Living with a Monster

There are nights my dreams wake me past midnight.

I sit up with a start, heart beating in my chest.

And I still feel him, pressing me down,

Even though he is a thousand miles away.

The sharpness of his tongue still cuts into my soul.

When will he go? How many times do  I have to bury him?

Bruises heal, but those words stay forever, stuck in my side

Piercing my lungs.

The soles of my bare feet fall against the earth

As I try to outrun him. But there is no exit clause.

The monster is all I can see.

Then a hand reaches out in the darkness.

He doesn't use words, doesn't have to

Because in his silence, with his eyes on mine,

Everything is understood. Everything is bright and pink and love.
And the monster goes away.

Monsters aren't what goes bump in the night. They aren't hiding beneath your bed, in your closet, or down in the deep, dark basement. They come dressed as people, pretending to love you, only to gut you with a few well placed words. For a decade, I lived with a monster, tried to love him, tried to make madness a home. I was trapped inside the Twilight Zone, lost in a nightmare and it took a slap to the face to rouse me, to bring me back to life. But there are still days I live with the ghost of myself and a monster of a man. Most of the time I can fight him off, drown out his voice, but then there are days that I find myself back in the hellish dreamscape, down a darkened hallway with no window or doors, no way out. All I can do is curl up in a corner, eyes turned away from the monster, let the fear wash over me, let him say his piece and pray he's scared off by sunrise.

When you survive a trauma, especially one involving a war of words, you question everything. You live in constant fear. Your world is built on ever-shifting tectonic plates. At any moment, everything can collapse, and without warning, you're plunging into the black abyss. So when you rebuild on a stable mountain, you still have vertigo. You're phantom falling. You're still scared as hell.

How do you destroy a monster without becoming one? That's the hardest part for me. The part I'm still learning, even after four years. That's the thing with monsters, they never go away, not really. He still uses words against me. They come via texts messages, attacks on every part of me, and then the next is him telling me he still loves me. We owe it to our kids to be together. But then I'm a piece of shit mother and it's my fault he doesn't call or see his children. I try not to read the messages, but there they are in black in white, still tormenting me when he's three thousand miles away. Every time that monster sneaks in, I have to fight him back, and every time I do, a little piece of me blackens, turns to dust. It's never over, not completely. So I fight the monster everyday. Most days I win, but sometimes I don't. And that's okay.

Just breathe. It's my mantra. You wouldn't think I needed to be reminded of the simple act of breathing, but I do. Just breathe, Lauren. Live in the moment. Actually, enjoy the moment. And I guess that's how I survive. Keep going, keep living. Continue to love, despite that fact that it's terrifying. I'm learning that actions truly do speak louder than words because that's what really matters. The action, not the words. So thank you for loving me when a war still rages inside me. When the light in my eyes snuffs out. When I bristle and rage for no reason. Thank you for reminding me to breathe. Thank you for making love a little less scary.

Because you loved me at my worst, I will always love you best. 

A Hurricane of a Girl

A Hurricane of a Girl

I once tried to love a monster of a landslide, but his muck and mire and mud,

Buried me in wreckage, filled my lungs. I was lost in the flithy flood.

I dug myself out, trembling in the rawness, gathered my power, sent it flowing,

Languished in the tropics, simmering and burning and growing.

Heartbreak transformed my summer showers into a violent hunger.

My winds gathered, my rains became weighty, my anger wrapped itself in thunder.

I spun, ravenous for destruction, to make mankind pay for the landslide’s sin.

Then another reached out, touched me and his tide pulled me in.

He himself was always spinning. The earth never solid beneath his feet.

Without a touch, I felt him, deep inside, where the heat and cold meet.

He saw me churning, but for once stood still and watched me come.

Didn’t leave as the clouds blackened, as I blocked out the sun.

He was the fire I had been looking for, suddenly spoke my name.

In a lightning spark, we came together, became one and the same.

Then he hushed my madness, found the truth in my lies.

And he fell in love with me in the calmness of my Eye.

He never stunts me, but let’s my squalls swell, ebb and flow.

He surrounds the gales of my monsoons, never lets me go.

Once the torment subsides, he carries me back to shore.

We cling together, survivors of a self-inflicted war.

The need to fight turns inward, to a passion for only him.

He is chaos with a wink and a smile, a cyclone that allows me swim.

So we dance together on the breeze, in his arms I twirl.

A tornado of a man, the only one strong enough to love me, a hurricane of a girl.  

I have always loved hurricanes. Instead of terrifying me, they've intrigued me. I never hid from them but loved to stand in the middle of the torrential downpour, face turned skyward, arms outstretched, the rain pelting my skin. The thunder and lightning crackling around me as I soaked the storm's energy in. I have often felt like a hurricane myself, something more always brewing beneath the surface. The forecast tells you I'll be a little ole Category One, but then the winds will shift and I can lay waste to everything in your world. And like a hurricane, I can be intense, too much to handle if you aren't prepared.

Sometimes I think it can't be easy to love me. I'm irrational and anxious and question everything. I'm demanding and impatient. I will fight you and rage. At times, I will feel trapped and long for freedom. The next I will cling to you in despair, needing reassurance, an overabundance of accolades. My depression can creep back in and my world blacks out, and I hate everything, especially myself. Most people love the calm, but it makes me anxious. The stillness makes me nervous, makes me lose my mind. Like a hurricane, I need to be in constant motion. I live for the deluge, for the never-ending high tide, for the waves that don't kiss the shore but crash into it. I like the churning of the water, the howling of the gusts. I'm at home there. 

But my fire can be more sunshine than a blinding blaze. My light can warm a man who has been cold his entire life. He will now feel a sunrise in his bones. He will never be bored with the ever-changing tides, of a girl tied to the cycle of the moon. A girl wrapped in skin, but full of stars and scars, heartache, and illuminating brightness. It will be a challenge, but it will be worth it. It's better to love a hurricane than to wander in the barren wasteland of the desert, where you will die of thirst.

If I love you, my love never falters. I will hold you when your own fury tries to consume you and everyone surrounding you. I will love you out of it. I will save you if you let me. I will love you when you're desperate, when you're happy, when you're absurdly angry until the all the storms are over and there is only peace and wisps of white clouds in a cotton candy sky. Until the end of time, this hurricane will love you with such a passion that the sun will be jealous of the glow I give.