The Ones Who Couldn't Deal


You didn’t know how to handle trauma,
No shame in that, most people don’t unless they’ve been trained or been through it themselves,
But you were too arrogant to admit your ignorance and unwilling to listen
or take guidance and direction,
Instead of admitting you didn’t know how to help me,
You got angry at me for needing help,
You tried for a while, then decided that I was the problem,
You got angry and screamed and pushed me away,
And then, after I overcame the kind of loyalty I’ve always had that causes me to devalue myself
in favor of others,
When I finally left,
You turned around to all who could hear you and said, “See? She left! What was I supposed to do?
Couldn’t stop her from leaving. Her traumas were too much for her. She made some crazy choices.
Not my fault.”
Did you feel better then? Vindicated? Did the part of you that feared to admit ignorance quiet down
inside of you so that you could finally sleep at night,
Secure in the “fact” that there couldn’t possibly be something you didn’t know or couldn’t fix?
But I never asked you to fix me,
I only wanted to cry on your shoulder while you held my hand and loved me through
The greatest losses of my life
Instead, you became another loss,
And I had to heal without you,
But that’s all that ever could have happened
Because you cannot help people if you cannot admit
They know more about their healing needs than you do.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Fears

Sometimes I feel like I am surrounded by enemies, dancing all around me Screaming Shouting into my head, into my heart In the mornings before school, And at night before bed When I can't stop thinking, can't stop thinking of all the mistakes I could make tomorrow, Remembering all the mistakes I made today, and yesterday, and the day before that one The times I screamed at kids, failed to motivate them, The times I didn't teach them anything or made them feel stupid And the enemy screams and shouts and pounds his drums In a frenzy And all I can hear is how awful I am And how I should quit and stop and leave and go And it's hard to hear the still, small, quiet voice of truth in my head, In my heart, Telling me what I've known all along, but forgot Forgot, forgot, forgot In the frenzy and pounding and screaming of the fears That tell me that I don't deserve to be here And what difference do I make anyway? But He just spoke to me yesterday, tol
Read more

Dust

 Dust is inherently spiritual, As we see from the fact that matter and energy inhabit both sides of the equals sign In the relative equation of life And though I was taught to value the things of the spirit beyond the things of the earth And then vilified for doing that too much , Still, I came to a place where I could be aware that they are and always have been the same   Dust to dust, As they say, And “from the dust you came, to dust shall you return,” But what happens to dust after dust it becomes? In thousands of years when the dust is pulled together again By the turbulence, gravity, mass, and heat That create the stars themselves So that we are born from the dust anew Even as we will one day return to the dust again In the neverending cycle of beginnings and endings, Perhaps dust is the constant in all of this change, And perhaps as we sweep it away with a rag on a Saturday morning, Or bury it in the ground on a Tuesday afternoon, Stare at it in the mirror on a Monday before wor
Read more

The Blues

 He walked slowly down the road into town. The slight breeze cooled him only a little as it brushed against his bare arms. They day was humid, and the sun smiled down from the early summer sky. The town was not busy as it was the middle of the work and school day. Soon some of the cafes would start to see lunch customers, and there were a few people inside of the shops, but it was not nearly as busy as it would have been on a weekend. He wondered if he could do what he needed to do in town without… “Hey! Your left arm is blue!” the speaker was a man about his age. He was dressed in a long-sleeved button-down shirt, his goggling eyes rimmed by glasses with dark frames. “Everybody’s left arm is blue,” the newcomer said with a sigh. This had happened before, many times in fact. “We don’t talk about that,” Glasses said. He unconsciously rubbed his hand down the sleeve on his left arm. “We are polite and we wear long sleeves. You… you bear your blueness for the whole world to see!”
Read more