Missing you

So a part of my life that I don’t talk about a lot is attachment. I think I’ve struggled with it for as long as I remember, way back in primary school I would get really upset every year when we changed teacher, even though I knew it was inevitable. 

In the past few years though it’s definitely reared its ugly head more and more often. A year out of school and I’m still painfully attached to teachers and members of staff I used to see, especially my old guidance teacher. Missing her is the basis for the above poem, written on a day when I felt particularly floored by my attachment. 

I guess it’s natural to miss her, she was the first person I opened up to and showed me so much care and compassion that I’m not surprised I became so easily attached. I could probably say she saved my life, and that’s not something you get over easily. 

But oh lord does it cause so much pain. So much pain. Every time I’m out I’m looking for her face, her silhouette, every double take I take rips out another part of my heart – I don’t even know what I’d say to her were I to see her again, I’d probably just cry. I have her email address and it takes everything within me not to contact her, as I know that that would just open up the old wound and aggravate it, but lord do I miss her so much. I miss her so much it physically hurts, I feel sick to my stomach and my heart aches when I think of it. I wish I could get over her, I honestly do and I tried to bring it up with my team yesterday in a note but they ended up focusing on other more concerning parts. 

I just wish I had somebody to talk to about this, it hurts so much to deal with it on my own and so I turn to places like here and Instagram to vent, but it’s never quite the same as speaking to her. It feels like grief, like I’ve lost her forever and a part of me has died. I know these thoughts are irrational, that she’s only supposed to be a fleeting part of my life but it still won’t stop hurting no matter how much I try to rationalise.

I’m not sure what the purpose of this blog post was, I guess I just wanted to share this portion of my life with all of you. 

Five to Sixteen

Five to Sixteen – a Spoken Word Poem

At age 5 I dreamed of red ribbons on pointe shoes and silver tutus, pirouetting my way to prima donna beauty. 

I started ballet class in a baby blue dusting of a leotard and pink shoes that always came unlaced. Plié, and up, up, up.

I had started too late for it to ever come to anything, but passed my grade one, first position with merit before moving, pirouetting 289 miles up the country with the earmuffs from our performance of swan lake.

A pattering of years and steps and the red ribbons and leotards faded into books and numbers and The Future where daisy chains and tutus weren’t allowed. I still make daisy chains.

I was six when I fed my baby annabelle apple juice, forgetting that she of course, wasn’t real.

I was two years from sixteen when I first fed myself chalky pills that sent me in tears and a sick bowl to hospital, realising, to my dismay, that I was real.

I was two years from sixteen when I started thinking that if I couldn’t be a Russian ballerina, perhaps I could still look like one. 55 calories in an apple, 96 in a pear.

Now I am sixteen, sixteen thousand miles from the effervescent girl that mixed sprite and fanta in a cup, sixteen miles from the pretend prima donna who would dance without music and run in the rain.

Now I am sixteen, and the only red ribbons I dream of are the ribbons that lace my skin with each tear,

And the only silver that haunts me is the silver threading my mother’s hair.

human – or animal?

                           knees and 
                  bulging brain, bone cage, a
               Th- ought. Is this what makes us
              Dif-   ferent? The mighty hu-  man,
             Nat-    ure's greatest inven-   tion,
             an       evolutionary except-    ion.
             We      can think, love, care,    be
             awa-    re of our condition, we   are
                     Powerful. The greatest 
                     predator, we slay, kill
                    without mercy. Clever, or
                    Evil? Are      we  strong,
                    or simply      stupid? Is
                   compassion      a delusion?
                    Would you       weep  for 
                    me, your       enemy? What
                   separates        man  from 
                   beast? We        b u i l d 
                   t o o l s        to   kill 
                   brothers,        yet  apes
              build   tools         to feed them.
          We are the animals,       not them. They are the 
           H  U  M  A  N  E            O   N   E   S.


Add a pinch of dye and a dollop of lies,
Bake your promises at 180 degrees
And sprinkle with “I’ll always be here”.
Not that I’m fooled, I thank you for trying,
Don’t blame yourself – I’d walk
Out too if I could.
No hard feelings, I know it’s my fault.

Maybe I’ll sew a patch over the heart on my sleeve,
Eventually they’ll find out – eventually they’ll leave.