrance of last night's terror and a sensation of not having slept at all.


    I am trying to make sense of why this happens on some nights and not all. Thus far I've noticed that it is when I take my medication right before bed. Also, late night meals or snacks, within an hour of sleep- seem to be of some significance. It is important to me to document this. As of now, this is a side effect of the medication that I am willing to deal with. For many others, the nightmares may be too much, and if anyone has ever found this to be true, please be sure to speak with a doctor. With many medications one has to way the negatives and the positives of the effects, in my case, the positives outweigh the negatives. But let me be clear, I have taken many medications where the opposite is true and I immediately consulted a physician on my reactions so that the medication could be changed or removed from my life. I would never suggest that someone take a medication simply because they are told to do so. Always remember, the only person you can control is yourself.

Prose 8/17

My heart was guilty. By way of association to my mind.
You told me I was cold, unfeeling.
I told you that I knew the truth.
And that despite your treachery I loved you still but I could never be with you again.
You called me cruel as you packed your things.
I watched you leave, my mind satisfied.
But know that as I go to sleep, it was my heart that pulled the trigger.

Carrion

They were pecking
and picking
apart all my pieces
Staring in wonder
as I shrilly
screamed

Future

I'm creating a poetry book with beautiful imagery to accompany the words.
I plan on using some of the prose and poetry I've posted here on the blog, and a great deal more I've got stowed away. The hope is that I can sell physical copies of the book at conventions as I sit next to my husband and with a confident grin stating that yes, I am indeed a writer.

As I get further along, I promise updates. I should be more than able to produce this book without help- but should I be horribly wrong ... I'll make sure to let you all know.

Conventions and Inspiration

Sketches from Heroes Con -

Sketches since I've been home-

Some are better than others, but the fact is that it all makes me smile. It feels good to create. To sketch, to write- whatever it may be. It all feels good.

Yesterday and Today

Hollow
You are what I say you are
you cannot control me
If you are a typewriter
so be it
if you are a messenger
so be it
but I am the one in command
You do not push or pull me
Only I am the master of my fate

There is no magic,
no formulaic answer for when the writing comes.
Either you sit down to write or you convince yourself that the writing will not come because you are no genius.
No
you are no genius.
But the writing will come.
You simply let your fingers move and whatever thoughts you are having-
let them be free
each syllabic movement a flutter of wings
an inch closer to the sun bright skies
and unburdened gliding.
Make no mistake,
the ability is within
but it has no control-
you must bring it to manifestation.
Guide your ship into harbor O' Captain,
you must use your hands to steer
merely thinking of survival does not do the job,
actions are the savior.
Action

Exhausted
victims in a world where everyone is pitiable
breathing is laborious
asleep or awake

out of time

Black Hole

Depression is a black hole
A vortex that sucks energy and light into its depths,
never changing,
never brightening,
only consuming.
Nothing escapes the dark,
nothing penetrates the vastness.
Beams of joy may be thrown into the pit
but nothing destroys the shadows.
Chase the darkness into crevasse and crack-
when the light begins to fade,
it will emerge anew.
Nothing stops the emptiness
or fills the hollow void.
Happiness fades,
pain scars.

Worse

Some mornings you wake up and in the back of your mind, something just isn't right.
Everything feels slightly off.
You try to focus on the happy thoughts but you're a clumsy fool and can't seem to catch any of them.
Even if you could ... it seems your happy net is mostly holes anyway.
It is always a bad sign when you wake up grinding your teeth. Irritated even before your eyes adjust to the darkness. 

What is it that creates this sense of foreboding, this empty, hollow, angry feeling?
The sun isn't warm when it touches your skin and the sound of wind chimes is more like scraping pieces of steel.
Menial tasks are monumental disasters and before you can even consider lunch, you've chewed a small hole in your bottom lip.

Some days are just worse than others.

Writing Exercise : Describing _______ Ten Ways

For Chuck Wendig's blog this Friday. Take one thing and describe it in ten ways. Any one thing ... so here goes. To any that may find offense in my foul language, please be reminded that you do not have to read my blog. Enjoy. 


Stuffy nose/Sinus congestion

1. I try to inhale through my nose but I can't.
2. Thick hardened snot has blocked the way of my air passage.
3. I am a mouth breather, cursed by the sickness within.
4. Red, raw, irritated and still fucking dripping- this bitch won't stop!
5. I gasp for air through my gaping maw, struggling to find life and peace.
6. Unseen fingers grasp my nose, closing it fast, leaving me breathless- in pain.
7. There is a pulse just below my eye, rapid and frantic, something trapped inside my head.
8. Once, when I was seven, I nearly drowned in the deep end of my grandmother's pool. This? It's like that.
9. The pillow presses harder against my face, my arms flailing wildly, struggling and fighting like a wounded animal against restraints.
10. My face is like a crusted over garden bed long due for aeration.

What am I thinking!?

10 days isn't very long. I think I can manage this for 10 days.
Halfway through day one has me craving bread, sugar, meat ...
Anything crunchy or savory or sweet sounds amazing right now.

I know it takes time for a body to detox.
I know that for the first three days I will want nothing more than all the food that makes me so miserable.
So I will grimace as I swallow down my vegetable smoothie, and know that in 10 days-
I will be a healthier human overall.


If I don't off myself first. 

Core Truth

Wrote this in response to a friend today ... her encouragement urged me to post it here.

"I've never been a very materialistic person in general. 
All I ever wanted was books. 
But to be honest, 
I think working through my Mother's death was what taught me that things are just things, 
it is our relationships that are our foundation. 
And then I re-learned the lesson in a different fashion through my marriage. 
And with my children ... 
I found that life, for me, is about relationships. 
I do what I need, make what I must, 
give what I can and take when it is needed, all in the hope to keep my relationships healthy. 
I use them as my core."

This moment served a greater purpose. I understand something vital now about personal truths. 
They are best spoken when you haven't even realized you mentioned them at all.  

"Missing"

Flash fiction challenge from Terribleminds.com and writer Chuck Wendig. He offers up a flash fiction challenge every Friday or so and I was happy to jump on board this week. This weeks challenge was to take a random song from your iPod/Pandora/Spotify etc. and use the title as inspiration for a story. I got 'Missing' by Evanescence. I hope you enjoy the result. 

Missing

It wasn’t long ago, when I held her and whispered gentle prayers into her waiting ear. I stroked her beautiful chestnut hair and trailed modest kisses over her brow. She smiled, she laughed as I wooed her, she wanted me near. We stayed together in the darkness, fingers intertwined, breathing soft and slow. She was the sunshine on my restless soul. Now, I fear to admit, something has changed.
    Eyes filled with wonder, she would giggle in delight at each intoxicating moment of our love. Lips pressed against my neck she would murmur sweet promises of our future. I would dip her as we danced beneath the stars and without fail- she would swoon. Yet now, nothing is quite right.
    Where sensuous warmth once blossomed, there is now a cool distance. When I sing to her, she dares not even bat a lash. Shadows have crept from the dusty corners of my heart, encapsulating the rays of her love. And there is no more to be had from her, she has shut away her affections, leaving me abashed and confused.
    I have cried to her, begged upon my knees for her forgiveness. I have professed my undying adoration, showered her with gifts ... but nothing stirs her love for me. She has spurned me, turning an icy shoulder to our once fiery passion. I despair! But Lord, I shall never give up on her.
    So still she sits, so quiet and unwavering, a statue of disdain as I cry at her side. No touch impels her body. No words rouse her heart. So I choose to be still and silent with her. I will do whatever it takes to keep her, whatever she needs.
    There is a vacancy in her eyes. Staring, staring, and staring. She no longer pushes me away when I close them, but they never stay closed. Behind her veil she is always watching. And like a rose trimmed from its bush, I treat her gently, because she can no longer care for herself.
    Though her hands are cold and dry, I hold them tightly. Though the skin of her lips has begun to crack and peel, I kiss her. I shall not desert her when she is so vulnerable. I will not walk away. Burned up from the inside, I will not say goodbye. Nothing will make me leave her. Even death cannot stop my love.

Being Creative

Being creative has always been important to me. In friends, in a mate- in myself.
In recent years, finding creativity within myself has been a challenge. I let my insecurities and pain get in the way of the only outlets I had ever embraced.
Through this blog, I've been able to find a modicum of release. I do my best to write as often as I can and hope that the future holds less fear to express myself in that avenue.
Perhaps it is because I spent my whole life with the idea that I cannot draw, that I am so free with the idea of sharing my illustrations.
When you have no set standards to live up to, who cares?

I created this for my husband, who has often told me that he enjoys my colored pencil work.
Coming from him, that is a high compliment. 

Having been reminded over and over that if I want to see something on paper, I may as well start trying to put it down, because the only way I will never see it- is if I never do it ... I did a charcoal and colored pencil piece of this young woman with no eyes. She was in my head- now she is on the paper.

Here's to hoping for more creative flow in all of our lives.

-Lisa

Strangeness

It is strange
how a single moment
can ravage a lifetime
a whisper
leaves you screaming
feather touches
scar forever
It is strange

Story Excerpts

Bits and pieces of stories brewing. A scent of cardamom and cinnamon to set the mind on the chase. 


ITD

     “They can see you in the dark.” She whispered to me through cupped hands as I tucked her into bed.
    “Who can?” I swept long tendrils of black hair from her soft cheek. “Some animals can.” I offered in a gentle hush.
    “They’re not really animals Auntie. They try to be- but can’t fool me.” Mallia snatched the covers, pulling them up to her nose.
    I pulled her close then, breathing reassuring words into her waiting ear. I cooed away her shadow monsters and nuzzled the nightmares into the their cages. And only when her eyelids began to flutter and a lazy smile graced her lips, did I dare to let her go.
 



MB

     As the flesh burned from her, she felt no pain. For it was within the flame that she could become whole. The waxy skin melting away to reveal the fruit of God’s true labor. Marianna had made peace with her sins long ago, and though he had snared her through temptation, the Devil could never truly have her soul.





  

Apart

The problem isn't being alone- or apart.
It is when you find yourself with others, but it doesn't get better.
Oftentimes, it gets worse.

Surrounded by their natural camaraderie, you withdraw.
They unknowingly shut you out-
because you cannot figure how to enter in the first place.

In fading light you watch them.
Mouth dry, throat sticking-
and you know you must recede.

Silent emptiness is cold comfort.
Less exhausting than the din,
still as Death's kiss.

Twitch

How are you who you are and what do you do now that you are?

I gesticulate wildly for real emphasis in my life.
Because only I can hear the screaming in my head.
The words that I produce are frail in comparison-
but they are all that I have-
so they will do.
With flailing I can elucidate the rest of the truth.

Bitter

Asprin on the tongue,
callous against the skin,
hostile and threatening-
screaming it comes.

Suspension of the blood,
combustion within the chest,
clawing and cruel-
biting winter wind.