To You

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I am on this journey alone, i know.
The road is long and cold.
But you said I would have a hand to hold.
2/2015

May a draw your attention to the golden shrine to your favorite.  And remind you of all the times you’ve reminded me, the lesser, that I am not. That I am less. May I guide your memory to all the times that with words well chosen, in tones well practiced, without saying the actual words, reminded me that I am less. My ideas are not to be considered, not even mulled over. That my words need not be heard, lest to dissected and criticized. I am to be humored, put up with. And unless it be to your benefit, to improve your status, to make your point, me and my accomplishments are less. I am no longer the child begging your forgiveness with a golden trinket.

I too have frameable paper that could collect dust on the wall. Have you forgotten that I too have alphabet after my name?  I too have been many places in my life and seen and accomplished many things. I too have provided you with grandchildren. And to my merit, I have done it while battling mental illness.

I am not perfect. I am the first one to tell people that I am impossible, difficult, stubborn. But at least I listen. I listen to what is said, without interruption. I consider what is said and look for merit. I do not jump to conclusions or pass judgement, unless I come from a place of knowledge and/or experience. I try to be positive. I try to be compassionate. I try to contain my selfishness. I try to improve myself and be a better human being. And I put plans into motion to help me be successful in my attempts. I have studied. I have lived. I understand the process.

I would love to be able to sit back and use the excuse, I’m old. I’m set in my ways. I can not change. But I know that is incorrect. I’ve studied the human condition. Everyone is capable of change, if they want it, if they truly want it.

So that leads me to believe that you do not want to change, to grow, to improve yourself. You want nothing around you to change. Like one of the many “things” you’ve collected, you’ve now added me to your collection. Something to add depth to your stories.  Something for you to talk about. And I believe under false promises. You told me you know it was going to be hard, that there would need to be some changes, that we could be equals. We could be two dear friends, sharing a home.  Looking to each other for help, companionship, strength.

So now the voices in my head are screaming. Unresolved issues attack me at every turn. Simple tasks are chores.  Words cut me till I bleed and yet the silence is deafening. I am not happy. I do not feel safe. I am not at home. Sharp words escape my lips, aimed to cause awareness, realization, understanding. I am finding it impossible to remain neutral, understanding, patient. This arrangement, to my understanding, was supposed to be a two way street.  Most of the time, I feel like I’m in it alone.

If it is my fate to be alone, so be it. I will move on. Just please be honest with me, with yourself. If this is to work, we both have to work at it. And if there is no energy, no desire to work at it, then changes need to be made.

I Don’t Exist

I talk and you do not listen.
I cry and you do not hear.
I ask and you do not respond.
I breath and you take my air.
I live and you do not acknowledge me.
I should not be here. I do not exist.

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