Crazy Real

the official blog of author and poet Jennifer Wilson

Month: August 2014


the thoughts uncoil
like ribbons of smoke
from dark nostrils

alcohol numbs
uncoils the knot
in my stomach
whispers peace
be still
let go

and so I do
in that moment
when the sharp heat spreads
across my chest
and I grimace

the pills in white bottles
on my shelf
I take them daily
my last link to sanity
but it is alcohol
the constant friend
who puts his arm around my shoulders
and whispers ribald jokes
in my ear.


Black Scribbles

That’s my brain right now. Just a black scribble. Like in the cartoons, when there would be a thought bubble above someone’s head but only a black scribble instead of thoughts. That’s my mind. I’m just…scribbled.

I mean, I have thoughts. I have thought processes. But they don’t amount to much. They don’t give me any truth, or answers, or even fragments of peace. There’s just a big, black nothing where my soul should be. Like in the Police song, King of Pain. That’s me right now.

My children are going through tribulations. I feel every bit of it, but have nowhere to put it. No handy pockets or spare pair of pants where I can stash all the excessive amount of turmoil and fear and doubt and anxiety that is overflowing onto me from every corner of my life. Every corner. I don’t know what to do with it all. I try to pray but I get no relief. I lay awake at night, staring into the darkness, hoping for some respite but none ever comes.

I know nothing about trust. I freely admit that. I don’t know if I ever have. I trust no one and nothing. Not myself. Not God. I thought I understood surrender, but I feel like I got raped and beaten when I put my hands up, so I’m not doing it anymore.

And that’s how I’m doing. On the verge of a breakdown, or a breakthrough? Your guess is as good as mine.


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