Beneath the surface-

Beneath the surface-

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Some scars are tapered to our skins as a reminder, of the battles we’ve conquered and a reminder of a future we do not want to recreate.

Some scars hide in the depth of our memories. Sitting, bidding their time and awaiting that one little thing called a trigger, which would birth them into existence again.

And then there are those scars, ambling between our frontal cortex and amygdala. Always there in our thoughts, present. Awakening a daily battle of conquest and defeat (of which victory is not a daily occurrence).

Some scars are revealed, many are hidden, but everyone inevitably houses one.

And if we look beneath the surface, we’ll find that most people are just as scarred as (if not more scarred than) we are….
—-Be Kind

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Writer’s Quote: waving goodbye

Writer’s Quote: waving goodbye

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Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday where I share some of my favourite quotes and poems. Today’s choice is a poem by Gerald Stern and I hope you like it.

Waving goodbye by Gerald Stern
I wanted to know what it was like before we
had voices and before we had bare fingers and before we
had minds to move us through our actions
and tears to help us over our feelings,
so I drove my daughter through the snow to meet her friend
and filled her car with suitcases and hugged her
as an animal would, pressing my forehead against her,
walking in circles, moaning, touching her cheek,
and turned my head after them as an animal would,
watching helplessly as they drove over the ruts,
her smiling face and her small hand just visible
over the giant pillows and coat hangers
as they made their turn into the empty highway.

Mental Health Friday #13

Mental Health Friday #13

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I just recently read an article on Jezebel titled “A Toast to All the Brave Kids Who Broke Up with Their Toxic Moms” which really hit home for me. I know this isn’t like my typical happy, upbeat posts; but it’s something I’ve dealt with since I can remember and I know I’m not alone.

I love my Mother to the end of this Earth, that will never change. But it’s hard to love someone who doesn’t love themselves. Growing up, my sisters and I have had to deal with what the article referred to as a “broken woman”. Many terrible things have happened to my Mother, which I won’t go into detail about. But the most impactful was the loss of my brother when he was 2 (in ’89). I hadn’t been born yet, in fact my mother hadn’t even met my Father yet (my two sisters and brother have a different Father). I’ve always wished I was alive to meet my brother, but at the same time I’m not sure how I would have handled his death. My Mom’s addiction developed shortly after.

In the late 90’s, she started attending a methadone clinic to attempt getting off the drugs she was abusing. If you’re not familiar with methadone, it’s a medication usually used to relieve severe pain. But it’s also used to prevent withdrawal symptoms in people who are addicted to opiates. Little did everyone know that this would be a new addiction in itself.

Obviously I was never told anything about this when I was younger, but I remember being able to notice some of the side effects of the methadone. The most noticeable being extreme drowsiness. I can remember around the ages of 7-10 I would go to her house every Friday to stay for the weekend. I’d be sitting with her at the kitchen table trying to tell her all the things I did in school that day and she’d be hunched over, passed out. I didn’t think too much of it as a child, I just thought “Oh, Mommy’s really tired”. However, I did think it was strange that she would start to fall asleep immediately after I would shake her and wake her up. It got progressively worse as I got older. When I was around 12, my grandfather passed away (my Mother’s Father). We all loved him very much, but my Mother especially. She fell into an even deeper depression after this and along with being extremely tired from the methadone, she never got out of bed, she was barely eating, and just didn’t take care of herself in general.

I have limited memories of actually doing things and spending quality time with her. Instead, I watched her wither away from being a beautiful, energetic woman to a lifeless shell of that woman. I was always so envious of other girls my age growing up who had good relationships with their Mothers. In my early teens, I sort of resented her for choosing a life of drugs over the possible relationships she could have had with her three girls. As an adult now, I just had to accept that she is so lost in her own depression and addiction, that she doesn’t even realize what she’s sacrificed. Those childhood years are something that we won’t get back, and neither will she. I don’t hate her, I don’t think I ever could. I’m just disappointed in a way.

Anyone who has a family member or friend who is an addict, I can relate. You want to help them so badly to create a better life for themselves. You want them to realize that drugs aren’t an acceptable coping mechanism for their problems, that there are other options. But like I said before, you can’t help someone that doesn’t want to be helped. They have to want it for themselves. You can’t sacrifice your own happiness and wear yourself down in hopes of “fixing” them. As painful as it is, you have to let it be if they are not willing to change. All you can do is create a better future for yourself. I know I have the power to be the Mother that mine wasn’t, for my own children in the future.

This week’s story was sent in by Amber who blogs at What Makes Me Amber.wordpress.com where she blogs about health, wellness, (yummy) recipes and Life in general.


If you’d love to contribute and share your story on Mental health Friday, I’ld love to have you. Let’s join hands to talk about Mental illness and blur out the stigma associated with it. You can contact me on My email address: mykahani@yahoo.com . For more information, visit this post.

IMAGE CREDIT: HealthyPlace.com.

Day 12: in memory of Him

Day 12: in memory of Him

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The last page is turned,
The book is closed,
The sun has sunk back;
And darkness envelopes.
The moon is on a leave,
The trees,
sing a mournful hymn:
Off tune,
Off beat,
Like the world within your head.

His footprints has vanished,
With the melting of snow;
His scent still lingers,
In every corner,
Of your home.
His laughter,
His baby laughter,
And his cries mingle as one:
The sound of an angel,
Resting in a peaceful abode.

The last page is turned,
The book has closed,
Leaving behind lessons,
Memories and hurt.
His departure,
Signals an ending;
But oh the gems
He imparted-
What it feels,
To love and be loved
In return.

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I really enjoyed doing the december poetry challenge last year. Plus, I found this really inspiring prompt called “30 layers, 30 days” which many bloggers have completed now. So, I decided to use the prompts for December.
prompt: ending with a beginning

 

Writer’s Quote: The Beauty Within

Writer’s Quote: The Beauty Within

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We moved into my parent’s new home when I was 12 years old. There was this neighbour who lived in the house adjoining ours. Word in the neighbourhood was- he was an old man who lived alone and wasn’t very nice. The neighbours avoided him and the children were terrified of him. It didn’t make matters any easier, the fact that he was the only resident of a 6 roomed duplex, surrounded by overgrown trees and bushes and lots of cats too.

But, yes, there is a point to this story. I don’t know what happened before we arrived but my interaction with him was nothing but nice. He turned out to be a very nice man. Plus, he had all kinds of fruits growing: coconuts, oranges, limes, bananas, which sometimes fell across the fence into our house, and became finders keepers. He passed away about 2-3 years ago.

The reason I am sharing this story is because, my poem for today’s writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, reminded me of it. It reminded me that some people are actually really nice once you get to know them. And neighbourhood’s unanimous declaration is not always the truth. The Poem is titled Mrs Caldera’s House of things, and I hope you have a blast in Mrs Calderas kitchen.

Mrs. Caldera’s House of Things BY GREGORY DJANIKIAN
You are sitting in Mrs. Caldera’s kitchen,
you are sipping a glass of lemonade
and trying not to be too curious about
the box of plastic hummingbirds behind you,
the tray of tineless forks at your elbow.

You have heard about the backroom
where no one else has ever gone
and whatever enters, remains,
refrigerator doors, fused coils,
mower blades, milk bottles, pistons, gears.

“You never know,” she says, rummaging
through a cedar chest of recipes,
“when something will come of use.”

There is a vase of pencil tips on the table,
a bowl full of miniature wheels and axles.

Upstairs, where her children slept,
the doors will not close,
the stacks of magazines are burgeoning,
there are snow shoes and lampshades,
bedsprings and picture tubes,
and boxes and boxes of irreducibles!

You imagine the headline in the Literalist Express:
House Founders Under Weight Of Past.

But Mrs Caldera is baking cookies,
she is humming a song from childhood,
her arms are heavy and strong,
they have held babies, a husband,
tractor parts and gas tanks,
what have they not found a place for?

It is getting dark, you have sat for a long time.
If you move, you feel something will be disturbed,
there is room enough only for your body.
“Stay awhile,” Mrs. Caldera says,
and never have you felt so valuable.

I just have to add this. Ever since I read the poem, that last five lines have stayed with me. So, was there anyone in your neighbourhood who had a mystery surrounding them?

Day 5: Over Too Soon

Day 5: Over Too Soon

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You watched me grow from a 21 year old kid to a twenty six year old adult. Held my hand, stood beside, while I crashed and rose and crashed some more because, I never learnt the first time.

You braved it out despite knowing, you were not my choice. You were solely the outcome of a daughter abiding to a mother’s choice.

You stood beside me when the people I thought were my world looked at me, solely as a label. Your caramel eyes peering into mine as you declare, “You are perfect”. A mantra you’d whisper, no matter how often I needed to hear it.

You’d tell me up when I needed it most. And it hurt, and I sulked, but each time I’d secretly acknowledge you were right… secretly.

I didn’t tell you. I could but I didn’t. You didn’t get to hear me say “you were right”. You didn’t get to hear me say- I love you.
And just as we were, we are no more. It’s just me- my sorrow, my burden, my grief, my guilt and my words which I whisper to the winds hoping the carry them to the ground you lay.
I love you…. I’m sorry.


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I really enjoyed doing the december poetry challenge last year. Plus, I found this really inspiring prompt called “30 layers, 30 days” which many bloggers have completed now. So, I decided to use the prompts for December.

Prompts: Day 4 (The right person), Day 5 (Over too soon).

Day 2: Idea of You

Day 2: Idea of You

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The girl who spilled juice on
A mother’s newly moped floor is
In You.

The girl who sneaked dolls to
Classes because school needs
more fun is
In You.

The girl who faked stomach cramps
Joint pain, hospital visits to escape
Detention is
In You.

The girl who’s anger was at the
Tip of a button is
In You.

The girl who soaked her sheets
With emotions streaming across
Her face is
In You.

The girl who lived and loved and
Joked and took each day Without
A care is
In you.

The clumsy is in you,
The angry is in you,
The happy is in you,
The sad is in you,
-a part of you, not the
Whole picture.

You are who you know yourself
To be.
Not the idea thrown across
By anyone,
By everyone.


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I really enjoyed doing the december poetry challenge last year. Plus, I found this really inspiring prompt called “30 layers, 30 days” which many bloggers have completed now. So, I decided to use the prompts for December.

Today’s Prompt: An idea of you

When Life Happens…

When Life Happens…

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There are some people in this world, who have learnt the art of living and loving the life they’ve been granted. They are masters in leaving yesterday in the sea of the past and welcoming each dawn with a brand new slate.
They have learnt that this world would break us if we let it, and they know how to traverse it with cracks. They know that love put into the world is never a loss.

Those are the people you meet at a bus station, in a plane; strangers meeting solely by fate. And when you come across one, you will know because they have mastered the art of spreading rainbows no matter the weather; and the sun rays they bring with their presence, last with you long after they are gone.
These people are the gems of the world.

 

Stuck-

Stuck-

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The world has moved on,
But not me.
I still have the same dreams
I had as a teen,
The same visual,
Same people,
Same tears,
same anger.
The world has moved on,
Leaving behind- me.

It rained in April,
Now the weather is a haze;
The trees bloomed an olive green,
It’s November and they are bare.
The lonelies have found friends
The singles have found love,
The jobless are employed,
Leaving behind- me.

The world has moved on,
I am stuck in a scene,
I take two steps forward,
Then one step back in.

facebook: Words of a random

Sigh-

Sigh-

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Every sigh,
Escaping
From the lids of our lips;
Bear a story,
A memory,
we deny the opportunity,
Of the permanence
Of words.

It floats,
Into the universe,
Uniting with its brothers-
Other sighs,
Other memories,
Escaping from other’s prisons.

Do you feel it,
When the wind brushes,
Across your face,
On a summer day;
Do you hear its whispers
At nighttime?
A message,
A reminder.

Every sigh-
Escaping,
holds within itself,
A story untold.

The above image is courtesy of Pinterest.com