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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 6 of 6. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by susan47 on May 26, 2006, at 13:19:01
I don't know how to make it right, anymore. What I supposed to do, what I should say, to bring back the hope, the hope there in the eyes, the hope that I was trustworthy, that I was good .. that I am a whole person. And I am. But as long as others do the talking for that person, and they likely always always will, will have to, no choice, there is no choice in these matters...
to deprive people of the power of your voice,
the wonder in all you contain ....
for someone as loaded with spirits,
as loaded .. as I was ....
well.
To be the cause of so much struggle,
so much pain, agony felt at the expense of another ...
so many others ...
so many agonies ...
so many loves forever untold ...
my god what joy in your life.
To be a part of joy, and no longer a part of fear.
Or anger.
Worry.
Please, please please
don't deprive everyone ...
where is the trust?
Posted by susan47 on May 28, 2006, at 0:46:26
In reply to What would it be like, I sometimes wonder, posted by susan47 on May 26, 2006, at 13:19:01
The first of so many days
like yesterday
and the day before
and the week, and the months
and the almost-year,
I think.
I cannot remember,
anymore,
what my life meant.
Once.
When my therapist was in it,
the one I called He,
and You,
and Him ...
The Voice ...
God, how I loved the voice.
Do you remember it?
The words of confidence,
reaching into trust, and finding ...
broken-ness.
One who was broken.
Not whole, not capable of being found ...
And when I was ...
you were not.
You were not ...
I wish for you.
I wish until my heart sprays open ...
in blooms ...
of blood-red carnations, or roses ...
something, anything but but blood.
The blood that was shed was all internal,
internal blood ....
blood of desire, blood of my desire ...
how I loved you
Posted by susan47 on May 29, 2006, at 12:03:40
In reply to Today., posted by susan47 on May 28, 2006, at 0:46:26
That's part of it, the luck of the draw.
Being born beautiful. Physically beautiful.
Limbs at the proper angles,
Hands and feet well-formed
Head in proportion .. they say
if you have a Slightly, only slightly larger head than normal that's the big head not the little one, then irrespective of your features, you're considered slightly more attractive than people whose head is average or slightly smaller, and that's weird but not really, because if it can be related to someone having a larger Brain, and more brainpower, well in evolutionary terms that just makes good sense. Did nature trick us? Well, it's commonly known that nature is a trickster. But in the end, you know, there is always a reason for the trick .. always a reason to show more confidence than is felt, always a reason to sit certain ways, perhaps to tap a foot because another is tapping theirs ...
So we look for these people. They're valuable to us. They're the role models we choose .. people who try harder because they unfortunately have so many reasons for doing that .. mostly good though, mostly good. It's time to put away childish things.
I've played like a child.
Now too many who know me, know this.
And my deepest fears and obsessions, you know who you are .. please do not whip me with who I am.
And I promise to be gentle with you as well.
Because it's mine to role as well ...
mine to role as well.
And thank you, thank you thankyou thanks a bunch thanks a lot thank you for being who you are ..
do you know, I just sit here, and it all comes out. It just pours, flows like a river ...
the first draft is usually the only one.
It must be like that.
Life is like that.
Mostly.
Mostly yes, mostly there is only the draft ...
but as we edit our musings, so can we also edit the past in our memories, and the future in our visions of who we are.
Do you think
you had an imaginary effect?
Do you think that you, who read this, if ever anything is read here, and that's okay, it would be better that way ... but diaries look so silly, private but only to be laid open by the wrong hands, in the end. Hands who would hurt you, who would never understand ... past traumas all laid open for scrutiny .. who was the more honest? Does it matter?
We all lie to ourselves.
.. the best you can do is make your lie a good one ...
something Worth Living For... and there is So Much.
Posted by susan47 on May 29, 2006, at 12:44:52
In reply to Luck of the Draw, posted by susan47 on May 29, 2006, at 12:03:40
The spoor, the thing that's left behind as a marking of where you were ...
let mine be a feeling of well-being.
A feeling of being eternally loved, protected, and cared for.
A feeling which I saw, recognized in your eyes,
the windows to your soul, and mine, ...
A knowledge that this was Home, for me.
I was not going anywhere.
I was rooted, bound, and tied .. but not gagged.
My love, my sweet, sweet man ...
You tried so hard not to gag me.
It's all right now, it's okay ...
the threat .. what was the threat?
It lay, not in me, but outside of me
it assaulted me as much as it did you ...
what I sensed, though, was the attack you were receiving.
I sensed my own terror
diluted
you took the blows
There were many
But know this
How very, very beloved you are.
Even in betrayal ..
what happens must be for the good of all.
Always, so we pledge to live
Please live in hope, love, desire for all things good.
I'll try not to cringe
in public.
Posted by susan47 on June 24, 2006, at 16:46:46
In reply to Hey., posted by susan47 on May 29, 2006, at 12:44:52
Fully capable, if she wished, of getting up, out of the chair,
but No.
She slouches back in the overlarge wheelchair, the pads of her purple swollen feet just touching the floor, 300 pounds of inert flesh hanging on a frame of bone rapidly crumbling under the weight of abuse ... she says you laugh at me, but it isn't funny, if you knew how I felt, how I feel is horrible, not funny at all ...
all day.
She sits here, there, anywhere, in the hall, wanting someone ... wanting to engage, to be fierce, to be whole, to be in charge and in control ... but no, not really wanting this at all, the sickness wants someone to come and change her diaper.
She says, there's a foul-smelling liquid coming out of my body, can someone come help me with the commode, can someone change me, I feel sick, I don't feel well at all.
They're putting me away, I want Arnie to know what's going on, where is Arnie, has anyone seen him, why isn't he in on this? He's the only one who can help me right now, why isn't anyone helping me?
I feel so helpless, I can't even get up out of this chair, why is no one around, where is everyone?
Why won't the doctor talk to me, why won't he come and see me? I want Arnie in on this.
Arnie is the only one who can help me.
I can't do this anymore.
I feel so helpless.Edith was once a social worker, I've heard.
She was capable, they say.
She is intelligent.
The light is there, in her eyes.
She has a sense of humour.
Always on the lookout for lies though ...
For Edith, everything
Everything
has become a lie.
There is no person who would ever
care for her.
She wouldn't allow it.
She was the sponge ...
picking up the sick, the crazy,
the wounded ...
Now she is forever changed.I see
this mass of pale, dry, withering flesh
Atrophied brain, despair incarnate ...
Once upon a time her desire
was not only to be whole,
but to help make others whole.
Now her life is built upon suspicion
her purpose ... to knock down walls of deceit,
deceit which only she sees ...
but which is there, all the same.
Necessary. Necessary deceit, Edith.
For your own good.
Because we care, and we can only do this ...
What we are taught to do.
Let my heart touch yours, Edith,
here,
allow me to help you with your sweater.
Let my eyes not deceive you ...
Let my voice give you only comfort.
Posted by susan47 on July 26, 2006, at 23:48:16
In reply to Edith, posted by susan47 on June 24, 2006, at 16:46:46
Yuck. Silly.
Silly, silly me. Thinking this woman was capable of anything beyond her education. Hmm. You know, psychopathic type people can fool just about anybody. Really. Really and truly, I think that's true, unless of course, unless you're tuned into it. Unless you've been there, done that. Not as in actually being that .. but having it perpetrated upon you, yeah. Yes, it's hard to recognize. It is, it really really is. Especially if you happen to marry it.
Oh yuck.
This is the end of the thread.
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