Closure-

Closure-

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One word… seven letters.
I always had this idea that to move on, to let go of the past, to put one foot in front of the other through the door called future, I had to have it- closure.

And I sought it, I chased it, I pled for it.  Each time I thought I was close to it, closure merely opened a can-worm of emotions I had no idea still existed within me, no idea how to handle them.

The search for closure led me down a path I should never have tread, a path of hurt of pain of emotions I should never have felt again. And every single time, I still kept going back, for that closure. The person In me, never learnt.

I’m only now understanding, coming to the conclusion- closure isn’t a conversation that needs to be had, it’s not a word that needs to said or unsaid, it’s not a meeting which needs to take place, one last time.

Closure, simply is putting my big girl pants on, taking that big leap of faith through the door into the future with the ideology- Life starts now. And it doesn’t matter, whatever words lie behind the door which were never said, whatever final meeting which never happened, closure doesn’t have to come from an outside source.

The only closure I need, is the closure from within myself, to be able to say done and dusted, and mean it… closure comes from me.

Facebook page: words of a random. let’s connect!

 

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U- Understand (to the one who walked out)

U- Understand (to the one who walked out)

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Understand,
When you decided,
We wasn’t worth the war,
My nights turned colder,
Than the December weather,
Soaked sheets became my partner
And gloom my constant shadow.
I was broken
And I showed it.

But understand,
A man walked out before you,
I was six and I remember,
Gazing through
Night constellations,
Wondering when,
He’ll make an appearance.
I was six,
I learnt to mend me.

Understand,
My atoms are made of
Brokenness and resilience,
And the stars at night I gaze at,
Remind me, of the light in darkness;
And my Lord,
Who saved me at six,
Wouldn’t leave me broken at thirty.
Understand- today I am grieving,
Tomorrow, will dawn a new scene.
Time for wallowing,
Time for fixing.

Flash Fiction: Dodged a bullet

Flash Fiction: Dodged a bullet

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She sat at the edge of the cliff with her legs, dangling 650 ft above ground. The scorching sun, masking the fact that Autumn was here, at least it should have been; just like many aspects of her life.

Jamila had the greatest shock when she found out, the man she was getting married to, someone she trusted with her loved ones, her son, was in fact a con, arriving Algeria only because of its no extradition law.

She took a deep breath in an effort to absorb the nature around her, anything to distract her mind. Droplets of water settled on her forehead and she gazed towards the sky.
But it’s supposed to be Autumn, she sighed.

The showers turned into a lot more and within a few minutes, Jamila couldn’t distinguish between the water from the sky and those from her eyes.
I needed that, she smiled, soaking in the rain and for the first time since the incident, grateful to God for having dodged a bullet.


word count: 168. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge. Each week, we are provided a picture to write a 75-175 word story. Thank you Grant-Sud for providing us with this week’s photo. 

Day 11: I know what you did

Day 11: I know what you did

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I know what you did last night,
And the night before,
And all those other times,
when you said you were at work;
I know what you did,
But I am bidding my time,
Getting my coins,
So I can- Pack my bag.

I know what you did,
though we’ve got two kids,
And another on the way,
Who would have
Looked up to you;
And Lord knows I tried,
To see if you’ll change your ways,
But there is nothing remorseful,
In what you do, or say.

I know what you did,
And now that she’s arrived-
My little bundle of joy,
My bags are out of the house.
And maybe you’ll see the light,
And someday change your ways,
But that’s a trouble for another woman,
‘Cause I am done with your page.


Prompt: Day 11 (Night), day 12 (change). This poem is in response to December Poetry Challenge, 31 poems in 31 days. 

On Grief-

On Grief-

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I would tell you loss gets easy,
But I’m sure you’ve felt that pain,
An aching dull sensation,
In the middle of your chest;
Hands tremble uncontrollably,
With the phone gripped to your ear;
Sorry we couldn’t save her,
Is the last statement you hear.

The world spins all around you,
But the truth stares in your face;
A soul you loved, a part of you,
Gone from this universe;
To tell you loss gets easy then,
Wouldn’t take away your pain;
So weep my love- unburden
Grieve if it keeps you sane.

The above Image is courtesy of Brokengypsy.tumblr.com

Sorry’s not Enough-

Sorry’s not Enough-

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I used to think all one had to say was “sorry” when I was wronged.
Sorry, I broke your toy.
Sorry, I stole your note.
Sorry, I yelled at you
Sorry, I grabbed you grimly
Sorry, sorry, sorry… And all would be well in the world.

I didn’t realize, “Sorry” was not a broken record to replayed over and over. It was a testament, a promise saying, “I feel awful for doing that to you and even though I can’t promise I won’t do it again, I vow to do everything within my power to avoid doing it”.
“Sorry”, wasn’t simply accepting you did wrong, it was supposed to mean you were willing to change as well.

It took you saying-
Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you” over and over like a broken record for the reality of it to click on me. You weren’t sorry. You never were. For you, “Sorry” was nothing more than a five letter word to be stringed at the end of every sentence.

I am Sorry, it took so long for me to realize this.
                           -Sincerely, someone who values the meaning of the word.

3 years-

3 years-

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The fault was never yours in the first place. You never asked me to fall, yet I did. You never promised me a large floating bouncing ball which would break my fall, I just always hoped your love would. I was wrong. But don’t worry, it’s not your fault. Maybe, I miscalculated, misinterpreted.

I never knew how strong I was till it was time to set the clock of our love, my love, to a stop. I thought my world would come crashing when I saw the word “baby”, referring to someone who isnt… Me. Well, my world spiraled a bit but it’s still as strong as ever. I spent 3 years on you, not any more. I spent 3 years on the fictional world I created of us, don’t ask if I regret It.

No, I’m not broken, Just a bit down at the moment. I know I deserve better and we were never right from the start. But I thought, it wouldn’t matter…
Anyway, it’s time… it’s time to put three years worth of practice, to show that love to the one who deserves it first of all- the face I see staring back from the mirror.
    

Mental Health Friday #18

Mental Health Friday #18

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“I felt as though I were standing in a box and the box kept getting smaller. Every time I felt ok, something happened that would knock me around again.”

The above is an excerpt from my last post. During this time, my emotional reaction was intense. The people in my life that I had always been there for, left me feeling completely worthless to everyone. Being badgered about my medications made me feel as though it didn’t matter what I did or said, and it didn’t. I was intensely hurt, and intensely angry. I can’t say how horrible those couple of years were, but I can say it was never as bad as being with my ex-husband.

When I first left, my physical state was one where I could not safely walk an eighth of a mile by myself for worry that my legs would give out on me. I had trouble with depth perception, balance and coordination. From the start, every time I was with John and I was in pain, he would ask me to go for a walk. I found that walking made the pain better and I began to walk everyday. At this point I was medication free.

That winter, I went back to my doctor once my insurance was all set and I got back on the medication. This only lasted a couple of days before I was unable to stand up. I was extremely dehydrated and my body was not breaking down the medications. I knew it was my liver. I went to the doctor’s three times over the next year and every time I was seen by a nurse. It took until July of 2015 to get an appointment with my doctor. Then they cancelled the appointment because the doctor had to take a month off. At that point, I made the decision to find a new doctor. Over the past few months, there have been a lot of doctor’s appointments and I have been in treatment for Hepatitis C for four weeks now.

In the spring of 2014, less than a year after I left my ex-husband, I got a phone call from a friend. I had known this woman for 18 years, although I had not seen her or talked to her since before the previous Christmas. When I answered the phone she asked me why I didn’t have a truck yet and I said I didn’t have the money. She said I should have had a job by then, that it had been over a year, (it hadn’t) I told her I was disabled and she told me that she sees people in wheel chairs bagging groceries. She said I was looking to blame someone for my life and when I asked why she was saying these things to me, she said because of the conversations she had had with me over the winter. I replied to that saying, “But I did not have a phone over the winter.” She insisted I talked to her on John’s phone, but that was never true. She had obviously spoken to someone else and was yelling at me for it. I tried to talk to her about this later on three different occasions, only to be told that she didn’t have time for it. I could not continue a friendship with this woman and it broke my heart. I did not, nor do I understand why she called me to say those things. Sometimes it is the not knowing that makes it the worst. Read more

I’m Done-

I’m Done-

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I’m done. How many times I’ve said that word and betrayed the very essence of it. But there’s only so long I can hold on to our broken pieces before the shards imprint a permanent infirmity. No, I am not done. I will be, but i’m not. I’m just getting started. I might leave for a day and slip back for an hour; leave for two days and slip for some minutes; leave for a week and slip back for a few seconds. I’d keep leaving and slipping untill there is nothing left to slip back to- I have arrived at my destination and I am done, done with you.
But until then, I am just getting started…

image credit: waterdropsonmywindow.wordpress

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. Twitter: @wordsofarandom