Dominate and Eradicate Self-Hate

Good morning. 😃

I do hope you are feeling well and know you are loved.

I’m getting ready for work and simply wanted to pop by and remind you that you are fabulous!

You can totally crush this day. Whatever is presented to you – whether new or old hat, easy or something you’re not certain you can do – you can do it.

You are worthy, good enough, lovable, capable, and stronger than you give yourself credit for.

After all life has thrown at you, you are still here and trying. That means you have a 100% success record.

Never give up on yourself. Even if others do. You keep stretching toward your dreams and hopes and never compromise your standards and values.

You are not alone.

We have got this.

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Wish Me Luck

I have begun working on ANOTHER work in progress story. I really enjoy this one so far and I feel like it can blossom into a story I will continue to enjoy.

This is the 5th WIP I have begun since I realized I wasn’t writing for me or the stories I wanted to write. Since then I have decided that I am going to simply keep beginning stories until I find one that is truly MY STORY to tell, instead of something I know will be “acceptable”.

I don’t think the purpose of a writer is to tell the safe stories. I think we are meant to poke at what people don’t want to but know they need. To make a safe place to deal with emotions, fears, questions, doubts. To hold a mirror up to the reader, to community, to society as a whole. To create a home where we want to live with characters who treat us with respect, kindness, and dignity while being honest and candid. A story is an escape from all the ugliness this world can throw at us. It’s a way to recharge, reconnect with ourselves, our dreams, and with others.

A story can not be any of these things if I am playing it safe. If I am afraid to be who I am as a writer.

No, I won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. But no one is EVERYONES cup of tea and that’s kind of the point.

So wish me safe travels, will you?

I’m packing my bags, putting on sturdy shoes, and jumping off the cliff, into the unknown.

(A novel is 80,000 to 100,000 words.)

What Do You Want?

I don’t want to be someone who, at the end of their life, regrets not having lived.

I don’t want to go to my grave filled with shame and guilt and woe.

I don’t want to live my life as a woman who allows her challenges and demons to decide her mood and daily choices.

I don’t want each day to be filled with rigid rules created by societal judgy-ness, resentment, and jealousy.

I want to be able to breathe. To feel my own two feet on the ground and know they and my Higher Power can and will support me – if I trust, believe, have faith, if I have hope. Not just in God but in myself.

I often forget about that part.

To believe in myself.

We can wake up and, instead of dreading the coming day, choose joy. Hope.

We can take responsibility for how we feel and how we shape our lives.

This seems overwhelming at times. But baby steps are how we win at every day, every moment.

We are strong enough.

We are good enough.

We can make simple changes in habitual thinking patterns, morning routines, after-work routines, relationships (with others and ourselves), our self image, and so on.

I want so much more out of life.

And so it’s up to me to do something constructive about that. To work toward it.

Today, I hope you know this isn’t a pointless existence. That the humdrum bustle and stress, the rat race and cruel jokes of fate – they aren’t all there is.

As Walt Whitman said,

“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself; I am large — I contain multitudes.”

We are so much more. We can have so much more.

Our potential for joy and motivation, change and growth in a direction we crave – what we truly desire – it is lying dormant, waiting for our embrace.

I choose more.

What about you? What choices are you making? Because we mustn’t forget that not choosing, is a choice.

Something Whispers

 

Filled to Empty

Once Again

Just so you can

Poke holes in me

 

Shaped into something

Beyond

Recognition

 

Soft thumps

Abrade the inside

Of my rib cage

And something odd

Flitters through

My chest

 

It isn’t life but tubing

Left there from

When I hated myself

A little less

 

Electronic beeping

Reminding me

To pretend I am alive

 

I am not.

Not today.

Not inside this skin.

 

Not inside

This mind

That falls down

So easily

 

Sometimes it seems

So silly

That I ever thought

I could be real

 

To walk without oiled joints

Or charged lights

Behind my eyes

From which everything

Was stolen

 

(by me)

(something whispers)

 

I forgot

I was the one

Behind the mask

Wearing the gloves

Leaving no trace

 

I forgot

I was the one

Who let this happen

Who roused from slumber

And did nothing

Who watched from behind

Serpent eyes

And let you die

 

I wonder

If it would hurt less

If I was never human at all

 

Simply a stain on the porcelain

The sand slipping down the time

Shivering down the hourglass

 

I forgot

How to tell the truth

Or which it was

 

I forgot

How to speak

Without a tongue

How to see

Without a spine

 

Can I walk

Knowing the many times

My very breath crawled

 

Why?

Why do we torture ourselves?

How many of us are there

In here?

This one little body

 

Pieces hiding

Shuffling about

Slipping behind curtains

Fixing smeared mascara

Redressing so no one notices

 

Their stories

Are shuttered up

Dust chokes the sunrises

Moonlight can’t hide

The shadows

 

I forgot

How the tip of a fingernail

Could hold so many

Dead skin cells

 

They aren’t all mine

 

(yes they are)

(something whispers)

 

And I deny everything

Black lipstick that doesn’t

Smudge

Or leave

Photos behind

 

And no, I wasn’t

Made by accident

Why does everyone ask?

We all clamber around

Waiting for a story to be

Unfolded

It wasn’t an accident

We remember

I shake my head

We know

Our skin

My skin

We feel

 

It’s like they can see

I’m made from

Different coincidences

Kissing beneath the

Atom bomb

 

Waiting for something

To change

Or someone

To notice

The shadows

Etched into my bones.

 

(can anyone see me?)

(no, I don’t think I can)

(something whispers)

 

By Daphne Shadows

THYSELF, MYSELF

IM SITTING WITH A BUNCH

OF LITTLE PIECES

I RIPPED THEM UP

I PUT THEM THERE

THEY HURT AND THEY CRY

AND THEY KIND OF KNOW

WHY

THEY ALWAYS KNEW

THEY ALWAYS KEPT

KEPT QUIET

WATCHED

REMEMBERED

I ALWAYS KNEW

DIDN’T I?

 

I GUESS THEY’RE PEACE

EACH BROKEN SHRED

THEY’RE SITTING THERE

STARING AT ME

THEY’RE ALWAYS MINE

EVEN TORN

OKAY

OKAY

SO WHAT DO I DO WITH

THEM EACH PIECE?

BROKEN SMOTHERED

USED WORN

 

I GUESS I SUPPOSE MAYBE

THE POINT THE NEED

THE URGE THE

DESIRE

IS TO FEEL THEM

HURT

THAT’S WHAT THEY ARE

 

IM SITTING WITH A BUNCH OF

LITTLE PIECES

I RIPPED THEM UP

I PUT THEM THERE

 

THEY’RE CRYING

AND I DON’T WANT TO

THEY’RE CALLING LIKE AN ANIMAL

SHORN WITH PAIN

MADNESS AND SADNESS

CLAWING INTO EACH PIECE

THEY’RE MY WAY TO PEACE

ARENT THEY?

 

I’M ALL THESE LITTLE PIECES

I DON’T WANT TO BE

ALL THESE LITTLE PIECES

ARE MY WAY BACK

TO ME

 

 

by Daphne Shadows

Demons Within

“When there is no enemy within, the enemies outside cannot hurt you.”

  • African Proverb

 

Do you know yourself?

Are you aware of yourself?

Do you know what you want, really? What you dream of, what you fear, what you desire, what you do not like…

Do you notice yourself?

Or do you go along with everyone and everything going on outside of you?

 

Know Thyself.

It’s the only way to find the truth of this proverb.

 

Arrogance

Arrogance frightens me. Not the arrogance of others. The idea that one day I could become arrogant. What horrid atrocities would that wreak in my life? Which disgusting tributes to pride would I commit? I don’t want to know.

 

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