Poem: Giving Up Is Forever

Posted on by Astrid

Pain is temporary, they say
Things will get better (eventually)
Give it some time…

Giving up is forever, they say
There’ll be no point of return
Be more resilient…

God has a plan, they say
He doesn’t give me more than I can handle
Surrender to His will…

But what if God’s will
Is to give up on me
Forever?

I wrote this poem for dVerse’s Poetics, for which the prompt today is to incorporate some form of the word “give” in your poem. As a spiritual wanderer, I find myself perpetually wrestling with the idea that life has meaning. I came across a comment on Reddit recently in which a chronic pain sufferer said more or less that the idea that one day they will be dead and no longer need to suffer, is comforting to them. The comment didn’t come from a position of “I’ll be in a better place then”, which made me think really. I am not in a space to ponder this topic further right now though.

Flash Fiction: November

Posted on by Astrid

She had always felt that November was the hardest month. Filled with enough darkness to completely cloud her mind, but not enough cold to freeze her thoughts. It didn’t help that the month was filled with just a little too many memories of her totally losing the grip on life. She realized maybe the crises were more a result of her depression than her depression being the result of her memories, but either way she seemed stuck. No therapy or medication had been able to alleviate the gloom that was November yet.

It wasn’t like she exactly wanted to die. Not during these crises and not now. Sometimes though, she looked for an exit, an escape from the deep pit that is this month. Maybe, she mused, snow would be the easy way out.

This post was written for this week’s Prosery. It’s more than a little autobiographical, but since our pieces have to be flash fiction, I decided to write it in third person perspective.

In an Ideal World

Posted on by Astrid

In an ideal world…
I’d get all the care I needed,
From all staff I trusted.

I’d be able to engage
In activities I enjoy-
Crafting, baking, walking, swimming.
Without a care in the world.

I’d live closer to my spouse
If not together.

Sigh…
In an ideal world…

This post was written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt, which this week is “ideal”. I realize that my dreams for an ideal world are a bit childish and rather self-centered. The piece was based on the thing I at one point told staff at my old home: that, in an ideal world, I’d get one-on-one all day long. This isn’t actually true, since I need alone time to read and blog and phone my spouse, for instance. However, I do feel there are ways in which my care could be improved. Some of them might be realistic, while others fall into the category of “in an ideal world”.

Poem: Home Is…

Posted on by Astrid

Home was
At my parents’
Who were there and yet weren’t there for me
Hurting me in ways I feel I can’t express
It wasn’t safe
Or maybe that’s just me

Home was
On my own
Barely holding on by a thread
Surviving but that was about as far as it went
It wasn’t doable
Or maybe that’s just me

Home was
In the mental hospital
Where I stayed for nearly a decade
Only to be kicked out again
That wasn’t forever
And that wasn’t me

Home was
With my spouse
Again, barely holding on by a thread
Managing life by sleeping and panicking
It didn’t work out
But maybe that was me again

Home then was
In the care facility in Raalte
About as unsuitable as they come in theory
But it was near-perfect in reality
And yet, I left
And that was me (sort of)

Home then became
My current care home
With harsh staff, chaotic clients and poor quality of care
I wasn’t abused (not really), but that’s about as far as it goes
It doesn’t feel safe
But then I wonder, isn’t that just me?

Maybe soon home will be
The future care home
The big unknown
Will I feel sort of happy there?
No-one can tell
But it’s up to me

To make myself feel at home

This poem may sound a bit self-loathing. It isn’t intended this way, but I couldn’t express as concisely how I feel about my various “homes” and particularly the way people have told me I approach them (ie. the idea that I’m never satisfied anyway because I’m looking for perfection) without sounding this way. This is definitely not my best poem, but oh well, it shows my conflicting feelings about the fact that I’ve never felt “at home” anywhere.

I’m joining dVerse’s OLN. I’m also joining Friday Writings. The optional prompt is “muscle memory”. I guess repeating that I don’t feel at home anywhere counts.

Poem: The Onion to My Core

Posted on by Astrid

On the surface
I appear quiet,
Collected,
Maybe a bit timid

Underneath that layer
I look angry,
dissatisfied,
Always oppositional

Even lower
Sits the sadness,
Depression,
A deep-seated despair

Yet another layer down
I don’t even know…
Not sure
I want to go there

Do I even trust
That as I peel the layers
I will find myself?

And if I do,
Do I want to get to know her?

This poem was written for dVerse’s Poetics, for which the inspiration is the onion. I’m not sure whether we’re supposed to include the word “onion” in our poem. I didn’t, but I hope the metaphor is clear.

Flash Fiction: Identity Crisis

Posted on by Astrid

I remember what it was like to be a tiny, little lamb. Everybody adored me. They’d cuddle with me. Children would feed me grass they’d just picked from across the fence.

Then, one day, a little boy pointed out to his Mommy that I wasn’t a tiny, little lamb after all. He told his Mommy that I may’ve been dressed in sheep’s clothing, but that didn’t make me a lamb.

From that point on, everybody hated me. No more cuddles for me. No more grass feeds for me. Farmers started campaigning to be allowed to kill me.

But I still feel like that tiny, little lamb. How tragic it is to be a wolf in an identity crisis.

This post was written for Twiglet #326, which is “to be a wolf”.

Flash Fiction: The Journey Home

Posted on by Astrid

As Kevin was boarding the bus, Lauren by his side, he knew he was heading back to the one place he hoped – or had told himself he hoped – he’d never have to see again. He recognized the bus driver – same one who’d driven the bus back on that evening so many years ago. Kevin hoped the bus driver wouldn’t recognize him. He was filled with intense shame having to be on this bus and being confronted with the same bus driver, didn’t help that. However, he had to face his monster now and go back and ask his parents for forgiveness.

Five years ago, Kevin had been on this same bus headed in the other direction. After a massive fight with his parents – over drugs, of course -, they had kicked him out of their house. In a massive breakdown, Kevin had threatened suicide while on this very bus. The driver had called the police and Kevin was sectioned under the Mental Health Act.

Thankfully, he had gotten his life together eventually. After a short stay in the mental hospital, he was released to an outreach-based addiction rehab program. He had had his relapses, but was now roughly eighteen months clean. He had a steady job, rented a little apartment and had the cutest dog in the whole wide world. Moreover, he had Lauren now. And now that he had proposed to her and she had said “Yes”, it was time to finally make amends.

This piece of flash fiction was written for Fandango’s Story Starter #97. As regular readers of my blog will know, it has some autobiographical elements: I at one point (over fifteen years ago) threatened suicide on a bus and was, on a separate occasion, kicked out of my parents’ house. However, the rest is purely fictional.

Acrostic: Unicorns

Posted on by Astrid

Uniquely powerful,
naturally talented for magic,
imaginary, but so real,
created for my comfort.

On my journey to find joy,
right there beside me,
neighing happily,
shiny mane, silver hooves, sparkly horns…

I’ve always wanted to create a poem about unicorns. This was harder than I imagined it’d be, honestly. Of course, I usually write free verse, ie. jumbled thoughts randomly spread out over the page, or so it often is in my case. I wanted to do a specific poetry form this time, and even with an acrostic I could’ve gone with just random lines. Which these probably sound as to most more experienced poets, but oh well.

I’m including a picture of my latest polymer clay unicorn, which is just its head, as it’s a charm. The purple turned out much darker than the original color, but it’s still okay.

I’m joining dVerse and EarthWeal for their open link opportunities.

Lord, Please Lead Me: A Prayer Poem

Posted on by Astrid

Lord, please lead me on this journey,
guiding me every step of the way;
so that I may not wander,
and I may not run astray.

God, I will follow You wherever
in this life I’m supposed to go,
but please take me by the hand
and show me what I need to know.

I pray I will find comfort (at last)
in Your loving arms.
Please show me I am right to trust You;
Show me You are the God of warmth.

God, I feel so lost and lonely,
like no human soul sees what I truly need.
In Jesus’ name, I ask you,
will you help me when I take Your lead?

This poem was written for this week’s Six Sentence Stories link-up. I have no idea whether any other Six’ers are believers, so I was initially going to post this at the top with a note that my poem is Christian in nature, but then I decided the title should speak for itself.

Between War and Peace

Posted on by Astrid

The stories we hear
Of war and peace
May cause us concern
Or relief
And yet
Reality
Is most often
Something inbetween

When orienting at the prospective new care home last Wednesday, a resident started talking unquietly about the war in Ukraine. She was quickly calmed by a staff, in as simple words as possible, suited to her intellectual capabilities.

That night, I heard an airplane or a helicopter fly by very low over my current home. I thought, perhaps influenced by the woman in the other home, that it was a jet fighter. “Are we going to war now?”, I asked the night staff when she responded to my call button. She put my mind at peace, saying someone had probably booked a night-time helicopter flight over Raalte. I took her story at face value and went to sleep.

The next morning, I found out that both of our stories are probably equally unlikely and reality was something inbetween: the helicopter had been called in a medical emergency to resuscitate a baby. Thankfully, the baby survived.

This post was written for Friday Writings, for which the optional theme this week is war and peace.