Shame no more.

Undated (but definitely 1979)
To me, I am my world, I am the only thing in this world
I am the only thing
the world around me doesn't matter because I am me
and if I'm bad, or fail at life
the only one to know is me
I am not part of this world
I am not part of this life
I am not part of this world, I am not who I am
I am not a part of this world
I am not who I am, I am not who I am
I am not a part of me
I am not who I think I am
You will not deceive me, and you who will die
You will deceive me, and now you must die.

August 13, 1978
The waves flicker with sunlight in play
and they have long since they were born
and they will always be the same
never changing, never wanting, never wishing.
They will shine. The sun will play upon their happy caps,
and slightly brighten their unending depths.
And no, they will never change
never deceive you, the are never to blame.
And those of us who watch them play
upon a bed of unknown land in the mists of everlasting rest,
with only the wind to blow their playing peaks
to shine for us, those who will never be...like waves.

November 1, 1979
I was once as dead as all dead could be
I laughed my laugh and dreamed my dreams.
I could cry and smile and stare from my eyes
and speak of things that meant nothing,
to no one,
but me.
The only thing to me was to be
my only joy was sorrow
I weep my laugh
and sobbed my fears
and screamed my sleep in angered mirrors.
Mirrors of life, my eyes, they were
No one could touch them to reach me, to hold.
To capture my glance a thought you must hold:
my glassy eyes were meanings, surrounded by verbs.
Words trickled past my lips
quivered while they spoke.
Thoughts so mixed up in my mind
faster than my tongue could move,
then abandoned thoughts were left far behind
as my mind raced new ones for me to find.
My mind explodes with thoughts still now
racing forward, faster with time.
Too bad my lips move no more,
for my eyes know the darkness
that no one else knows.

November 12, 1979
Black satin midnight
floating on a dream
yellow hazy moonlight
in moonlit lightening beams
dance upon the willow trees
hazy, still, unseen
Lazy stars in darkest sky
dancing very slow
wishing me a happy life
as I'm growing old
fairies from the fairy tales
sing upon the lazy night
castles forbidding me and you to enter in the light
Cobwebs look like snow to me
and trees are waving slowly
fly away the moonlit sky
and night is wearing down
slow and quiet is the night
when I was born to die.

===========================================

Embarrassment. Yep. Embarrassment keeps me from posting. Many dramatic "poems" declaring my teenage feelings. 

Why can I throw this up now? I made a decision. I have been wall-to-wall Twilight Saga for the month of December. I do not see it ending anytime soon. I have been reading furiously - not just Meyers but Gaiman too. I think of my postings and how they make me cry sometimes while I write them. 

Pride makes me say out loud that these posts are better than Meyers writing - even on a bad day. These poems are like Meyers. They were written as a child. Yes, I know that I have not sold a franchise worth of material. Heck - Google Ads kicked me off before I received my first deposit. But still. My posts are not a book. I should not compare them to works of fiction. It is difficult for me to not judge. I am judge. that is what I do. It is natural and easy for me to believe that I am superior. 

I do not make New Year's resolutions. Perhaps I should rethink. Perhaps I should continue to write - especially the journals that come out of my box and go quickly back in. What am I waiting for? What can I possible be afraid of at this point? 

/cheers to 2012

It is hard to grow up knowing that you are different, but not being able to understand just how

August 22, 1976

Sometimes I don't understand anything at all. I learned today that I hold in my angry feelings so that is why I hardly ever get mad.

When I get mad I usually will go to my room and think over what has just happened. If I hear about things people have said about me I don't get mad, but I get mad if they say something about my friends.

When I get mad I will come up to my room and tell you everything. I think it will help me. I don't feel guilty any more about Bob since I have told people about it. I have nothing I can think of to feel guilty about. I don't feel guilty about Roy anymore. It helped me to write those letters just to say how I feel. I wrote them to get it off my mind not for other people to read. I really do trust my sisters to not read this because I might be mad at them sometime and write what I think because I can't write anything nice if I am mad.

I was mad at my dad today. He has been getting on my nerves lately. I only like him as a person not a parent. I really think he is an unreasonable guy when it comes to parenthood. God-damn, I hope I won't be a single fucking bit like him.

I want to have a baby but I wouldn't know what to say to her. Bob was going to fuck me. He almost did and he would have if Dawn didn't interrupt. God, was I mad at her! I felt like saying to Bob, "If you really want to be a father you sure as hell can screw me, but you better call up my Bitch and tell her first." He would have. He would have said, "Hey Bitch Lowe, I'm a gonna screw your daughter better than hell, so long Bitch!"

No, but I really like my mom. Sometimes she is a real bitch, but mostly she's alright.


A note about the formatting: I am going to cross out the text that I have crossed out in my journal - I find it interesting what I chose to scribble out or exclude.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Jumping straight into the yellow legal pads that I used as a teenager. These are painful, awkward journals filled with boasting and profanity. Some of the entries are calculated entries to lay the foundation for my schizophrenic diagnosis. I started leaving journal cookie crumbs in 1976, writing letters from "partner". After a year or two, I developed the alter ego as a homeless young mother. 

These early journals include a lot of wishing to have a baby. I yearned to have a baby years before I was sexually active. My bravado in the entry above about "Bob" and our almost/not quite sexual encounter was just that - fantasy. I was not sexually active until the next summer - so this journal will have lots of discussion of sex and my naive ideas about what sex was. 

I begin using drugs during this year, so I will certainly act more and more "streetwise" - pretending to myself as I record the thoughts and observations of the days as they pass. 

Paging through this journal before writing this summary, I want to apologize in advance to my siblings. I love you all. I say mean and cruel things about you and our wonderful, loving parents. Please keep in mind that I was only 13at this time. I have just finished eight grade, about to become a Freshman - the upperclassmen in junior high school. I am learning about relationships. I have not yet figured out that just because a boy talks to you doesn't mean that they "like" you. Just because a boy wants to get you alone to kiss you and feel you up, doesn't mean that he likes you either. 

There is so much confusion. I am developing as an observer of my life. I am finding my voice. This is Susan, out of control teenager, trying so hard to grow up and be liked and accepted by my peers. 

It is awkward and painful to watch. Don't avert your eyes. These pages are filled with cringe moments. I hope you find forgiveness for the confused young woman I was becoming. It is hard to grow up. It is harder growing up knowing that you are different, but not being able to place just how. I want to notice how I discuss and analyze my feelings especially. Feelings are still confusing to me. Especially since I discovered two years ago that I never realized that I had such a limited emotional vocabulary.

Just like 14 year old Susan, I yearn for you to accept me for who I am in these pages. It took me a until I was 30 years old, and near death, to finally accepted this awkward teenager. I am still her - she is me. I am her.