Monthly Archive for July, 2006Page 2 of 5

Therapy Tomorrow - Control Quiz

Published
by
Austin
on July 27, 2006
in General Chatter, Mental Health and Therapy
. 2 Comments

I’m anxious about my therapy appointment. I have a 9am with Dr.B tomorrow morning..or should I say this morning in a few hours…. It’s 4:16am right now and I’ve got to be up and out of here no later than 8:15am to avoid rush hour traffic. Blossom is asleep and I’m up. I have no idea why I have a splitting head ache but I do….right behind my right eye. I read that its a type of migrane. It’s eased up a bit so I can’t complane about that. It’s gotten a heck of a lot better.

I keep wondering where I’ve been but I think I’ve just been asleep. For the last few days I seem to just sleep and sleep and sleep. I was happy to have that ballet in the sky dream and the orchestra. that was pretty cool.

we had phili steak tonight for dinner. it was on sale at the store so i went ahead and got some a bit ago. they were better than i remembered them being. i’ll have to watch for sales on that stuff.

I’ve got to at least try and rest. i dont want to walk in there all jacked up. he’s going to want to know why I wasn’t there last week and why i canceled about 2 hours before the appointment. that was the day my body hurt so badly i could hardly walk. It was a Lupus&Fybro day…. oh boy! Double time pain so I just kind of slept and then Blossom came over and stayed for I dont know how many days. Her being here so long has reminded me of what marriage was like. … damn, the same face every single day, day in and day out… listening to them blab on and on about God only knows what…no, i’m kidding…she isnt that bad. I like it when she’s here I just thought I’d take a shot at marriage cause I dont think i’ve shot it down in awhile.

MeMe’s daughter had her baby. He’s a screaming 6 pounder …. healthy and happy. So she’ll be there for 3 weeks with her daughter showing her how to do the nursing thing and other motherly things. I tell you, this woman has such a strong love for her children. The way she talks about them and the tone in her voice, the things she says just blow me away. Her dedication is unmatched to anything I’ve seen. She had DID also and that makes it double hard to raise kids. She seems to have done a good job though. I’m proud of her. She doesn’t quite realize how good of a job she’s done but she really has done a great job.

Okay, gotta try and rest  before the sun comes up.

Austin

 

I’m a bit more controlling than it gives me credit for.

 

You Are 32% Control Freak
You have achieved the perfect balance of control and letting go.
You tend to roll with whatever life brings, but you never get complacent.

Are You A Control Freak?

Check all that apply to you or that you agree with.- These were my answers
* It’s difficult for you to trust people.

* You make lists for everything in your life.

* As much as possible, you need to do everything yourself.

* You tend to think that you know what’s best for other people.

* You don’t like people touching your stuff.

* It’s hard for you to get used to a new hair style or new pair of jeans.

* You would not really enjoy a surprise party thrown for you.

* You generally don’t trust people.

Austin

Medication Woes

Published
by
Austin
on July 26, 2006
in General Chatter and Mental Health
. 4 Comments

Why, why, why? I say again, why???

Blossom and I looked up side effects of Wellbutrin and Zoloft. While we didnt find the side effect we were looking for we did stumble upon something that explained a lot.  Wellbutrin at higher levels is known to increase “drive”. Great!!! They increase but they dont supply any kind of …relief.. in the form of say a super model or some other sort of beautiful outlet. Hey, we’ll just increase the drive and leave her hangin’. It’s not our fault she can’t get a date.

At first the medication took all of my “drive” away….like 100%. Then I had drive but I couldnt “finish”….okay,….now that I’ve had this double amount I’m …. “hot”… all the damn time. My goodness. I thought this med was supposed to be helping me not putting me through heat cycles like some damn dog. Should I be salivating at every half way decent person that walks by? Is Candalisa Rice considered half way decent? Somebody tell me why the side effect had me goin’…hmm, rice..rice .baby…No, it’s not that bad but my goodness. This isnt’ right. If this is somebody’s idea of a joke then, okay, you’ve had your laugh…jokes over…..I bet there is some med executive sitting at his desk saying, well, if we add this compound then we can take away the depression but we’ll also take away the “drive.” (wicked laugh). Or, if we add this and take away this we’ll make her want it but not be able to really “get ‘er done.” (falls out of his chair laughing)…. Oh, oh, lets try this mixture and we’ll make her start some high risk behaviors. She wont be depressed but she’ll be a regular at the free clinic.

What is up with these side effects? I dont get it. Why can’t I just not be depressed and be balanced in the…the other area. Noooooo, they gotta either take away, fall short or supply in abundance. This is crazy! It’s crazy, crazy I say, crazy!!!!

This is another thing I should have been warned about. There should have been some sort of warning on the label…“WARNING. May cause increased drive leading to high risk behaviors. Be in a relationship while taking higher doses.”


Argggh!!

Joan of Arc (on her way to a cold shower)

Unashamed

Published
by
Austin
on July 26, 2006
in Art, Art Therapy, Borderline Personality Disorder and Dissociative Identity Disorder
. 2 Comments

There is this overwhelming feeling that survivors have…shame! Shame because of what happened and fear that it might be our fault. Shame that maybe we didn’t do enough to stop it. Shame that as an adult it still haunts us. There is body shame, shame about depression, shame that we can’t just get up and hang out with others comfortably. We struggle with communication and we struggle to please because we can’t bare the thought of being rejected and hurt again. I figure that this feeling of shame is the strongest of all my emotions. I am angry too, a bit bitter at times but mostly I’m ashamed of what happened to me. Back in 1992 I painted a picture of an angle bending on her knees with her wings extended behind her. She is completely nude and kneeling before The Most High without shame. The title of the painting is Unashamed.

Image copyright © Sundrip Journals

Continue reading ‘Unashamed’

My Reply - LimbicSusie -Dreams

Published
by
Austin
on July 25, 2006
in Dissociative Identity Disorder and My reply
. 0 Comments

LimbicSusie Says:
July 25th, 2006 at 4:44 am eAll I can say is those sound like really lucky dreams! Congratulations.Also, an orchestra is such a fine metaphor for parts all working together. And music is such a great expression of integration. I mean in the sense of everyone joining in and producing something trandscendent, as a whole.What a relief for you.
Limbic Susie

.

Austin says:

Most DID’s have two systems, one of ours is Morton’s Pride and the other is called The Orchestra Collected. We haven’t heard them play any music in a very long time. I dont think it was them in the dream but when I got your comment it reminded me of how beautifully they played inside my head…my very own orchestra…

There are some DID’s that have a background of Satanic Ritual Abuse, we do not. While the mother and the family practiced black magic they did not ever abuse us with that. There wasn’t anything done to the kids or any kids for that matter. I do not think of black magic or anything related to the occult as harmless “but” I have to say that what they practiced didn’t have anything to do with abuse of any people. I guess I’m saying this because when SRA happens with the result of DID there is usually a second group of alters that are quite mean and sabotage both systems on a regular basis. Both our systems, Morton’s Pride and The Orchestra Collected work together as much as possible. Man we’ve come far because we use to have so little control over who was out when. We made bargains and agreements, exchanges and contracts until we finally got it to the point where switching is controlled the vast majority of the time. I guess we dont really talk about them much because they are a very quiet group and do not come forward. I think the last time someone from TOC came forward was maybe 6 or 7 years back. We know they are there but they are very quiet and inactive. They have a gatekeeper like Morton. His name is Archipelago. What the mind does to survive sometimes amazes me as well as frightens and depresses the hell out of me.

about the dream- The girl in the dream was hand-gliding over airplanes as we drove on the highway. The girl dove in front of cars gracefully never even looking like she was going to crash. It was like she knew the lay out, she knew the area and moved around it knowingly. It was pretty cool. The airplanes were interesting. Heck, I dont fly. I travel the way God intended, via Ford Bronco. But she wasn’t ever in danger of getting hit by the planes either and they didnt seem to be out of place or anything. It was like the sky was her dance floor and everything else was simply a stage prop that she either worked with or moved around. It was pretty neat.

Ps. I think you should finish your painting that you started long ago. I should talk though, I have an unfinished painting of a butterfly girl from a very long time ago. I’ve done everything but her hair. For some reason I can’t bring myself to do her hair so there’s this one large white spot where hair should be but the rest is painted and completed. I just can’t seem to bring myself to finish it. I’ve even thought about doing on the PC with paint-shop or something but there’s this block…I think you know what I mean.

Austin

Good Dreams

Published
by
Austin
on July 25, 2006
in Dreams and General Chatter
. 1 Comment

I had a dream about an orchestra of violins. It was wonderful. There was nothing else in the dream, just a string orchestra. There was no colour, no images, nothing but music. It was wonderful.

I also had a dream about watching a girl hand glide in the city. It was like ballet in the sky. Wonderful.

I wonder what I’ll dream next. Goodness, did I say that? That almost sounded like anticipation instead of dread. Nice feeling.

Austin

Gratitude Monday Sharing In the Lives of Others

Published
by
Austin
on July 24, 2006
in General Chatter and Gratitude Journal
. 0 Comments

Sharing In the Lives of Others-Monday, July 24, 2006-8:36 PM EST

Gratitude: being thankful, having the desire or reason to thank somebody, to value something of quality, to understand the importance, meaning and significance of something.

Gratitude Monday: a loose rendering of gratitude, a list or just a few words to show appreciation for or recognition for big and small accomplishments.

Subject: Being Part of the Lives of Others

Like many, I’ve had a ton of jobs. Some jobs I took simply because I needed the money and others I took because the spiritual rewards overshadowed the low pay. I worked only one day at McDonald’s. I never want to work that hard again. I worked for one hour and left. It was lunch time in the busiest part of the city and I was at the window. It was hectic trying to keep up with all of me AND all the orders coming through. I’ve worked for lawyers, as a housekeeper in a hotel, as a private Chef for a family, as a farm hand and even jobs like research assistant in the Dept. of Women’s Studies at the University of Indiana. I loved that job. I stopped worked back several years ago due to increased dissociation and loss of time but there is one job with a memory that I will never forget.

I took a job as a peer councilor for a group home working with adults with Autism and Schizophrenia. I thought I was smart by taking the 3rd shift because I figured everyone would be asleep. I could do paper work and have an easy yet good sized paycheck. I was dead wrong, no one slept. I’d been assigned to the troubled group homes where clients had violent tendencies. I was shocked that they could go for so long without sleep and still have the energy to go off like they did. After that assignment they figured I’d been tortured enough and allowed me to work one on one in the homes of clients that were being transferred from the closing state hospital in Greencastle, IN.

I had never stepped foot in a psychiatric state hospital so walking through the door and onto the wards was an uneasy yet insightful experience. I knew from the second I walked in there that I would never treat anyone with such disrespect and carelessly walk on their feelings. The funny thing is, sometimes the professionals didn’t even realize that they didn’t see the patients as equals but it was obvious to us new comers on the grounds of that hospital. That hospital closed not only because of financial problems but because of the abuses that took place there. So when my co-worker and I drove three men to their new home we knew these men would be troubled. They’d spent many years behind those walls experiencing God only knows what. Just because they were being taken out of there and given their own home didn’t mean they would adjust quickly or at all.

I looked forward to going to work to see these three. I knew only little of their life, just that two had been roommates for 17 years in that hospital and absolutely refused to leave one another. Both were in their late 30’s and lived with profound Schizophrenia and Autism. They’d spent 17 years in that hospital as roommates so they knew each other more than they knew their own birth families. It only made sense that they stay together, and together they were all the time, just as it should have been.

It took awhile for all of us to get to know each other and to become comfortable with one another. I was the only worker of the two that used sign language so I was the one who worked closely with our Mute client. He seemed to have a lot of energy and a lot of drive to find something to get into. It seemed that there was always some “fire” we were putting out or coaxing him back in the house when he’d leave to force us to take him to get Kentucky Fried Chicken. The man was hilarious but a handful. There was a time when we visited the library and this 6 foot tall black man chased a little old white lady down the isle trying to touch her shirt. He’d become fixated on her blouse and had to touch it. I’m sure all the apologies didn’t help that poor woman but we certainly laughed once in the car and on the way back to their house.

There was one particular day that was quiet and uneventful. This day was also one of the most rewarding days of that job and counts among the most rewarding days of my work history. The three roommates and us two workers sat watching TV when one roommate stood, walked to the kitchen, made himself a glass of tea and came back to the chair to watch TV. The reason this moment is so significant is that I know it had been over 17 years since he sat comfortably in his own home. It had been over 17 years that he did not have to ask a worker for a drink then wait for an extended period of time before getting it, if he got it at all. So when he made that glass of iced tea and came back to sit in his favorite chair I knew I would remember that moment for a very long time.

I do this everyday, I make myself something to drink and sit in my favorite chair. I watch what I want to watch on TV without having to fight anyone or argue about who got to watch what last time. There are no long delays when getting needs met because overworked and understaffed professionals are busy putting out “fires” or filling out incident reports. It’s something I enjoyed daily, the simple freedom of filling a glass and plopping my butt in a chair yet this man waited over 17 years to do it. I smiled inside the same as I do now because I got to be there for that moment. I’ll always be appreciative for getting to experience that with him.

I also got to experience their first time at McDonalds. Thank God it wasn’t me trying to fill their order. I got to be there for their first time at Kentucky Fried Chicken, for their first time on a basketball court inside a YMCA. First time experiences at their age were as exciting for them as they are for little kids. They have the same joy and the same wild eyed wonder. That too I’ll never forget.

Austin’s August

Hairballs, I should have been warned

Published
by
Austin
on July 24, 2006
in Humor and Pets
. 0 Comments

Well, ya know, it’s not a secret that I was taught to fear cats. I was taught that they are devils, mystical creatures that steal a baby’s breath and lurk about looking for something or someone to deceive. It’s true, I was taught all of this. However, in my adult years I have found that cats are nothing like what I was told. They are these fury little creatures that offer so much to my daily life. I suppose that some of what they offer does not benefit me. I can deal with having to pull Gracie down from the highest point in the house. I can deal with Bella’s attitude problem and her over active sense of curiosity. Bella has exhausted all but 3 of her 9 lives in the short 10 weeks she’s been alive. If she makes it to one it’ll be a miracle.

Don't let the sweet face fool you!Bella fears nothing. When she sees something she wants she doesn’t hesitate to go right for it. I can see in her eyes that she is calculating how to best pounce on prey and make the best spectacle that trumps all her other spectacles. I do not believe that for a second she thinks, hmm, will Mama be mad about me jumping INTO her cup of coffee knocking it over on scrap paper filled with scribbles and doodles? Will I be in trouble if I drag the restroom tissue all around the house and then leave a note telling her to get quilted next time because it feels better on my claws? Nope, she does not hesitate. She just goes right for it. Now, she may be fearless but she isn’t a fool. The other day she walked right underneath Captain from tail to head and snatched a pork chop right out of his bowl. She ran with it but didn’t get far because it was too big to carry for long. Captain walked right up to her to rescue his chop but she had the nerve to raise her back and spit at him. He looked at her like, “You’re kidding right?” took his chop and went back to his bowl. She did not pursue an argument because the girl is bold but she is not a fool.

She also learns hard lessons quickly. She no longer sleeps at Captain’s feet and neither does Gracie for the same reason. Captain kicks in his sleep. That poor kitty went airborne. I was like, Jiminy Cricket you should play for the Colts maybe they’ll make it to the Super Bowl in my lifetime. It only took one sneeze and Captain pretty much blew little Bella over so she tries to stay out of the way if there is some irritating odor that might cause this big mutt to spray doggie snot. Bella is not afraid of the sweeper, of thunder storms or much of anything else. One thing that caught her off guard as well as me is this whole hairball thing that Gracie does.

Someone should have told me that a hair ball is not literally a ball of dry hair that a cat spits up. I guess I pictured something along the lines of a small ball of rubberbands or a small ball of yarn…that to me is a hairball. Someone, a friend, namely Blossom should have warned me about the hacking, the body lunging forward and backward until some nasty slimy thing comes spewing forth. Captain, Bella and I stand disgusted, horrified and shocked that anything could live after something like that. She lives, but how we do not know. Someone should have warned this first generation cat lover (the first of 6 generations) that hairballs are not dry balls of hair that are left here and there and come up with the sweeper like everything else does. Help me out here now. I’m trying to dispel this whole, black people hate cats thing. I try, oh how I try but I’m not getting any support. Is there anything else I need to know?

Joan of Arc, on the wrong side of sanity

Hairballs, I should have been warned - Monday, July 24, 2006-5:02 AM

My Reply: Dr. B of Doc’s Place

Published
by
Austin
on July 23, 2006
in Dissociative Identity Disorder and My reply
. 1 Comment

Doc Says: July 23rd, 2006 at 12:37 pm e

Thanks for dropping by and leaving a comment. Though my episode with PTSD recently was only a “tiny” one compared to those of others, I do now have a feeling for how the dreams become more realistic and how one can lose so much time during a day to “flashbacks.” (In my case it was more like depressively changing every good memory of something I had loved or enjoyed, now lost, and knew/know I’ll never have again.) I find that I am much better working with clients that have the same problems as I have had myself, but only if I have come to a satisfactory resolution of them. I understand you might want to keep your site relatively low profile, but if you would consider allowing me to place a link to you on my Space, please drop me an email to let me know it is OK. Hang in there, I’ve made it for 60 years.

Peace, Doc

 

Austin says:

Note: the word “you: is generic for all mental health professionals. In most cases the word “us” is a generic term for all psych patients but particularly those with DID.

What’s up Doc, (sorry, I couldnt resist)

Sure, you can add me to your links list. I started The People Behind My Eyes journal online because it would let my pdoc and my therapist have one spot where everything could be easily accessed. It also helps all of me have one place to go to see what we’ve been up to. No pieces of paper to look for, no notes that may or may not have been placed in an obvious spot for one of me to find. It’s easy. My thought was that I could have one place where I talked about the last session, post therapy assignments, medication junk and stuff like. It’s all in one convenient place for everybody on our care team, including us. Then it kind of moved to a daily journal then to a bigger ..thing.. I can’t think of another word. I wanted this blog to be available for medical students, for psych students, psychologist, psychiatrists and other mental health workers so they could see day to day life as a multiple. So, I do want my journal high profile, especially in the medical community.

As you (generic form of you) know, what a professional sees in the office is not even the smallest fraction of a fraction of what really happens in a patient’s life. “You” know this but do you ever get a glimpse into the part you never see? I want medical professionals to get a glimpse of the parts you never get to see. I want them to see the art, the music, the different faces of life and the growth that they can never really see in the office. I want them to see the good, the bad and the ugly.

Patients only trust you to a point so we don’t tell you everything, you know that too. And we can only remember so much to bring to the appointment so the rest sits in our heads spinning and erasing what was once progress or it sits as razor scars on our arms. So, yeah, I want this blog out there. I want it both to help others and me.

The funny thing is when my goals for this journal broadened I gained insight into the lives of those who treat us. I’ve seen into “your” lives and I’ve seen what you guys go through. I’ve seen on sites the day to day struggles on the job as well as in your private lives. It has given me a better understanding of you. On several sites I’ve seen the professional let their guard down, I’ve been given a glimpse into what I never see in the office.

I have never been given so many examples of how deeply some medical professionals care. This has been really positive for me, the things you say about patients, and the understanding you have of us it lets me see that you guys are not just emotionless information centers that take our co-pays. Compassion and understanding in sessions is expected and expectations aren’t always filled willingly. It’s like, well, he has to say that because I pay him to. Well, on the net I’ve seen where the professional didn’t have to be compassionate and they didn’t have to say this or that in order to get paid. This has lifted some of the layers of calices that have built up over the years in regards to pdoc’s and such.

I tell you, blogs by mental health professionals has given me a greater respect and less of a reason to justify my general lack of trust and apathetic blanket I place on ALL of you. Patients may need you but it doesn’t mean we trust you. With the journals I’ve come across I’ve been given a reason outside of therapy, outside of formalities to trust you more and to see you as willing participants in our healing process. I’ve been given a glimpse into your lives with all the struggles and such. It has been a welcome lesson and will more than likely be a lesson that moves me another step closer to healing. Thank you.

Until again,

Austin of Sundrip Journals

PS. You’re 60? For some reason I thought you were in your middle to late 30’s.



							
 

		
 

	
		
		

			

				
My Reply to Willow-esque- What would I do


				

					Published 
by 
Austin
 
on July 23, 2006
 
in My reply
.
					0 Comments
					
									
 
			
 

			

				


  • Willow-esque Says:
    
July 23rd, 2006 at 7:35 pm eAustin:That is a beautiful poem–it speaks to my heart and moves my soul.
    

    You know, I have a problem. I have not spoken to “the mother” as you call yours, for a long time. Since I have moved, I’m wondering whether or not to tell her my new address, phone number, etc. I know that my cousin/brother will probably tell her eventually, but I wonder.
    

    What would you do?
    

    Austin says:
    
I’d ask myself what I had to gain or lose by supplying her with that information. I’d ask myself if there was a chance that I’m still holding on to old hopes that maybe things will get better. I’d ask myself if I was willing to risk getting hurt again. So ask yourself, what will you gain or lose by supply that information. And what do you hope for by giving it or denying it. I’d ask myself weather I would supply her with ammunition or make her get it on her own. I’d ask myself if I was willing to toss away all the progress I’d made in breaking away by giving in to what feels like an obligation but in reality is a just a social pressure. Then I’d tell society to go to hell because after all, you’ve been there and you know that once they come back they’ll agree that you MUST think of your sanity and your spiritual well being BEFORE and ABOVE what others think…including your mother.
    

    Morton of Morton’s Pride
    • 

    

							
     

		
     

	
		
		
    
			
    
				
    Broken Boxer Syndrome
    

				
    
					Published 
    by 
    Austin
     
    on July 23, 2006
     
    in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dreams and Mental Health
    .
					2 Comments
					
									
     
			
     

			
    
				
    Broken Boxer Syndrome-Sunday July 23rd, 2006 9:05 AM EST
    
 

    

     
    

    I’m doing it again, putting off sleep until I just can’t stand to be awake any longer. I call going to bed the broken boxer syndrome. The boxer fights and fights, takes blow after blow and finally he falls. The judging man stands over you counting to announce that you’ve fallen and that you’ve failed. The bigger man still standing has his arm, stained with your blood, held up high as a victor. And there you lay, a broken boxer, having given in to the count…. that is what it is like to go to sleep. To take all you can take until you finally let the count ring out and then run out…..and let the sleep in…let the other man win. I know that every minute I stay awake is going to get harder but what comes after that, laying down, giving in and laying down will prove to be the final blow. I just don’t want to go to bed.
    

    What comes after giving in is vivid memories of the past only the images switch my child’s body with the adult body I have now. So I see myself being abused as an adult. That is humiliating because I see myself cowering before the mother monster. I see me, a 5 foot 5 woman cowering, laying down and fearing her. Humiliation is what drives me to things like cutting and even attempts on my life. I can’t say I’m anywhere close to wanting to hurt myself, not even cutting, but I know from past experience that I have to watch my steps. I have to watch what I do because in the blink of an eye I can be on the other side of safety.
    

    I guess the difference is that I have a bigger support group. I have people I can call. I have friends and that makes a huge difference in my ability to handle this life. Not even 5 years ago I felt so dang on alone in this world. Heck, when I was with Columbus for that 10 years I still felt alone. I felt I carried all her burdens and mine. I supported her, gave to her and received nothing. But my friendships are different now. I can at least tell the difference between a friendship, a blog-ship, an acquaintances and other levels of relationships. I have levels of relationships where once I had none. Now how cool is that? Ha! I can actually say, yeah so and so is a friend or no, I’m only acquainted with that person. Before, it was simply Austin. Now, it’s Austin and friends, blog-buddies and acquaintances….friends I hang out with for a nice night out, friends I have a good evening in with, friends that I talk on deeper levels with. Somehow none of this matters when I’m up considering throwing in the towel and seeing my mothers face tell me that no one will ever love me. I hope to get to the point where it matters and where I hear my friends say to me, it’s okay to let go. Man, Blossom said that to me the other day. She said, “It’s okay to let go. You’re safe now.” She said it to Morton, of al people Morton. He was very impressed. Not many people speak directly to him but not only did she speak to him but she told him he didn’t have to be strong.
    

    You know, being expected to be strong is a burden unto itself. We always say that when people say, “oh she’s strong” it isolates that person and the help they may need could be withheld because after all, so in so is strong, they can handle it. To me, strength is synonymous with the word alone. I’ve never known it to be anything else. I’ve known it only to be something negative, something that takes away instead of supports or carries one to another destination. Blossom told Morton it was okay to let go. She said we didn’t have to hold on like that anymore because we were safe. We heard…. You do not have to be strong ALONE anymore. And those words are healing to even the most broken of hearts.
    

    I am going to bed now.
    

     
    

    This Is My Dream
    

    
It’s my dream to make my life what it was intended to be.
It’s my dream to close my eyes and never see the reflection
of sorrowful times
To never be forced to endure the sight of
hope dripping down a windowsill
Dripping to the ground that nourishes the very weeds
that choke out my ability to breathe.
Painful and burdensome, bleeding and bereaved
It’s my dream to never use these words in reference to me.
It is my dream to see colours in their vibrant, flowing form
It’s my dream to never mourn
To never regret missed wishes on falling stars or
Never pass up the chance to dance
when everyone fears the ridiculing eye of another.
It is my dream to wake and not remember who I had to be to survive
my mother.
This is my dream.
This is my dream, awake or sleeping.
This is my dream.
    

    Milwaukee, of Morton’s Pride age 12