Saturday, November 7, 2009


Sometimes I feel as though I walk in the shadow of a giant. I have always been fascinated with time, what I was doing at this time last week, last month, speculating about next year.

And now I walk beside myself, I live in the ever constant presence of who I was a year ago.

At this time last year, I felt the blanket hold of a demon. I do not say that lightly. Whether it was a demon of mental illness or a demon that walked with Christ and fell with Satan, it was demonic nonetheless.

at this time one year ago I sat outside a coffee shop and wanted to die. No particular reason. I just felt the weight of a thousand blades. I looked past the window and felt the darkness suffocating me. The blackness had weight and intent. I saw rape and I saw needles and I saw children hiding under beds. I felt cold though I was warm. I felt as though I would never love or be loved, that the world was full of horror and menace and I could not take it. And I heard, in my head, over and over again “This is how your mother saw the world, and this is why she killed herself.” I felt a connection to her for the first time in my life. I not only looked at the world with the shade of her eyes, but we saw the same things in the dark. .

I walk beside her when I travel through my house, lay in my bed. A thousand Kates have slept in my bed, driven my car. Each day has changed me, sometimes gently, sometimes viciously.

Lately I have been wondering if the sickness I felt at this time last year could possible have been a future me: me from the present screaming at myself to think and stop and stop and please stop. All the things my friends begged of me. But I could not. Maybe I haunted myself.

Oh, Abba. How gentle and loving you have been with me.

it is standing on the edge
and i have stood here before
when i was a different me
and everything was odd as a consequence
the edge, the blackness, my eyes and breath in the sky
and i am afraid
like i was before but different
to be here again but to be new and wise
it is standing on the edge
knowing what it feels like to be pushed
or to jump
to hurl through hot air
and to land in ethereal arms
or a cold floor
flying and falling is a matter of perspective
(for now I would rather stand here with you
but if i jump or if i fall
or if i am pushed once more
come with me, please come with me)

1 comment:

  1. Praise God for change, for growth.

    This is beautiful: A thousand Kates have slept in my bed, driven my car.