SEPTEMBER 10, 2020: “When Real Was Just 3 Doors Down” …

Dear Brad:

THIS credit is LONG overdue!

Thank you.

MAY 30, 2008: “Away From The Sun” …

AWAY FROM THE SUN

It’s down to this: I’ve got to make this life make sense. Can anyone tell what I’ve done? I miss the life, I miss the colors of the world. Can anyone tell where I am? ‘Cause now again I’ve found myself so far down away from the sun that shines into the darkest place. I’m so far down, away from the sun again. I’m over this – I’m tired of living in the dark. Can anyone see me down here? The feeling’s gone – There’s nothing left to lift me up back into the world I know.  {3 Doors Down}

(A Diary Entry to The Man Himself )

Dear God, I need to talk to You for a minute. Actually, I just have a few questions, so please just be perfectly honest. You’re not done with me yet, are You? My very bright destiny lies just ahead, and in a sense is happening even as we speak? The future will be good, won’t it? It’s going to get better, right? Can You please just make me these promises? Those two precious babies you sent to me? The fluttering butterflies You sent? They need me to be okay so that I can help them reach their own destinies. Am I still Your child, or did You just forget about me? Are You mad at me? What did I do to make You so mad? Oh, wait, I think I know! Can’t You just forgive me now? I’ve done my time, God, four life sentences in a row. Okay, so I’m ready to be forgiven.

So, hey, do You ever hear me crying at night, and does it every really bother You? And what ever happened to that “Sea Of Forgetfulness” I’ve heard so much about. You know … the one where YOU forgive and WE FORGET then just move on about way? It’s not the best situation You know, all these ghosts and snapshots in my head that I lug around in my head. Can’t You just erase a few of them? Is there a way? I know YOU can do it. YOU can do anything, right? Like, that that one with me on the front bench of an old pick-up truck? Five quick minutes, remember? The smell of the beer on his breath? His sweat dripping into my mouth? Can’t You just erase that one? Or, how about that one where the boy I loved hit the wall and split his head in two? Yah, I could definitely do without that one! Oh, and remember that tiny little girl You dropped right into the palms of my hands just so that I could watch her writhing in pain and choking on her own breath? You know? That same little girl who Just needed to hold her Mommy’s hand but couldn’t even manage to hold her finger? Not loving that one either, and in fact, it’s just not working out for me at all. I get it, she’s gone. I was there! Remember? What rhyme or reason will ever help me understand why I had to bury her? Why should any parent have to bury their child? It’s just not the natural You know? It’s not the way it was supposed to be. Please God, won’t You help me? Surely You remember how it felt to watch your Son suffer on the day You had to give Him up? 

Well then how about an angel? Can You send me another angel? And preferably one a little taller than two feet and older and wiser than 15? Someone I can talk to? Someone just to listen and hear what I have to say? Someone to hold me and remind me that I’m alive? How about someone who doesn’t think I’m just whining? Or dramatic? Or ungrateful? Or pathetic? Someone who understands my heart and my pain and my grief? How about just one person that will look beyond my surface to find the broken little girl hiding inside here? Someone who will hear me and not say everything is okay! How about someone who doesn’t think I’m just a crazy fucking bitch or that all the “things” I have should preclude me from feeling any pain? And can You send me a hug, or a kiss, or a touch? Will anyone ever want to touch me? My perfection is a grand illusion and I the master illusionist. You and I both know this is true! I’m wandering aimlessly here God behind the walls of my beautiful castle, nose pressed hard against the windows. I’m still looking for that sign and I still believe there’s a chance. Hey, I’m leaving for France tomorrow. Can I just leave some of my baggage there?

APRIL 8, 2008: “The Real Life” …

IMG_1471 ~ by The Phoenix Collaborative Project ~

THE REAL LIFE

I wanted to find somewhere to hide, and I opened up and left those fears inside. And I wanted to be anyone else, only to find that there was no one there but me. But I woke up to real life and I realized it’s not worth running from anymore. When there was nowhere left to hide I found out that nothing’s real here, but I wont stop now until I find a better part of me. I let those hard days get me down, and all the things I hate got in my way. I could have screamed without a sound, I found myself silenced by those things they say.  But I wont stop now until I find a better part of me that’s out there somewhere, and it cant be that far away. That’s where I’ll find myself, and I’ll find my way out. That’s where I’ll find out.  {3 Doors Down}

Well, perhaps actually penning the words to a complete and total stranger was the just the pin prick my heart valves needed to effect the slow release of toxins from my system. I mean, so much of what I wrote to her was true, but then again, so much of it was a lie! Everything about her and what I could gather from her story showed me that somehow, somewhere, there is a light at the end of every tunnel. Could it be that my resurection is much closer than I know? It truly feels as though I am getting a little closer to bridging that proverbial gap. My “surface level only” policy where relationships are concerned is fast becoming a sham and I desperately need to make the words therein my letter to her real. In the meantime, I’m still alive, though not-so-well here in my beautiful ivory tower as I continue my rule over a magical kingdom where everything appears to be perfect. “Queen Catherine The Perfect”; Perfect life, perfect family, perfect house, perfect car – perfectly happy, with all the perfect things that accompany my perfection. I’m the envy of every woman I know, covered in diamonds from head to toe, with a loving husband by my side at every turn (or so it seems). I play this perfect role so that my family remains happy and blissfully unscathed by the secrets in my past, and so the painful memories I have yet to leave behind don’t interfere with their lives in any way. Despite the seemingly perfect, bright and sunny existence I awaken to each morning, there’s a storm cloud hovering above that follows me everywhere I go. I’m beginning to think that maybe I haven’t cried enough these last 16 years and the “cloud” in my atmosphere is all those unshed tears. The storm is coming fast thoughI can feel it on my skin!  But will there be a rainbow afterwards?

It seems like only yesterday when a stranger took my innocence, and since that moment Fate has continued to rape me. It’s been just about a year since I entered that hospital, spirit broken, but body still somewhat whole. One week later I walked back out, leaving behind the last remnants of what once made me a woman. The physical scars that I wear now are now clear and tactile proof that I am nothing but an empty shell. These years were not imagined – they were real! At night sometimes I cry, grasping my pillow tightly so the precious baby girl sleeping beside me doesn’t hear. Then in morning I awake and prepare myself for the day that awaits and walk out of my bedroom an illusion. My children greet me with their glorious smiles, ignorant to my pain, and this is the way it is. Despite the seemingly outward perfection, my soul is hollow, and I feel alone, abandoned and sick, if not “a cancer” to the entirety of mankind. The mental camera in my head just can’t seem to help itself from constantly flipping back and forth through all the erosion, toxicity and filth inside my mind.

Each day that passes is drawing me closer to something spinning hopelessly out of control.  My day of reckoning is fast approaching and may be just around the corner. I can feel the ripples just beneath my skin as reality is boiling to the surface. The unrelenting knot in the pit of my stomach and heart is getting tighter with each day that passes and it’s getting harder for me to breath. I am shaking, anxious, and, oh yeah, a total fraud!  JUST OVER THERE I can see the front of that bridge, but how can I make my legs move across it? If I actually make it across, what there will I find? Are there secrets about myself and even my “seemingly perfect childhood” that are still yet for me to discover? We shall see. Dearest Catherine, “Queen Of Perfect”, surely you can perfect this dance.