Mar 052017
 

I’m all alone, when the sun, goes down
What I wouldn’t give, to have someone around
The nights are endless, and dreams, are few
But when they come, well they never come true
And so it goes
No one even knows, the pain behind the smile
How all the while I’m cryin’
SAVE ME…..SOMEONE SAVE ME
SAVE ME…..SOMEONE SAVE ME
‘CAUSE I’VE BEEN SAVIN’ MYSELF FOR HER TOO LONG’
IT’S TIME I’M MOVIN’ ON
Won’t you save me?
Too many memories in this, old town
My face turned up to meet the rain..the rain that’s fallin’ down
Let it come
And so it goes
That no one even knows, the pain behind the smile
How all the while I’m dyin’
SAVE ME…..SOMEONE SAVE ME
SAVE ME…..SOMEONE SAVE ME
‘CAUSE I’VE BEEN SAVIN’ MYSELF FOR HER TOO LONG’
IT’S TIME I’M MOVIN’ ON
Won’t you save me?
Are you gonna be the one to make it right, or am I only dreamin’
Baby am I dreamin’?……Am I dreamin’?
No one even knows, the pain behind the smile
Whoooooh…baby, baby, baby, baby-they don’t know
They don’t know…that I’m cryin’ all the while
All the while
Somebody save me….save me
Save me……somebody save me (Mm Mm)
Save me…..save me
Save me…….someone save me
‘Cause I’ve been saving myself for her too long
It’s time I’m movin’ on
Won’t you save me….save me
Can’t you see…..that I’ve been lonely?

 

This weekend was a crazy one, lots of random things happened, and the one I least expected was seeing a message on Facebook saying that a girl I had talked to the night before was in ICU and wasn’t likely to make it, followed quickly by the announcement of her death.

I guess I was one of the last to talk to her as her brother reached out to me, which I am grateful for, unfortunately, I couldn’t tell him she was in a bad state the night before or that she seemed to be depressed or in a frame of mind that would make me think that our conversation was one that would be our last.

We spoke about how we were doing, mentally. She had done some amazing things in the past year, leaving her husband and other toxic relationships, delivering a healthy baby (her third child), getting a job and being the caregiver and breadwinner and even trying to reconnect with family while seemingly getting a hold of her own demons. She lost around 50lbs and looked amazing. Her frown had turned to a smile and her cynicism had for the most part became a sort of comic relief rather than what appeared to be a distress call.

So, what went wrong?

The pain behind the smile.

That’s what went wrong.

We had spoke about how being happy was a frightening thing because when you deal with mental health issues there is often a crash after a bout of happiness. She said “it’s like you’re jinxing yourself”. She was dead about 18 hours later.

After talking to me her posts on Facebook stopped. She was a chronic poster but I thought nothing of it since I don’t use Facebook that often for searching through posts. I only noticed this afterwards.

I have spent the last 30ish hours wondering if our chat was her being happy because she had made the decision to end her life and felt free for the first time. Did she talk to me that night because she was in her own way saying goodbye?

I’ve known far too many people who have committed suicide. I’ve attempted it many times myself, but I have never been among the last to speak to someone before their demise. I can’t honestly say how I feel, shaken is about the only word that comes to mind.

At first, I was worried about her three sweet babies, what will happen to them? Who has them? Did they find her? What did they see? Will the older two remember her?

Then I felt a sadness within myself, not because she was gone, but because I will be missing out on having someone around who often understood the darker side. Who was eager to seek the Lord and often confused by it during times of struggle.

A quote I have on my Facebook talks about how when one commits suicide it is really the first time that they have taken hold of control of their lives. After experiencing suicides through my whole life, I still believe that.

“If I commit suicide, it will not be to destroy myself but to put myself back together again. Suicide will be for me only one means of violently reconquering myself, of brutally invading my being, of anticipating the unpredictable approaches of God. By suicide, I reintroduce my design in nature, I shall for the first time give things the shape of my will. ”
~Antonin Artaud~

Unfortunately, it’s a painful ending to those of us left to figure out the pieces, never mind pick them up. Then again, there never really is a good time to die, whether your 102 or 22… There really, never is “unfinished business.”

Sometimes, our stories become more powerful when we have a powerful departure from this earth into our heavenly realm. I believe that will be the truth for this dear lady. Because, “The dead are not lost to us. They speak to us everyday” -unknown

Oct 302016
 

I sold my soul and the Angels are Weeping.

I stare into better days as seen through my own mind in the form of drawings on paper and I am scared that I can see an island I will never see again, swim in a spot I grew up in. Everything has changed in the blink of an eye and strangely it’s a pain that I never expected, a permanency that I never thought could be felt. Yet each of those waves in the water that roll toward the shore and break are reminiscent of my heart. They depict a tragedy that 6 months ago I could not have foreseen.  Not emotionally anyway.

I had to find you, tell you I need you and beg to go back to the start and as I stare off into my drawings hanging on my walls I realize that there is no going back to the start. Today cannot be taken back and tomorrow will never again return.

Death is 100% permanent.

Life is 100% fatal.

So why can’t I handle this? Why isn’t it easy? Why do I yearn to watch my blood flow from me so that I know I am alive while simultaneously wanting to do whatever I can do make the pains of life stop –even if it’s just for a few minutes?

The water will never be that same shade of blue again. The sun will never feel so warm. The strength of a drink will never feel so good coursing through my veins. I sit here, and I weep. I cry out and my voice echoes off the empty walls of life.

The light on top of his corpse will never be as bright as it was the day it first started, a speck of light within his mothers’ womb, flicking on and off like a lightening bug in the cool summers night. Like blinking eyes glaring at you from just above the reeds.

Gone are the days of sleep overs and drawing on one anothers backs as we whisper to avoid waking up our grandparents. Secretly loving how good it feels to feel that finger run along your back while you guess what it is creating. Preparing you for an intimacy that seemingly will never come because if you accept that intimacy it may mean that you will never feel those tingles up your spine again, the caress down your back. The hands that hold your hair as you lay sick on the bathroom floor. The cousin who removed a rock from my elbow when I refused to let the aunt who was a nurse! Gone are those days, never to return, never for the children to replicate because now love and life has been replaced by technology where the words “I love you” come easily to so many and a friend is someone you have likely never even spoken to.

 If they can all leave us, one by one then whats to say tomorrow won’t be the same, hold the same pains, cut a little deeper, push a little harder. Why do we fight the inevitable?

Tell me you love me.

In this life and the next.

Tell me that next time around it won’t be this hard. That my heart won’t break 1000 times before I am 29.

Tell me that my babies are safe in the Heavens above and tell me that I will be someday soon as well.

Tell me that the only one who possesses me is the person whom I have given myself to and that that won’t ever go away. Stop tearing me apart. Stop making me bleed. Stop having me run in circles when I know that there is an off-ramp to a better place instead of being brought back to the start.

If you love me, won’t you let me know?

I am a shell of who I once was, a shell of who I no longer can be. I stare down and read my name on the grave and I realize just how cold I am and I wonder why the angels are weeping and my heart isn’t beating.

Oct 192016
 

This song has been a favorite of mine by Evanescence for years. I love the way they express the pain inside of my brain and that longing to be noticed while craving to go unnoticed all at the same time. PTSD is hard. Wanting to disappear has become a part of who I am. Knowing someone has felt the same, or close enough to have written the words and designed the music helps me to realize that my broken-self isn’t alone.

“Missing”

Please, please forgive me,
But I won’t be home again.
Maybe someday you’ll look up,
And, barely conscious, you’ll say to no one:
“Isn’t something missing?”

You won’t cry for my absence, I know –
You forgot me long ago.
Am I that unimportant…?
Am I so insignificant…?
Isn’t something missing?
Isn’t someone missing me?

[Chorus:]

Even though I’m the sacrifice,
You won’t try for me, not now.
Though I’d die to know you love me,
I’m all alone.
Isn’t someone missing me?

Please, please forgive me,
But I won’t be home again.
I know what you do to yourself,
I breathe deep and cry out,
“Isn’t something missing?
Isn’t someone missing me?”

[Chorus]

And if I bleed, I’ll bleed,
Knowing you don’t care.
And if I sleep just to dream of you
I’ll wake without you there,
Isn’t something missing?
Isn’t something…

[Chorus]

Oct 062016
 

You look at me with cupped hands
Your thumbs wipe away the tears that slip from my eyes without my permission
You whisper ‘baby it’s okay’
And, I know it will be.

Because, You created this day.
You knew the saltine water that would spill from my eyes
You knew as I struggled to catch my breath the word to escape my lips would be ‘sorry’
I have no reason to be sorry, I am Yours.

I grip onto Your hands and feel the holes in broken flesh and know that my scars are Yours
That as you hung on the cross You were working to purify and heal my inevitable sins.
With the flash of a light You knew from the start that this is how love would truly begin.
And, the Earth trembled as the Father eagerly awaited You at those Holy gates.

I wait on my charges just the same.
That they would walk through the door with lessons learned, full of Love and soul-y unscathed
I have to place their hands in Yours because it is You who holds life’s script
Like me, I know they too will trip.

You reach out that broken-scarred hand and raise us up from the depths
You show us that blind-faith is the only faith
That the answers are predestined, defined
That Your ordination is Love of the purest kind.

A compilation of 150 blog posts from the Five Minute Friday Community. The stories found in these pages span a diverse range of experiences, but share a common thread: A Love For the Bravely Written Word.
$12.99 USD

Sep 122016
 

Dust in the Snow –October 11 006 –Marisa Slusarcyk

Overthinking all that should be forgot
Took my blood without a second thought
You lied, I cried
Only wish one had died
The pain inside is obvious to see
Branded into her blood ridden lines of three
Push through the window braking hard to stop
I see you, I feel you
And as I come to a slow
You’re gone,
Like dust in the snow
Forever it feels you’ll bounce in my head
Get out of me, get out now
You’ve played enough games
Please take your final bow
My heart is broken
But for you it does not mourn
The scars on the outside match those on thee in
The life I have led
Because of you
Is buried in sin
One day you will pay as I do now
God is the forgiving type
But for you I don’t see how
In hell you will burn to ashes each day
Forgotten,
Like dust in the snow

Aug 152016
 

Why I write is definitely linked to my past. As many of you may know from hanging around through my ups and my intense downs I have been through a TON in my short life. Most of which was very traumatic. I suffer greatly from PTSD and a boat load of the side affects it comes with, like depression, severe anxiety, insomnia, suicidal thoughts, panic, and even self harm.

I have seen a dozen doctors/therapists/counsellors and I am on about a dozen different medications, all of which to help calm me down and hopefully help me to prevent the above symptoms, from getting worse than they are on a “normal” day.

However, along the broken-road I started to ask these very people who were set out to help me how they grew up, what their trauma’s are and I was shocked and felt more alone than ever when EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM told me that they have no experience with trauma but they are “trained to help trauma victims.”

One recommended after the loss of a baby that I go be like a “deer” and grieve in the woods for a few hours, literally shake it off and move on because that’s what animals are born to do. Just shake it off.

Unfortunately, I am not a deer, and unfortunately, I have been in a stopped vehicle while watching a gopher panic as it’s dead spouse lay in the middle of our highway, watching him run back and forth not quite sure what to do, trauma and sadness in the gophers eyes. Finally as he realized we weren’t going to hurt him he grabbed up the one he loved and pulled her crushed body off to the side of the road and into the woods. I am guessing he didn’t shake it off, he was too shaken up.

My heart broke for him as I sat there with a stream of tears remembering my own losses pouring down my cheeks.

I started to write. Not because I felt like what I had to say was of any importance, but because keeping it all in was literally killing me. My heart with an irraddic beat and requiring meds, my body shutting down, the blood stained razor adding another scar or two or three almost nightly. I needed to get the thoughts out of my head, whether they made sense or not.

Years later I call this a brain dump. Where I just open up a word document and let the words flow with no rhyme or reason, or I open a page in my journal and do the same. It’s unfortunate that most of my writings and ramblings are inspired or prompted by pain but it’s my hope and my prayer that in sharing my intimate thoughts, fears, frustration and deep love for Christ that someone who is sitting in a similar situation may find hope, or comfort in knowing they aren’t alone.

Their doctor may never have lost a baby or been raped, or experienced a trauma that they are willing to share, but I am, and its sad and scary how many have reached out to me to tell me they have been raped too, so many men have told me they were abused as a child after reading my words, some of whom claim they have never told anyone. I love that my hurt is allowing other people to hand their pain over and share in it and be understood rather than feeling alone and lost.

I believe the statistics are that 1 in 3 women are sexually abused at some point and 1 in 10 men. Of course those numbers aren’t accurate because they are based on what’s reported and I can sadly say that it is more like 9/10 people have been sexually assaulted or abused in some form at some point in their lives, whether it was a full fledged rape, molestation or something that made them feel uncomfortable, the line was crossed and 90% is simply too high.

Yet I am eager to learn and to listen and to offer guidance when the person asks.

So I write not only to cleanse my own brain of the pain that has plagued my soul since I was that 12 year old cold in the snow, but I write for those who have never shared and for those who have never been hurt and want to understand what they can do to support the ones in their lives who have been hurt.

I write because it protects me from myself.

I write because it’s a documentation of where I have been and where I never plan to go again.

I write because it’s my pained poetry, a tortured prayer where I know that God can see my soul through the blackness that often covers my heart and He can and will provide me with peace.


Jul 282016
 

“I wanna play outside the grave but Satan’s shackles keep me enslaved”

I feel like a child hidden in the shadows and my eyes strain through the darkness to get a glimpse of the light. My heart races faster and faster still and up my spine climbs a goose bump filled chill.

My eyes see darkness, my mind remembers that all shadows are cast by the light, the Light -ever present, all knowing. Seeing everything and brightening a path for each of us lambs to follow. Shepherded by the crook of His staff that never guides wrong.

I am the lone sheep hidden and lost in the woods and I know the heard is safe and He will come for me and His hook will gently press on me and bring me back to the path out of darkness and towards Him.


When I need rest my eyes will close and the lapping sound of waves will wash over me keeping me safe. When I need to wander He will watch. When I fall He will lift me up. When I thirst He will quench it. When I am no longer hidden, He will shine out of me, through me, and everyone will see.

The moment I prayed for salvation I was pulled out of the grave, the shackles fell and I was no longer enslaved. I am not hidden anymore.

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