Why don’t I sleep in our bed anymore? Give me a minute and I can easily come up with a thousand excuses. There must be something else, playing both therapist and patient, I’ve come up with:

1. His snoring does wake me over and over
2. He sleeps with the TV on mute, blue light and flickering is annoying
3. My hound doesn’t come upstairs as often and no longer sleeps in bed as he ages and the climb is too difficult
4. I wake with a back ache
5. There is no “reason” for me to BE IN THE BED
6. Claustrophobia – feeling trapped
7. I sleep too many hours when I sleep in bed
8. No intimacy so it’s a form of defiance and punishment
9. I am lonely in the big bed and feel further away than when I’m downstairs
10. My sleep cycle is a disaster
11. I can’t write my truth in bed
12. I can’t read in bed
13. I feel almost like an intruder
14. It doesn’t feel like “home” anymore.

I keep looking at new bedding: duvet, sheets, pillows and a special mattress pad called “cloud”. Perhaps if I felt as though it was my bed than I would get back in? Right now it is his bed. His bedroom.

The woman who promised herself that she’d stop shopping is going to look online for new bedding. This is not shopping, it is cognitive behavioral therapy.


Day Dreams & Nightmares: No Difference

Just for a little while, maybe a few days, I wish that my dog and I could just disappear. Where we go doesn’t really matter at all. An over air-conditioned hotel where we live stay inside the room, only leaving for his necessity. It doesn’t need to be overly fancy for us, clean and safe; those are my prerequisites.

I need to be alone for a short time because I serve and care for those around me, it is NOT reciprocal. I do not have a person in my life who I can talk to freely and trust with my soul, heart or mind.

Living in a world if vampires has left me drained; unable to fight any longer. If you want to truly know somebody, listen to them while they believe you are asleep. Hear what they say, who they speak to and don’t let on that you are awake.

That is the real person.

My dog and I need a break from the selfish and inconsiderate. The disgusting and the blood drainers who are taking too much and leaving me to die.

I need to save myself before it’s too late! Like Dorothy trapped in the castle, the hourglass is rapidly emptying and I haven’t much left in me. Rage is choking me and loneliness is compounding the pain.

If we disappear for just a little while then maybe if we return you all will have learned. Stop taking! Stop believing that you are the center of the World! ALL OF YOU WHO JUST NEVER EVER TURN AROUND AND LOOK AT THE DAMAGE YOU LEAVE IN YOUR WAKE!

You are Russian dolls, one inside of another. There is never an end no matter how many layers you peel away. I know you, all of you and it is time for me to stop taking the scraps and giving you the meal.

It’s your turn now, get up and do for me! Stop leaving me bloodless and enraged. Can’t you see what you do? Take a mirror to your life and how you treat others – each if you.


Because I am ready in my mind to disappear. Given the time, I can and will make it happen.

Just once I would like to know from each of you: WHAT AM I GETTING FROM YOU BESIDES PAIN?! What do you care about except what is in it for you, each of you are paid for in one way or another. My contempt builds and I have no inclination to share my truth with you.

Would any of you care a bit about me if you were not being compensated in some manner? I don’t think so; and that is what finally has broken me.


To Borrow from Ms. Jackson

To borrow the spoken introduction by Ms. Jackson:

“This is a story about control
My control
Control of what I say
Control of what I do
And this time I’m gonna do it my way (my way)
I hope you enjoy this as much as I do
Are we ready?
I am
‘Cause it’s all about control (control)
And I’ve got lots of it….”

To date, all of my achievements have been to make another person proud or to remain strictly viable in the male-dominated Wall Street culture. My control has been a protection mechanism rather than conduit to positive change. I’ve inherited and nurtured this gift, only to use it as needed to please any person (predominately men; see “father figure”, Dr. Freud)

A thousand years of self-evolution has brought me this very crossroad where, sadly, there is no talking scarecrow to assist me with my journey. Easily written a decade plus afterwards, perhaps following your passion will lead to financial freedom.

Holding On

It’s late and I am tired, I’ve promised to sleep in the bed this evening but his snoring is unbearable. The television continues to blast out the same news over and over again.  I wonder how long I can hide in my office, writing and keeping my eyes from closing.  I’m holding onto a dream, a hope that all that is feared is not true.  

Angry at myself for using the day for the others rather than myself, I vow (yet again) to make tomorrow different.  How can I possibly make time for myself when my heart races and I spend my days trying to outrun daggers?  The constant little words that are taken back immediately when pointed out to him.  How many mistakes can one make when speaking before you are even believable any longer?

I am holding on for dear life, my sweet dog keeps me functioning.  There is truth to the saying that “I want to be the person my dog believes that I am”; because if I were that woman…  

If I were that woman I would just tell him to stop snoring, give it a shot for another twenty minutes – grab my iPhone so he can hear what it is like to share a bed with him – and then retreat to the sofa. I want to sleep in bed, any bed – no, my bed.  The one that I spent time making all pretty today, putting scented powders and matching sheets – the bed that I barely recall.

Coward be damned, It is 3:30 in the morning and I have worked ALL day at cleaning up 80% of our home.  The portion that is not complete?  Surely, it is my closet.  Anything that is focused upon me is last, this is a gift that I was given as legacy.  The same gift that will make me feel guilt over items I cannot control or questions asked – unanswered – and thus ignored – only later to be reprimanded for my failure. My only failure is that I keep Holding On.  


My father died on May 5, 2010
And my world changed.
He was my entire family despite those who share my DNA.
Except Faith.
My cousin who would carry me through the darkest days and cry with me when I broke.
Sick as she may have been, she fought by my side
And I failed her miserably

Once my world went totally dark, I retreated into myself
I left every one and everything behind as I fell deeper into my endless well.
Sick still, I was not strong enough to stand by Faith as she did for me

I had to walk away for a little while, sure I would return to her
Selfish and blind, I let her free promising to come right back

Faith was lost on April 7, 2013.
She walked off of the roof of her 30+ story apartment building
She was living just miles from me
I had no idea – I thought she still lived a thousand miles away
There was no service for Faith
There was no mourning time
It was as though she disappeared and nobody went searching

I failed Faith
That is when I lost my Faith
She was there for me and I wasn’t there for her
Faith slapped me across the face

She continues to haunt me
Remind me of my shortcomings

Faith left me knowing that I am weak

Faith left me knowing that I would never be enough to stand in Faith’s shadow.

Faith simply left me



I Am Screaming! Too Loud Conversations fade on and out The only sound that echoes through my head – Screaming! Ear shattering animal sounds that are never released I am among the others and for a moment I almost forget The mask slips down my sweat-drenched face The Rage! bubbles up higher than I expected To escape, I fold myself into a box and disappear Human origami Elsewhere, I go into the shadows again Swallow the razor of Rage! with the anesthetic of my choice Nobody notices I’ve sealed the box tightly enough that no light tempts me Look around for an escape; Window or Door At this juncture there is no difference except the landing My only allies in the steam filled room are unaware Screaming! does not exist in their vision of me Proving that those who stand with me know me least Besides – They are too deep in their own darkness to care I stay awake at night melting wax for their candles, Simply looking for a light to give them in the darkest room Screaming! we are there too long and the others forget my existence It is my turn to look at each of them from five-miles above Give hope for their redemption Their ability to hear and see the impending explosion within feet of them dwindles It is safest to leave the coal mine while I am still able to find the exit Screaming! nothing will change Despite animal cries emanating from my blackest of jungles The Anger! has changed me The floor beneath shakes It does not frighten me any longer It lulls me, like a child to sleep Ice cold and alone This is the only safe place in the world that I can call home.