Cemetery @ MindSay 
death
I'm glad to see they are still doing well and continue to do well living there. We even saw someone left a bunch of corn for them too. What a nice gesture.
These were taken with my old camera as it was the only camera in the car.
A little black wolf spider crawled on my left arm and I killed it. It creeped me out, but only a little. I keep resting my hand over the spot where I killed the spider. My old friend, Nicole, once told me that when you squash a spider it's essence will bond with you. Or something like that. She comes up with weird spiritual metaphors... If what she thought is true, spider energy will bring me the power to weave stories, images, and words together to create a wonderful web of dreams.
Tonight I took a walk through a very old cemetery where I only discovered one person buried there last year. The rest are all dated back as far as the 1830's. There were lots of broken tombstones, some half buried into the ground, and one lovely one resting under a tree with dark purple berries hanging over it. I love cemeteries. Whenever I visit a cemetery, especially while alone, I always feel like I'm welcome there, like the dead (even though they're dead and probably don't care) need a visitor or two every now and then. I like visiting places most people don't often visit. People in the cars driving by were all staring at me as if I were a ghost...
I've had a headache for most of the day/night. My brother annoyed me, the sunlit glare off blank comic art boards, and an hour of weeping gave me the ache. It's a sign I should lie down and let everything that gave me pain yesterday go.
Can't let it go just yet... I wept over money. Because of my mental illness, I'm under doctor's orders to get help with controling my finances -- in order to get money, I have to go through my payee representative: my brother. It's driving me crazy. I should've gotten a payee person who isn't a relative. I feel less in control when I have to beg my brother for money. And he talks down to me, telling me to shut up or shush whenever I need to ask him for my money! How can I escape that? It's like he just doesn't respect me. And when I cry about it, he trots up to his room and ignores me. So I weep alone. Once I'm done weeping, he comes back down and pretends like I never got upset at him. All I want is for someone to listen to me and not ignore me. Everytime my brother ignores me, I feel like dying. I haven't written about it until now. I'm a tad embarassed about it. But the sadness lingers more.
I'm lonely. I feel like everyone I love is too far away from me. I want to escape to a place I can truly call my own. I feel trapped in my brother's apartment. Thoughts of houses, places of refuge, fill my mind with stories. I keep writing those stories in my mind, letting them stew there for awhile. Evoking home... worshipping even the sound of the word: HOME.
I feel like an empty house waiting for guests to arrive. I am still. Alone.
Every bone and drop of blood singing inside of me stings of memories of friends. Every night I dream of places I've lived before. When I wake, I expect to still be there, but then reality sets in, and I heave a sigh.
That's where my desire is hiding: HOME.
My cheeks are flushed. I think I had too much sugar and caffeine. Or it's my inhaler. My lungs are still healing from my cold. My every breath still stinks of medicine. That and Cherry Coke.
I want to wear some perfume, I want to play some music, I want to light a candle or burn some incense. But I don't have the freedom to do that right now. I am living in a space that is not my own. I need: HOME.
I'm having a hard time getting to sleep. Not necessarily from restlessness, but from enjoying the dark and quiet right now. It's the only time I have to myself. There's so much I can see in my mind in the dark...
In the distance, the tall shadows of an old house reach for me. The house needs me as much as I need it. Through me the house will speak...
I like the smell of damp pavement and grass after it rains. The thunder we had tonight was brief, the winds were cold, and there's nothing like the feeling in the air after a storm. That magical sense of relief.
The relief of the whole earth embracing me. Invisible forces kissing me on the head. My ache is leaving now. I may not have someone to hug, but for now I'm going to let the spirits let my thoughts drift me back to bed...
.I feel rather gothic now, I suppose. Heh.
It took eight years for me to stop crying .... two close suicide attempts that put me in the "behavioral" ward of the hospital. The last hosipital stay helped me come to terms finally with his death. I used to visit the cemetery .... I felt such a need .... regularly ..... and would cry hysterically every visit. Since 2003 and my last hospital stay I only go when my mom wants to .... and then I would just rather not.
I stood at his grave in August 2003 ..... eight years and one month since his death .... I read aloud a letter I had written telling him how I needed to let him go now ..... how it hurt to do so ..... but for me ..... it was best .... not to forget him of course ..... but to quit carrying him around with a heavy heart 24/7. I read things to him in this letter that I didn't get to say when he passed. I told him how grateful I was that I was chosen by him and my mom to raise as their own. I thanked him for teaching me compassion, understanding and love. I reminded him how he had been my best friend. I told him how much I loved him and will forever miss him. And walked away that day with a lighter heart and the ability to say I don't need to spend the time here that I used to.
So it is really a rough visit for me ....
One of his favorite flowers was iris ..... his headstone now covered in them.
RIP ..... daddy .... thanks for your service during war, thanks for your unconditional love, most of all thanks for being you.
Dad holding me ..... 1957. My cousins are around me.
Peace. J.
death
death comes
in all shapes and sizes
it takes those
who least expect it
and leaves others
to mourn their loss
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