And how I’ll never know just why or understand She said I’ve lost control again

And I laid it all out there

for you to see

and you looked it over, pronounced it Good

we traded little bits of heart and soul

 

and for a few moments

a golden moment or two

I thought “here is the

muse, here is the seeker, here is

the one who will see all of me.”

 

but it’s a fact

the way of my path

that i will never be that which

is The Honored One

The One You Keep

 

I am always the one

you were looking for

and yet the one from which

you will walk away.

I write, as openly as possible, about my experience with depression and abuse, and my ongoing recovery. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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Yet, as ivy groweth green and never changes, Even evil cannot turn us into strangers

insight

 

 

 

A large part of life is taken up with the Struggle.

That’s neither good nor bad: it just is. That’s how life rolls. On the good days, everything is pretty amazing. [even when it’s just okay and everyday… I’m still pretty enthused by it all, I really am.]

On the bad days, I try really hard to not let it get to me. Even though it doesn’t seem like it sometimes to the people around me, I swear I am trying.

Thing is – and this is one of the things that keeps me going – I know I’m not the only one who goes through this. I can’t say that everyone does, but I have evidence [testimonials] that tell me that I’m not alone here. And that, my friends, helps immensely. I also have people who do wonderful things like talking me through the bad times, too.

Lately, I’ve needed more support than usual. It’s been rough over here in Xiane-land, with a pile of various trials happening at once. That hardest part, honestly, has been dealing with some blows to my self-esteem, which when paired with stress and feeling down, really managed to work me over. I am so, so grateful to my friends, who tried so hard to lift me back up and encourage me to believe in myself.

 

Things I discovered this week: that I have spent so little time caring for myself lately that I couldn’t even name what my favorite food is. Like – I can tell you a bunch of styles of things that I like, but I couldn’t name a single dish.

I need to invest in myself more.

I need to speak up [out] more.

I need to say no. And yes. When appropriate. With gusto.

And I need to insist that people who want the good parts of me give me access to their good parts, too. Because all too often I give more than I’m given in return, and it’s not right nor fair. I deserve better, and that’s only going to change if I put my foot down. Because I can’t trust people who get those things and aren’t reciprocating to respect the idea of giving from the heart.

 

And I have a LOT of heart. The right people should be getting access. [and giving it too]

 

green growing

 

 

 

I write, as openly as possible, about my experience with depression and abuse, and my ongoing recovery. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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Do I know what life could be? I know what I’ve seen

insight

 

They offer things that sound so good, too good to be true.

Those things: they are. It’s a lie. It’s a bait and switch. It’s preying on dreams and hopes and trust and honesty.

Promises almost kept
Everything that you once said
Seems to be just a lie

I am a vital woman, full of life and love and energy and creativity and excitement. I deserve better than lies and broken promises and runarounds and bullshit. So I’m not tolerating it. You? You shouldn’t either.

It’s all about setting a higher standard, because we deserve better than what a segment of the world will offer if allowed. I’m not here to fulfill a fantasy or an urge or a quota. I’m not here to entertain you. I’m not here to make you feel good, or give your life meaning.

I mean, I might serve those purposes in your life, but that’s coincidental. It’s not why I’m here. And it’s not why you’re here, either. It’s all about being awesome on your own, so that we can share and enhance each others’ lives without pretense and greediness and expectations – because we can trust that we’re all interested in being as good to those we care about as we are to ourselves.

And if you aren’t interested in being as good to me as you are to yourself? Well, then I don’t wanna. Let’s just not.

This is a face that wants you to be honest and true.
This is a face that wants you to be honest and true.

 

 

Let’s be excellent to each other, shall we? The payoff is AMAZING.

 

Underneath the veil
I saw a stirring
Underneath the veil

 

 

I write, as openly as possible, about my experience with depression and abuse, and my ongoing recovery. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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us angels aren’t afraid of water – are we?

insight

 

Despite the fact that I’ve written an overwhelming amount of posts that weren’t the most positive in recent history…

And despite the fact that a lot of really difficult things have been happening in my life lately…

Despite the fact that I’ve had to make some tough choices that left everyone hurting after the fact, including me…

 

Life is still good.

It has to be. I’m alive in it. That’s a big thing. I’m actively working to improve myself and reshape my life to be more in line with what I think I need and want, and what will be best for me. That will help me be the best that I can to everyone who is connected with me, and to me as well.

I’ve got some excellent people surrounding me. I’ve met some new people who make me feel creative and excited to be alive. I’ve even recently met a person or two who I ended up not meshing with, and that helped me come to terms with a few things about my personality that I’m glad that I addressed.

Self-examination is important. Looking at myself with clear and honest eyes helps me improve every aspect of my life. And remembering that every tough spot is just one part of the journey helps me keep my focus both in the here and now, and with an eye for planning effectively for the future.

 

not deep writing, really, but this is honest stuff. and you’re reading it for free, so you get what you pay for  😉

 

 

2015-05-28 15.35.09
There’s adventure ahead.

 

Blog title: quote from Premonition 16, Legendary Pink Dots

I write, as openly as possible, about my experience with depression and abuse, and my ongoing recovery. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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If I can’t break out now, the time just won’t come

 

insight

 

 

everything is too hard right now. i have no ambition, no joy, no desire to get up and move around and engage with life.

i’m tired of fighting, of struggling, of pushing against the idea that doing what my heart directs me to do will keep me forevermore poor and needy. i’m tired of every year being an onerous stretch of disappointment and struggle. this is the Modern World, and i’ve lost all my spirit.

 

 

so this is what it’s become

i am so fucking done

 

i can’t talk to pretty much anyone. everyone wants or needs that fake face, the look of “of course i have everything together and nothing’s wrong” because having issues means that you’re making it more difficult for the rest of the world, who is also struggling. i get it, i do. i know that no one wants more on their plate to worry about. and i don’t want it on my plate that i’ve worried them. stalemate. i’ll keep quiet. and no, no one’s said that i should shut up. but i’m not a kid, i know how the world works. no one wants to hear my whining, everyone else has it hard, too.

 

and then there’s that worry that i’m making it “all about me.” 

because humans are intrinsically selfish

because i’m an only child with no kids so of course i make it all about myself

because i’m a fucking crybaby 

because my only options seem to be bleed for everyone else or be an egomaniac

because my brainweasels lie and i have no sense of proportion anymore

 

i am broken, broken, broken. something must break, and that something is me.

 

broken

I write, as openly as possible, about my experience with depression and abuse, and my ongoing recovery. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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Just ten thousand reflections of my own sweet self, self, self

xiane

 

Let’s just talk about you.

And when it’s time for me to talk, let’s just pretend that I have nothing to say about myself. Because when I try to tell you about me, you don’t hear me. You hear your answers, already constructed in your head, for the things you expected me to say.

So fucking focused on ourselves all the time, to the exclusion of seeing that the people we profess to care about are hurting, are needing, are unheard and unseen. We talk past each other.

You do it. I do it. And we wonder why we feel so alone at the end of the day.

We make ourselves be alone because we make ourselves the star of every moment, the whole time feeling like we’re not worthy of that spotlight… but selfishly clinging to it, all the same.

 

door

 

I write, as openly as possible, about my experience with depression and abuse, and my ongoing recovery. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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And my feelings fail me/Pretend to be lovely

insight

 

Simultaneously riding high and skimming the surface.

Feeling invincible… and untouchable.

How can I be irresistible, so enticing, so desired one second – than the next, feel so low?

I know why. I do. It’s that letdown after a high, the crash after the cresting wave of an awesome moment.

But in that nadir, I have to try and remember: I was sparkling. I was lovely. I was beautiful.

 

 

 

 

 

Make me beautiful again
And feel like I am special still
And remind me how to smile
And feel like diamonds
Make me beautiful again
Cry my tears and vanish them
Whisper in my ear as I run away and hide
Pretend to be lovely

I write, as openly as possible, about my experience with depression and abuse, and my ongoing recovery. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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Look back in anger, feel it in my voice

insight

 

I am not an angry woman.

I hate conflict. I am not avoidant, exactly, but I will work hard to make sure that things don’t escalate to a point where drama ensues. I have anxiety issues, I know this – I have a strong urge to please people and make things smooth running and pleasant. As soon as people-related stress starts to escalate, I can feel the anxiety build.

I rarely get so frustrated that I actually achieve anger.  And anger for me is swift and hot and then over, like a spectacular flame that burns out in one big burst. Usually afterwards, I feel like crying for hours. Yay for that. I can’t even manage a good, righteous angry without having guilt after the fact.

It’s funny – one of the reasons that I knew that I had to get off my depression meds was because I was having bouts of irrational anger. I know myself well enough to have caught that side effect pretty rapidly, and I was hating how I felt every time it happened, because it’s so foreign to me.

The weird thing is that I felt like that again this week. I think it’s the first time I’ve felt flashes of anger for  more than a moment in a long, long time. I hate the feeling… the hot surge, the adrenaline, the tightening all over my body as the feeling rushes through me.

…at least I’m feeling something, I suppose. For a good while, I didn’t feel anything.

Now, I think, I feel everything. Maybe too much, sometimes.

 

I write, as openly as possible, about my experience with depression and abuse, and my ongoing recovery. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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poetry

of middle stature and no great beauty

 

You told me
that I am beautiful.
I could see it in your eyes –
you meant every word.

I smiled and thanked you,
and my gratitude was sincere

but my belief is lacking.

I believe that you seem to think I am,
but what I see in myself is a different thing
a milder term…
smaller. Not so bold
so grand
so eye-catching and spectacular
and unbelievably complimentary.

I’m merely the girl who couldn’t grow up
the one with the boyish hair
the awkward stance
the personality that is TOO MUCH,
the body that is overly curvaceous
and the voice that is alternatively too bold
and too meek.

I wish I saw what you saw in that moment.
I only have you as my mirror.

 

not beautiful pic

I write, as openly as possible, about my experience with depression and abuse, and my ongoing recovery. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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And it rolls – And it goes – I see lovers – I see losers

poetry

changing
the growth, the spread of branches
of sights, of wings

you always know
you always know when
you always know when to
reach out

dreaming
a wish, the seed of changing
of starts, of transition

I always knew
I always knew that
I always knew that it
would end

 

[blog post title comes from Ooh la la la, TC Matic]

dream tree

I write, as openly as possible, about my experience with depression and abuse, and my ongoing recovery. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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