Kern Carter's Blog, page 40
May 25, 2022
FAILSAFE
something of a love poem from an absolute non-expert on the subject
;
I’m Tripping, Tweaking,
Slipping, Freaking,
Wired, Tired,
Coping, Dialed-in,
Limping, Thinking,
Grounded; Sinking.
Created by Jett Belavin[image error]; was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
May 24, 2022
please don't
Photo Credits: We Heart ItHey, I bet you think about me when you hear my favorite artist in the grocery line and the college cafe.
My wandering eyes keep looking for you, and I see you in a crowded room.
Where am I supposed to sit, since the spot next to you was it? So now I search for an empty seat in this room.
I didn't mean to stare, but I see stars shine in your eyes and the world seems pretty when your eyes meet mine.
It's been a while, and I think you think I hate you or I have found someone new. But how do I tell you I still feel my heart loving you?
I want to tell you I miss you, but the silence between us is louder than any spoken words.
So please don't smile at me and ask me about my days if you don't plan on keeping me this time.
You don't know about the times I spent wondering about you, so please don't tell me you miss me if you don't have a place for me in your brand new life.
I try to move on with my life and avoid you in the hallways, but I almost don't every time I do that.
How do I tell you I cannot start a conversation to lose you again in miscommunications and goodbyes.
You are there in my dreams, holding my face in your palms, so please don't ask me to mess it up with you one more time if you're not gonna ask me to do it again.
Did the summer maim you? Does the silence kill you too? Would you call me on the phone tonight and tell me you want me back again? Please don't if you're not gonna hold my hand and take me home with you.
But please.
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our songwhat’s on my mind?[image error]please don't was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
Only Quelled by the Music
Photo by Joanna Nix-Walkup on UnsplashMemories are the melodies of my song—singing to me
all night long. Nostalgic harmonies
accompany the bittersweet tones of careless laughter
and innocent wails—a trail
for me to stroll along—like you once said—when I’m older
now: never more frail. All my ails—
the rhythm of a heart that keeps on beating, not yet knowing
what it means to fail. Answer to my calls—
my body stalls, in no one moment:
I don’t count the seconds, for life’s meter
is not simple nor compound.
Experimental—evolving over time—
uncertainty is a certainty—my anxiety
is like a stretto that keeps on layering
the same, haunting motifs upon the suspense—then a release,
until it builds back up again. All the songs in my head—
Dread—
only quelled by the music.
©2022 A.X. Bates
[image error]Only Quelled by the Music was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
Call For Submissions — Trust No One
Trust is such an odd concept. In public life, so much of trusting is out of our control. We trust that the car will stop at the stop sign while we’re crossing the street. We trust that a doctor will give us the proper diagnosis or treatment. We usually give this type of public trust without much thought.
But then there’s the trust we give to those we’re close to or choose to get close to. I’m probably an overly trusting person. I assume everyone is good and deserving of trust until they prove otherwise. Some people are opposite. They don’t give trust before it’s earned. I envy those people.
For this writing prompt, write about how you manage trust. Have you ever given someone trust and been taken advantage of? Have you taken advantage of someone else’s trust? Maybe go really deep and answer this question: do you trust yourself?
Same rules as always:You can submit to this or ANY of our past writing prompts. Just scroll through our previous newsletters. They’ll be marked “Call for Submissions.”If you’re already a writer for CRY, go ahead and submit.Be as creative as you want in your submissions. As long as you stick to the topic, we’ll consider it.Just because you submit doesn’t mean we’ll post. If you haven’t heard back from us in three days, consider that a pass.[image error]Call For Submissions — Trust No One was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
May 23, 2022
Tears During Stressful Times
Looking Out On Plumb Island by Jymi Cliche (the author)Life has been difficult lately. I’ve cried many times. About a month ago, I found out that my therapist of the last thirteen years thinks that everything I’ve been telling her about my life is either a lie or a delusion because of the diagnoses I was given before I started with her. All these years I’ve been spilling my guts and trusting her with my deepest secrets only to find out that because I was given diagnoses of Borderline Personality and Schizophrenia, she doesn’t trust anything I say. Neither of those diagnoses is accurate. I have Complex PTSD and Bipolar Disorder that has, at times, led to psychosis, but I’m not Borderline or Schizophrenic and was only given those diagnoses after I found out I’d been born intersex in my mid-twenties. It wasn’t until I learned of being intersex, transitioned from female to male, and began to get abused in the mental health system that I was diagnosed with Borderline and Schizophrenia when I tried to report the abuse. It was used as a way to discredit me. I told my therapist everything over the last thirteen years and I was always completely honest. The fact that she still thinks I’m a liar or delusional after all these years made me feel sick to my stomach. I felt so betrayed. I tried to talk it out with her, but she managed to call me a “she-he” at the end of our session. After that, I was like, “I’m done.” I don’t think she meant it as a slur, but she said it, regardless.
Unfortunately, I don’t have a new therapist yet and when I do, I’ll have to get to know another new person and will be scared that they’ll think I’m a liar too. If my diagnoses are more important to them than what I’m saying, then I can’t work with that.
I feel so crushed, but I didn’t cry over that. I just felt sick and fed up.
Then, last week I found out that my favorite social worker is leaving and it broke my heart. She’s been there for me through everything over the last four years, which has been a lot. I started showing my art in galleries and performing hip hop and spoken word right before my 40th birthday, four years ago. I’d just quit a hardcore nicotine habit and was pushing myself far outside my comfort zone, but not getting a lot in return. No one threw me a big 40th birthday party like I hoped I’d have after all I’ve been through. Between the disappointment of that, the stress I was under from pushing myself into the art and performance world, and the fact that I just quit my biggest coping mechanism, I fell into what was my third full-blown psychosis. My other two psychoses were in 2008 and 2010.
The social worker, who I just found out is leaving, came to my house once a week for seven months while I was stuck inside with my psychosis, trying to avoid the psych ward. She read my first book, which was about my other psychosis experiences and she encouraged me to publish it. I worked myself back to health by editing my book every day. I published it in 2020, right around the start of the pandemic. My social worker had to stop coming by my house during the pandemic, but she called and texted a couple of times a week and when the weather was nice we sat outside with masks. She came to my 42nd birthday bash on Zoom. I had that to make up for the lack of a 40th birthday party, and it was the best birthday ever with friends from all around the world. My social worker came to my art shows and watched me practice my music. She loved all of my art and always made me feel like I was special and deserving of good things. She made me feel like I made her job worth doing, and that always made me feel good too. I’m heartbroken that she’s leaving and I’m crying about it as I write.
The day after she told me that she was leaving, I was woken up early by the electrician ringing my bell and banging on my door. He was yelling at me because the door buzzer he just fixed was broken again. He was saying that it was my fault and that I’m being lazy and a pest. He said that I should just suck it up and deal with the fact that it’s broken because it’s never gonna get fixed unless the building owners redo the whole system, which he assures me they will not. I kept saying I’m disabled and can’t go up and down the stairs every time someone rings my bell, but he just kept yelling at me. My cat was in the bedroom screaming over and over the whole hour he was here and he still didn’t fix it. He put a hole in my wall, which he isn’t gonna fix, and when he left, I started screaming off the top of my lungs and smashed a can of cat food on the floor, then punched the table about twenty times. I friggin’ lost it.
I was disappointed in myself for losing my cool. I burst into tears again and couldn’t breathe through my nose, so I had a panic attack. It hasn’t been easy lately. Then, I found out that my sister, who lives with my parents, has COVID, and my mom has COPD, so I’m praying she doesn’t catch it. My 90-something-year-old grandmother figure just fell yesterday and had surgery today and I’m preparing myself for the fact that I may be getting even more bad news in the next couple of weeks, as I wait to hear if I got an artist grant. Hopefully, it will be good news, but when it rains it pours, and that’s how it’s been lately.
Luckily, I have many coping skills that include
writing,
drawing,
painting,
reading,
photography,
walking,
listening to music,
dancing,
taking baths,
talking to friends,
petting my cat,
taking naps,
medicine,
watching TV,
playing bass, keyboard & drums,
rapping,
singing,
and even crying helps me to get through my intense emotions.
Somehow, every day I keep surviving.
[image error]Tears During Stressful Times was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
