Clear the road- I am 16!!
Happy birthday, my sweet boy.
This is when I legally run out of excuses to get you that driver’s permit. This is when I nervously let go of your last little finger , only to grasp and firmly shake your hand in friendship🤝 This is when many transitions happen. This is when some of it makes sense to you but a lot more does not. This is when the world suddenly looks weirder, scarier, cooler, exciting, fun,crazy and different for you, all at the same time. Then is when we may agree to disagree on a lot. Remember, nobody has it all figured out entirely, neither have I, neither will you.
But I promise to try and understand..I promise to stay onboard, face the tides and ride the unending high and low waves of life side by side with you forever and ever and ever.
Love,
Amma

Behind the mask, no face to find,
A trick of mind, ‘neath sun that’s kind,
Yet rain pours down within the soul,
Where hidden truths take their toll.

“Get up, get on, you’ll be alright,”
The lies they tell ease the plight.
A crown once worn, now tipped and slanted.
Society’s stigma, harsh and untrue.

“Go out, be free,” they say, unaware,
That solitude’s chosen over despair.
In sorrow’s depth, alone you wallow,
While unseen, in code, for help you call.

Attention sought? Not even a hand to hold,
A listening ear, as your story’s told.
Over and over, being told “You’ll be okay,”
But will they listen, or just turn away?

Until the end, when all is read,
And in the paper, your name is led.
Will they see then, what they missed before,
Or just a picture, nothing more?

Healing can feel 2 paths
The one with all the rocks
And the one with the steps to the mountain
The flowers that bloom for every little accomplishment
Finding the things that work for me
The constant therapy appointments
The constant doing things alone
Finding the peace with the sun
The peace with the birds and the breeze
The walking up on another chance
Another day
Closer to where I want to be
Closer to the northern lights
Closer to the place where nature is the most beautiful
Where the leaves stop falling
Where your so at peace
That nothing or nobody takes that away from you again

wifi’s off,
sun beats again the brow,
little embers dancing on your forehead,

“do you want to?”
you know i want to
“i want to”
i know you want to,
come then,
devour my body,

you make me hate myself,
love so strong it’s like i’ve never been love before,
i know what hurts you,
i know what he did,
i hear the pain hidden in your voice,
but i can’t apologise for something i never did,
i can’t be sorry that i remind you of him,
i can’t apologise that you see him in my face,
and it hurts you.
i know it hurts you,
i’ll never hurt you,
so i have to go.

give me the blade,
i’ll go the the river,
i’ll take away your pain,
i’ll take it from my body,
numb to texture of your skin against mine,
like nails on a chalkboard,
heart lost under frozen,
u give your your tears,
you give your suffering,
i give my tears,
i give my innocence,
do you feel safe here,

i don’t know why you still wanted me,
i don’t know why when i turned around to meet your tug there was nothing there,
gone without trace as if it never happened,
do you feel safe with me?
is that why you gave me hurt in exchange for love,
then acted like it never happened?

i don’t remember your name,
i’ll never forget your face,
i wake in a pool of sweat in blood from manifesting nightmares into something i can feel,
something i can chase,
something i can touch,
i wonder if that touch reminds you of me,
every time i go to the river i remember the feeling of you,
i miss it more than it deserves,
and i’ll never let myself forget the sensation you are

I grew up in a world where you were to be seen, but not heard.

I grew up in a world of “do as I say, not as I do”.

I grew up in a world where it was unacceptable to cry lest you be ostracized for being weak or girlish. Unless, of course, you were being beaten, as crying was encouraged.

I grew up in a world where blue is for boys and pink is for girls, or everything is either black or white. There is no color spectrum in between.

I grew up in a world where presenting habits, preferences, mannerisms, speech, and style that is not in line with masculine stereotypes meant you are less than a man.

I grew up in a world of preselected choices and rejection of uniqueness. Rebellion was disrespect. How dare I be different?

I grew up in a world where you could be a doctor, a lawyer, an accountant, an engineer, or a banker. You could not choose to be an artist or a musician…those were hobbies, not careers.

I grew up in a world of obligations and not choice.

I grew up in a world where I learned to survive by hiding in plain sight though conformance, silence, and camouflage.

I was not of that world, but I complied and conformed to avoid the shame and stigma of being different.

I grew up cold.

And one day I realized I escaped that world physically, but never mentally.

How could I unlearn survival? How would I shed the things that protected and kept me safe all those hidden years.

How would I drown out shame when it has the loudest voice in my head? How could I escape the prison of my mind?

How could any small, tenuous steps of liberation become a full hearted sprint toward happiness when I am weighted down by so much baggage? When would the wings of freedom sprout strong enough to carry me away?

And thus time passed as I struggled to unlearn my upbringing. I tried to suppress these teaching while raising my own children. I succeeded in some ways and failed in many others.

I now grow old knowing that what I was taught is as wrong today as it was back then.

I now grow old allowing myself to be the person I always was, from the beginning.

I now grow old and have to account to no one but myself and those I love.

I now grow old learning to forgive myself and to humbly ask for forgiveness from those I have hurt.

I now grow old understanding that to fully demonstrate love to others, I must first have learned to love and accept myself.

I now grow old endeavoring to live a better, more authentic life.

I now grow old realizing I have been reborn as my true self, loving art and music, being gentle and caring, crying when I want to cry, wearing what I want to wear, loving black and white and all the colors in between, and understanding that being different is not something to be hidden or ashamed of…

And this alone has warmed my once young, cold heart.❤️

No pain, no gain

Still holds true

For biceps and exes

To name just a few

How does it feel

When pain leaves the heart?

A weight off your shoulders,

A race ‘bout to start?

But pain is evidence of life

And why should you be spared?

I know it’s easier to go numb

Than feeling lonely, feeling scared

But let pain come and let it go

For only growth comes after

And transformation can begin

When bitter tears turn into laughter

“Mom. Mom. MOM!” Dawson yelled.
Why did he insist on calling me from upstairs? Was I the only one with legs in this house? I started up the staircase, muttering as I climbed. I reached the top and found Dawson sitting on his bed meticulously inspecting a sweatshirt in his hands.
“What do you want?” He looked up, clearly as annoyed as I was though not for the same reason.
“Mom, why didn’t you try harder to get this stain out of my sweatshirt?” I strained to see what he was pointing to. He shoved the sweatshirt inches from nose and still the spot was barely visible.
“Did you try all of the stain removing products?” He demanded more than questioned. I resisted glancing at the clock on the wall which would inevitably announce how late this ridiculous conversation was making us. The cats circled his unmade bed, meowing for their breakfast. He’d put on a t-shirt but was still wearing pajama bottoms and hadn’t brushed his hair by the looks of it. All those unfinished tasks yet to be ticked off the morning list caused a nervous twitch at the corner of my eye. I called upon my inner yoga-mom, took a deep breath, exhaled.
“You did not tell me it had a stain when you threw it in the wash, so I washed it. That set the stain making it nearly impossible to remove. When I finally noticed the stain, I treated it several times and re-washed it, still to no avail.”
His eyes widened; he dropped his sweatshirt on the bed. “So, you’re just going to give up?” His voice cracked.
I scanned his face certain he must be pulling a fast one on me. His tight expression revealed otherwise. But instead of conjuring feelings of motherly compassion, I lost my temper altogether.
“Dawson, half my life is likely over. I am not going to spend what precious moments I have remaining scrubbing a stain out of a six-dollar sweatshirt. You’re young. If you want to scrub that stain, have at it. Knock yourself out. But I’m done. Now get ready.”
The drive to school was mostly silent and I had a chance to calm down and see the incident for what it really was, a vehicle to channel emotions he was feeling but hadn’t the words to express. We were both having a hard time accepting this next step, but we’d agreed on it. This was the last day Dawson would attend high school. At least for the year, I was officially withdrawing him.
I pulled into my usual designated handicapped parking spot and unlocked the doors. Dawson cast an accusatory look at me because of course I was breaking the law. But for like three minutes, I reasoned. He snatched his pencil, an eraser, and a protein bar, from the stash in the glove compartment, grabbed the car door handle.
“Hey, babe,” I reached across the seat, laid my hand on his shoulder, “The stain will fade over time. All stains do.” He smiled back at me.
“Love you, too Mom.”
I drove to the district office as if to a graveside, with a heavy heart. I walked slowly up the steps and straight to the receptionist’s desk.
“Hi, I’m here to withdraw my son from school.”
She looked at me with a confused expression. “So, you want to take him out of school?”
I nodded.
“Do you want to homeschool him?” she asked.
“Oh god, no.” She raised her eyebrows, and I was immediately embarrassed by my response. I explained I wanted to fill out paperwork to withdraw him from school, take him out, nothing else. She picked up the phone to call someone upstairs with more authority. It only took a few moments for the woman from upstairs to make it downstairs. She listened to my story, nodded.
“Yes, I’ll get the paperwork for you.”
It was involuntary, the tear that rolled down my nose and landed right where I needed to sign my name.
The woman with more authority leaned into me, patted my shoulder. “He can always come back,” she assured.
I thanked her for her kindness. I wondered if she could feel my failure. I wondered if she knew this was my second son to drop out, that I couldn’t inspire even one of my children to finish school. I thanked both women and made my way back to the car.
Inside the silent vehicle, I leaned onto the steering wheel. Rested my head for a moment. I closed my eyes and just breathed. Dawson never did have a decent day in school, especially once his father left. Every day had been a constant struggle with his tears, anxiety, and the effects of his obsessive-compulsive disorder. For my part, I’d simply tried everything I could. I threatened, bargained, bribed, begged and finally yesterday, I agreed to let him drop out. It was going to happen in less than six months when he turned eighteen anyway. Why prolong the inevitable.
Was I giving up? Maybe. For sure I was being forced to give up on my dreams and expectations for what I believed his life should be. And I’d have to learn to live with the stain it would leave on my mom-heart. But I reminded myself that it would fade over time. All stains do.

Today I have decided to tell my story. I suffer from bipolar. I was diagnosed with the mental disorder over 20 years ago. I have been through alot. It has been a real problem most of my life.
It was triggered after I had my second child. It was a nightmare 😔. I ended up being hospitalized several times over the course of twenty years. I will do my best to explain the horror of it all. I remember having one episode after another. Each episode was very exhausting and dramatic. I would block out a lot of the different personalities and triggers of emotional dynamics. It was so 😫 tiring.
I will try to explain one of my episodes to give you an idea of it all. Well, it all begins with not taking my medication. It slowly turns into a horror movie. I hear voices and act out several different personalities in my mind. I begin to have spells of crying dramatically having thoughts of despair. I was on edge and going down a bottomless pit of not wanting to be here anymore 😪. Yet, in most circumstances I didn’t want to kill myself because an angelic voice told me, ” no” don’t do it! I say, “okay” most times. Smh.
In these drastic times I have family who did help me like my mother. And that was important and fortunate because at these times it is good to have positive support systems in your life.
In most cases my family would call 911 and have a rescue squad come get me. In this case, I can’t stop crying. I wanted to leave! I wanted to go away! My family would say that I was going to the hospital. My main support is my mother. She was always there for me.
Once the ambulance 🚑 arrived I felt like I was in a horrible movie. This has happened to me several times over the years. Yet on this particular case the ENT would come in from the ambulance slowly one my one. They see I’m distraught and incoherent. I don’t know who I was at this point. I’m yelling for no reason and crying for no reason. I can’t understand what is going on. The police also came in…and it got worse. They felt like I would hurt myself or others and so one officer threatened to taze me. I said please don’t..please give me some water to drink. They did.
They slowly calmed me down and then my casemanager came in to also help out.
They asked her several questions to understand why I was like this. She told them that I was bipolar. I am so sick at this point. I have felt supernatural powers around me. I would say, ” I see angels”. They weren’t really visible but a feeling of goodness and calming voices.
So this contributes and adds to my psychotic behavior 🤔. That is what I felt.
I want to tell you the experience of being INSIDE THE AMBULANCE 🚑. Once I get inside the ambulance I felt like i was being ported to an experimental place. I was scared!!!!!This particular personality in me was very informative. I was talking a great deal like I was literally someone else.
One ENT said that he had never seen anything like this before. I finally got to the emergency room. Once there I begin, to yell and bring attention to myself. The police 🚔 officers were staring at me. A guard was placed at the entrance of my room door. I was being watched for over 24 hours. After a while a psychiatric doctor told me I would be admitted to a room in the hospital.
Now, I was on the floor of the psychiatric unit. Once I was in my own room I was in a bed. In some cases I was given medication to help relax me and I would sleep for hours.
So this was a particular bipolar experience. The next day, after being monitored I had to learn and come to appreciate little things again. Showering 🚿, brushing my teeth, wearing a hospital gown, and being served my breakfast lunch and dinner. This was a safe place.
Once I stayed a couple of weeks I was let go. I had a team of supporters around to help me. I had a case worker, a psychiatrist, and medical doctor coming in to see me. I felt much better. This was going to begin to be a part of my life for over 20 years. It is hard. But I will say I’m currently doing ok. So remember you are not alone. Be positive. Find good supporters in your circumstances. I hope this helps someone. Thank you for hearing my story. I am beating bipolar.