Maranda Russell's Blog, page 12

Poetry – Counting Stars

Wading through soggy Lucky Charms,I push aside horseshoes, clovers, andtasty red balloonsto begincounting stars. - marandarussell.com

Poetry – Countdown

Six!(countdown)Five!(until)Four!(my)Three!(next)Two!(breakdown)One!DAMN.

Why Yesterday Amused Me

Mandatory Credit: Photo by JIM LO SCALZO/EPA-EFE/Shutterstock

Yesterday I was glued to the tv news in a way I haven’t been since 9/11. Watching the insurrection happening in DC as Trumpers laid siege to the Capital was unreal in some ways, but in other ways, it was all too expected.

As I read the responses from all my friends on Facebook (shame, deep sadness, tears, anger, shock, fear, etc.), I must admit that I wasn’t quite feeling what everyone else seemed to be.

In fact, aside from sorrow for those who died and regret for the injured, yesterday highly entertained and amused me in many ways. Why? Because I’ve seen this coming from miles and miles away and wonder how so many others were wearing blinders.

As I watched these “protesters” take down the US flag and replace it with the Trump flag, walk through the Capital building with Confederate flags (something that never even happened during the Civil War era), and watched all the politicians forced to run like terrified children during a school shooting, the absurdity of it all just struck me as funny and (unfortunately) ironically fitting for the times we are living in now.

Our society is sick and this kind of stuff is only symptomatic of that deep, festering illness. Sometimes, I do feel great sadness and despair about it all, but I think I learned to laugh at the stupidity for the sake of my sanity. I feel a bit like the Joker with such a dark, nihilistic view, but it is what it is.

Poetry – Playing Dirty

Where I am from
blood and names mean nothing
and sworn oaths even less.

But prized most of all
is that old art
of playing dirty -
so dirty
no one else
can even see the game.

- marandarussell.com

Transparent vs Whiny

This morning I woke up thinking about my online reputation and what I would like it to be. When others read my poetry and personal blog posts (especially the ones having to do with mental illness, autism, or chronic pain/chronic illness) the things I strive to represent are honesty, openness, relatable vulnerability, realistic hope when possible, comforting solidarity, the healing power of sharing our pain, and the courage and inspiration to keep going, even when things feel hopeless.

However, since I myself struggle from mental illness and chronic pain, being transparent and honest means that often my viewpoint comes across as dark and bleak. I don’t try to hide that or tone it down when it happens, because to me, that is part of being honest and vulnerable enough to share what the experience of dealing with those issues is like on a daily basis. Putting a happy face on it would be lying.

My only worry is that sometimes the reality of dealing with daily mental and physical pain is that you can start to sound whiny. Part of me says, “well, of course, you are going to sound whiny now and then if you are in pain all the time! No shit!”, but for some reason our culture makes whining out to be such a negative thing that most of us want to avoid that look at all costs.

Maybe we as readers and audiences have to decide rather we really want full honesty and openness (even if it includes some whining and negativity) or if we pretend to want the truth, but in reality just want a short, scrubbed clean, feel good version of life. I know which I prefer, but I guess everyone has to decide for themselves.

Poetry – Betrayal

You lost my faith
you lost my trust
and s-l-o-w-l-y
you drained
my interest

- marandarussell.com

Poetry – He Followed the Sea

He was the only one of us
who still followed the sea.

He was a wanderer,
who could abide
no stay-at-home
order
'til the sea
became his country.

- marandarussell.com

Dragging Myself through Christmas

2 days until Christmas, and I don’t think I could feel less festive if I tried. I’m dragging myself through each day, not really wanting to get out of bed or do anything. I’ve tried to break the depressive funk by making myself go to a couple holiday events in the past week, but the deep sadness I feel will not be pushed away or covered for long.

I’m still dealing with a lot of hurt from recent events with my husband, and while we are working on healing and doing therapy, the wounds are deep, especially for a heart like mine that struggles to trust so much in the first place due to a long history of trauma and abuse. Sometimes I despair that I’ll never be able to truly trust again.

My heart aches. My body and mind are worn out. I feel little hope. I wish I could report better things.

Poetry – Mental Reservation

Room for one,
please.

I'll be staying
until further notice
and will not
require housekeeping.

Poetry – It Isn’t All It Might Be

The future is yours
and the present is mine,
but it isn't all it might be.

Things go wrong.
I talk to myself.
I can't explain it at all -
whether I guess
right or wrong,
I can't be the first to speak -
or the last.

In the end,
there is nothing I desire
so much
as to become nothing.