#LifeStories
Read More on The Vocal
Sharing One of Middle Me’s Achievements; Kudos to ROCK and Lm’s Mental Health Work!
Obsessive Reflections; Listening Blindly to Memories of You
The mirror shows a reflection that is not my own now. Lm was a young girl of thirteen when she turned all feelings inward; no one could truly know Lm or reach her no matter how hard they would try. They, meaning, my desperate mother, teachers, school counsellors, psychologists, and “friends”; from there came bullies who learned not to cross me and then silence when I passed nosey neighbours and those who fed my peculiarities.
MiddleMe, doesn’t want to remember Dad, but Lm breaks down without him. Tears spill and plop down onto the paper she is writing on. Lm is learning that Mm doesn’t hate you; she detests your lying, bullying, and trauma invoking behaviours such as witnessing the grooming of your new younger conquest, your next spouse, and endless lovers in between. We are not your enemy; you’ve done a good job at hating yourself for eighty years.
Lm however remembers just “US”; fourteen years of just Lm and you. She hid all your ugly behaviours and stuffed them into a closet with a heavy lock for her need to be loved and love was stronger than she. The parts she hangs onto are singing in wonderful harmony, a shared love of sentiment and this unspoken code that read, ” I got your back”. She had your back until Mm just, just couldn’t, watch her try anymore. Dad, “You were a stupid teenager and human; parenting was out of the question for you. I feel sorry for your sons who could not be seen because you took up all their space with your ego.” Mm screams this to Lm.
She mirrored many of your behaviours which Mm so wishes could be erased. Thing is Dad, no matter how much her heart can be set afire with a desire to see you and hold your hand again, you will never admit the truth. It’s completely impossible for you to tell a straight up honest story. We love our siblings which you have strayed like breadcrumbs across the globe, yet the pact you push is, “Shut-up or get lost”. Mm won’t go down that road with you and your “NOW” family. You manipulated our dearest treasure, our first baby sister, then my unforeseen siblings became jaded from your lies. You embalmed your current partner with some sick, dysfunctional image of you as honourable, admirable, worthy. She is the enabler you needed when we quit the job. So, while Lm’s tears are justified, and memories can be good, Mm tells her you are dead. Merging is difficult for Lm and Mm. They are learning that they can talk to you without any fear through heaven’s ears where they imagine God makes you listen. He or She or They sit on you and force you to hear Lm and God threatens to send you back to earth and do it all over again, yet with honesty. Oh, this dream is a good one. We wish you were not a dream, nor a place we fall into if a photo appears of you. Our minds too often visit a place where good times live.
If we were to see you in human form again it would be brief; we want you to only cry and say, “I love you; I am sorry! “Bravely, Mm and Lm would turn away and walk away stronger as one. But alas it is not a movie, a dusty western where we win, and you lose. The reality show is we all lose.
No Photos
Twenty-Twenty Vision Without Paparazzi
One thing ROCK, Lm and Mm, (Middle Me), agree on is there shall be no frivolity when we speak our truths.
No fancy decor as we all know truth is very black and white. It is or it is not. It isn’t wrapped in pretty paper and often leads to complete hell.
Lm looks up to Mm in awe. How did we get this far, this strong, and survive? ROCK. We came from a history of strong women on mother’s side. Our family name was Steele. Our heart’s were soft but our character was pure, selfless and like in the delightful film, Lilo and Stitch, “Ohana”, means family; nobody is left behind.
Being strong means letting go. Releasing our need to validate our truths, offing the redundant longing for acknowledgement from those we dream of standing up for us is a must do. Honestly,those who hurt us do not care if it means damaging themselves. Siblings, ugh. To stay in today’s reality show one must, “stay out of the ugly”, less the reality show be cancelled. Truth jeopardizes who “they”, “we”, “us”, are collectively; breaches what is needed in regards to family and most are too weak to stand up for the black sheep who has been kicked to the gutter. All on the table, hands up, a good liar is always preferred when the good go rogue.
Uncaptured Memories
How far can one run before all that one is trying to forget, divert, and escape comes back to where we have fled? Is this the middle of our lives where we draw a truce breathlessly, stop bargaining with our pasts and face the incongruities of our deepest emotions? Or do some of us weasel around our truer selves, aborting our most harmful and hurtful memories?
I don’t know that everyone is as introspective and determined as I to make sense of my losses and embrace my gains. Many I know continue the grand avoidance by burying themselves in newness or clinging to safe behaviours which cause them deep regret. Newness, as in changing jobs, locales, or partners. Some embrace a new religion or avert their deepest threats by falling into the huge word, and world of “addictions.”
To fully grasp ROCK’s significance, is to understand that most all of us have an inner strength, a will, one could say to push on, to overcome adversities and pursue, albeit often ignorantly, a better place for ourselves. Not all of us have the skills, in fact, most of us do not. We learn the tricks along the way, bumping into walls, heading down one-way streets that end in catastrophe and facing the unexpected dips in the road with surprise. ROCK knows that no one has control over anything other than their miniscule tasks that give them the illusion of control. Unloading the dishwasher, vacuuming, and tidying up one’s surroundings gives some people a sense of control. True adhesiveness, however, doesn’t exist. Life will get messy again and again and there is not a damn thing we can do about it but examine who we are, accept our temporary gift of living on this planet and make choices that will break our hearts, or others, lose loved ones and gain loved ones, discover our passions and cling to them, for at the end of the day it will not matter how well you ironed that table cloth, only who sat around the table with you and enjoyed your company.
LittleMe is the part many of us hide away, live with in a small corner of our memories and try to avoid. There are amazingly many whose LittleMe is quite satisfied. They were adored, cared for and have the childhood the rest of us can only dream of; we can’t undo what is done, yet we can undo how we let what was done THEN affect our NOW.
Just when I think ROCK has given all the power to LittleMe and my NOW self can live in contentment, even joyfully, there will be a wee part, still unhealed that can be triggered and the roof I have built with confidence caves in. There’s more to address with all of me and with ROCK.
For readers who have been following our journey from October 2021 perhaps you can see growth, we can, but the self-doubt is very present and MiddleMe must address some more hurts that broke her carefree ways, her giving heart and the unkindness, unfairness the world delves out and learn to shake the fear she still clamours to quell within.
I hope you stay with us on the journey as LittleMe, MiddleMe and ROCK cut through the untrodden jungle within.
Extricated;Revelations of Freedom
Revisions of LittleMe
Upon a mattress of memories, covered in a blanket of words The ceiling is removed, my mind wanders like driftwood Washing up on the pebble coated shore Sun hidden, yet it will shine again Free now, with no constraints upon me Except for those I have created myself My eyes watch as clouds shift Shadows of LittleMe linger yet I am not hindered Letting go of you was the best part of me Not caring, not wondering, no second thought remains Rock pulled me through the stench of unrequieted suffering Like the fires of hell, each piece of me was burned As a steamy iron flattens out the wrinkles Patience led to a better version of now No longer am I tied to you Blood bares no meaning Selfless, I once gave you all of my dreams My visions are only mine now Each hour a page is turned The further I delve into my gentleness My heart without borders sighs I soar above you I always have What makes a woman strong is not the good days Untethered, we can face our needs Without roses Without holding another's hand I hold my own Courage to speak the words That create our story Defies dysfunction Trees begin as saplings, just like me Each branch stretches out with a bit of my growth Each leaf is new, renewed, then falls Like the end of summer A bit of old me is left An autumnal breeze is my new pulse Rock does not sway like unbridled emotions Together we finished another season of me Triumphantly without your curse LittleMe curls around her newness Clouds will always move As I move Further and further away from you I was not born brave; sorrow made me courageous I am proud that I found peace with my anger One by one the leaves fall away Taking you with them Steadfast I remain For I am still beautiful in my nakedness
LittleMe
Moving Toward Forgiveness
What you gave me was the feeling of being important, of mattering, of being irreplacable,capable and loved. What you stole from me was everything I clung to and it has taken me years to see, to feel, to love and forgive myself. I am the pearl, the rare gem and you are no longer in charge of my value. I am so much more than you ever deserved. I am genuine, not some nock off rolex from the side alley in the city. I am no longer just LittleMe, I am ROCK solid. I am as gentle as the still lake on a fall morning, I am noone who needs to hide my heart or be afraid anymore. The stone is more than a shield, it is a tool, one that helped me grow away from you and into me. I am sorry for who you lost, for I was always the only TRUTH you had known. I release you and I can laugh again. You were not my hero afterall. I am my hero.
Sleepy Eyes;The Reawakening
Lm Rises With Relentless Passion
Eyes Squint as the sun rolls over the hills pulling Lm up and out of her lengthy hibernation. There is a grace around her,calmness is rewarded with a toast of familiar aromas between her and Rock. He has stood silent, never pushing her to write or paint for he knows she always will find her bearings after all these years as one. One woman, wound in threads of her past, always mending her wounds, sometimes unravelling and redoing her old patterns. She rips at the stitching she has worked so diligently on and then regrets her lack of believing in her self. Rock is not one to heal, he simply listens to her heartbeat, her dreams, and guards her memories with pride. He loves his protective role, yet desperatly longs for Lm to embrace him and allow their codependency to gain an impenetrable force of a love for life beyond the silences lingering between them. Lm has indeed been writing on the walls in her stairwell, deeply hidden in her darkness she creates prose and poetry that brings heavy tears to those with a true understanding of the life she has lived, survivied and continues to embrace. Rock pulls open a drawer where some of her writng is growing stale, longing to be shared with the world. "Go on" he insists, "Put it out there!" Lm feeling somewhat nervous takes the words she has written and takes to the keyboard of her laptop. Poem? Prose? Lm sees no reason to give her words a title and let's it spill into print. Like turmeric, pomegranate,and cumin, we fill the room with exotic spice. Pungent scents of our newness exhale around our discovery, circling like a dancing nymph. Ochre and cinnamon, brassy, hot, flesh soothed only by the midnight air. Dainty, cool, silver falls upon our sturdy moon, a flash of our future, our beginnings. Desert orange, a flush of your cheeks. An odd mixture of clay and clover, of cabbage and okra, we long to be the same. We grope for the chance to blend. We are an experiment, unlikely ingredients combined by chance. Rock can't applaud but is pleased. His stoic face never gives way to emotion. Dissociative still, yet hope will always be on each mornings horizon.
A Letter Home
Dear USA,
It’s been many years since I left home, a place I loved and freely roamed.
Born in nineteen sixty-three amidst a war across the sea.
In the south where I grew up, desegregation bloomed like butter cups.
Children from the city known for song were placed on buses and travelled long.
In class three a bus stopped to park at my school, out poured children red, Black, and blue.
I was excited to see their faces, unaffected by our different races.
In class three I played daily with Antoine, Joyce,and tiny Bailey.
Their dark brown eyes to this day, warm my heart in a solemn way.
Clasped hands white and brown, skipping rope and running `round.
We merrily sang until the school bell rang,
“Ring around the rosies, a pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down!” All while spinning on the merry-go-round.
Taking turns we felt each other’s hair, our teacher smiled as we sat in our chairs.
Our teacher too was brown and had a baby growing, we all were told as she was showing.
I recall a day while she was on duty, a white boy gave her a gift, two hand knit booties.
Her face lit up for they were hand sewn by his white mother, someone unknown.
“Bussing” humans, the government cited, was a success as we were united.
Now I am sixty in a far away land, my country divided like it all began.
Red, Black, and blue a whole other meaning, what happened to us playing and singing?
Society scarred and sour, carelessly handled by no superpower.
I hate you yet long for you, your troubles are mine, too.
I defend you, our people, your resilience, and pride,
Yet I am broken as the world watches in stride.
Guns, shootings, and Black American’s still, fighting to live without being killed.
How are Antoine, Joyce, and Bailey? Are your babies now men, are they worried daily?
Protest signs, riots are all still there, not in my memory but daily in flares!
As children we huddled in tornado drills, giggled, joked, and made small squeals.
Now although in so called unition, school drills are needed against ammunition.
At eight with Antoine, Joyce, and Bailey side by side, we never imagined our lives would divide.
I never imagined I’d live across the sea; I wonder if they remember me.
As headlines roll in from my home state, peace and love are still a debate.
The flag which waves before me is yellow and blue, this country is not perfect, yet better it’s true.
Democracy, hypocrisy, all countries have crisis; I expected my homeland to still be the nicest.
I stand at the shore of the North Sea as tears well up for Tennessee.
The little girl inside still cares about you, the USA, red, Black, and blue.
Sincerely,
Hope
RealStuff by RealMe 
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