a dark mind’s season
has never-ending self-doubt,
formed such rough visions
How to Write a Haiku in English Form
A haiku for this week’s Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge of ROUGH and Season.
© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.
The breeze caresses
like your longing fingertips
fate glides through my mind
with lightning, thunder and pain
I stumble on day by day.
© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.
© 2020 Ronovan Hester Copyright reserved. The author asserts his moral and legal rights over this work.
Some of you probably don’t know about Kitty. Back when I first came home from the hospital six years ago this month, I didn’t know anyone here, who I was, or most anything about my past. If you think about that for a moment, you might realize a situation like that doesn’t give a person much of a connection to anyone. And over those first weeks you learn whether the people are people you want to be connected with.
For me, I was saved. Not by a person, but by a very tiny cat.
This is her way back then, after she and I got to know each other. I saw her in the tree line around the house and guilted someone into feeding her, or him as I thought she was at the time.
I would eat my lunch on the porch to get to natural light and fresh air each day and Kitty, as I oh so creatively named her (What else would you expect from an author of one Historical Fiction book about the British Navy and Pirates, and a short story for an anthology about magical realism?) would come and sit near me or play and even let me rub her tummy, which shows you how happy she was.
Well eventually Kitty earned a new name from the rest of the house.
You might guess it. Mama Kitty. That’s how they spell momma. But yes, the little hussy gave us Spunky, Fluffy, and Cautious. Sadly on Kitty and Fluffy are with us now. As for Cautious? We have no clue. But Spunky, it’s believed a Coyote may have led to his disappearance, as there were a lot of such cases during that time. But here are some Spunky pictures. He was a funny and adventurous guy/
Kitty isn’t as loving as she used to be. I think the kits wore her out. She was and is a great mother. She not so long ago adopted another son named Tiger. She even holds him down and bathes his ears for him. I’ll share photos soon, if I can get one. Here is Kitty now, just a few days ago. As you can see, she has become quite the little lady. And I mean little. She actually has the tiniest head of any cat I’ve seen. In person she is so delicate looking. Several months ago she disappeared. We were so worried. She finally showed up, starving, smaller, and the fur on the right side of her face had been ripped off. The thought is she was trapped somewhere, either by accident or on purpose, and she was able to finally escape. She’s good now and as pretty as ever.
Pain of life one leads,
Does not wither but exceeds.
Given winds of change,
My mind turns and twists, derange.
Torn ‘tween will and want,
What is it I can’t, I don’t?
Cowed by maddened, dim lit eyes,
Failure I despise.
I yearn arms embrace,
But fate voids every trace.
Feelings remain deep,
I spurn my foe, night thief sleep.
To the sun promise may rise,
Reason for these tear filled eyes.
~*~
My love is a lump,
A cause for heart’s gasps for breath,
Consumes all my thoughts.
Hello everyone. Today I’m introducing something I believe is new. A normal poem followed by a Haiku that sums up the poem. I am calling this a Freku at this time. Write a normal poem, if you wish, followed by a Haiku that sums up the poem. Free verse plus Haiku equals Freku.
Can you take a poem and then sum it up in three lines of Haiku? Or perhaps the other way around? Look for an article (NEW FORM of Haiku & Poetry) coming soon to explain in more detail but I think this section covers it.
For mine I attempted a 5-7-5-7 for the first stanza, repeat for the next two, but at the end I include two more 7-7. And to wrap it all up I created a Haiku that sums up the poem.
I wrote a normal poem first then worked it down to the 5-7-5-7 patterns. That was as a challenge to myself.
Ronovan Hester is an author, with his debut historical adventure novel Amber Wake: Gabriel Falling due out in December of 2015. He shares his life as an amnesiac and Chronic Pain sufferer through his blog RonovanWrites.WordPress.com. His love of poetry, authors and community through his online world has lead to a growing Weekly Haiku Challenge and the creation of a site dedicated to book reviews, interviews and author resources known as LitWorldInterviews.com.
© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2015
“Permanence, perseverance and persistence in spite of all obstacles, discouragements, and impossibilities: It is this, that in all things distinguishes the strong soul from the weak.”-Thomas Carlyle
I’ve moved away from talking about my health issues in the specifics in recent months. I felt as though my health was becoming me. And honestly I thought I had talked it to death. Well, I wish we could talk our ailments to death. If that were the case I would have been healthy a long time ago. But anyway, I wanted to be more positive in my writing I shared. However, at times I realize one should open up and share to let others know what can be done. Things don’t HAVE to stop you.
I’ve never given much thought to perseverance as a word to describe myself. It’s been said by others but I’ve always put it off as a kind thing to say. I don’t mean to say they were being dishonest and lying just to make me feel better by saying it, but being kind in how they viewed my situation.
Many don’t know what Fibromyalgia is, but it’s a health situation that umbrellas a great many things including Chronic Pain and Chronic Fatigue. Much more goes in to it than that, but those two cane be easily identifiable with. Combine that with Osteoarthritis throughout the spine, including the neck, herniated discs in the spine and neck, and various other ailments, life can be such a joy at times.
But then you add the concussion I suffered two years ago, a Grade 3 Concussion that led to Retrograde Amnesia, short term memory loss, migraines that never cease, yes I mean I have migraines 24/7, sound and light sensitivity, and something else I can’t remember, and you end up with a very interesting life situation.
I know of the concussion because it is a habit to know now. A journal I kept around that time, barely legible as I was writing with either hand depending on the moment, tells me what was going on. I’ve slowly begun to let it go, the specifics of things, I’m not a dweller. I’ve truly decided to move on and not allow man made guilt hold me back from enjoying life.
Why tell all of this?
I have a book tentatively set to come out in December. A second book in the final draft stage before proofing and editing, that will then be shopped around to agents/publishers. I have a fairly successful blog, a group of online friends, and much more.
No, I don’t remember my family. I remember my son. I make an effort to remember history of my life as I am told in order to fit in, or at least act as though I am normal enough in my son’s eyes so he an have a normal father. I don’t wear my sunglasses like I should, nor my earplugs to avoid looking like an oddity around him. Seeing me put into an ambulance and then following it, only to see it disappear was upsetting enough for him not to have to be reminded of it every time he looks at me.
With the very odd life I have, I still push forward. I never gave it thought as being perseverance. I wanted to write a book and have my son something in the world to say, “My Daddy did that.”
People write a book for a lot of reasons. Yes, I love writing, but I mainly want something left behind for my son to be able to hold up and always look to. I want to be able to contribute to his life in many ways.
Maybe what I’m talking about isn’t perseverance. Maybe it’s simply being a father. Maybe it’s love. Whatever it is, it has brought me this far, and I intend to keep going.
I still have to write that book he helped come up with.
Ronovan is an author, and blogger who shares his life as an amnesiac and Chronic Pain sufferer through his blog RonovanWrites.WordPress.com. His love of poetry, authors and community through his online world has lead to a growing Weekly Haiku Challenge and the creation of a site dedicated to book reviews, interviews and author resources known as LitWorldInterviews.WordPress.com.
© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2015
Phobias, Disorders, Anxieties. You know we all have one of these. And actually the labels can often be interchangeable so don’t judge a phobia by its disorder, you’ll just cause anxiety.
I am very prolific in my blogging. I write an article or poem a day except on Saturdays, and sometimes even then. So it seems that I have a problem that people don’t understand. It’s become worse over time since I began blogging.
And when I mention it, well the subject, people’s responses just make it worse because they don’t get it. It goes back to my concussion a couple of years ago.
Before that I was a very engaging person. Never met a stranger. Could have a conversation with anyone. But since then, and the retrograde amnesia, things changed. You know I kind of get afraid of things. And I became so isolated because of not only the amnesia but the light and sound sensitivity, and the migraines, that people actually became a problem.
I am now at the point I don’t go to stores any longer. I very rarely step outside the house at all. I’m okay with the no people in person thing though. I mean, I like being alone now.
My communicating with the world is through my articles. And unless you are a super close person to me, I don’t even talk in emails.
That brings me to the problem. And it’s kind of sad I even have to mention it, but I’m going to anyway so people will understand people like me, and not judge us.
When people comment on blogs, well some of them almost demand a response. I have a fear or responding. Don’t ask me why or what it is, but if you ever see a response it has taken a lot for me to get up to the point to do it. I have almost been to the point of removing the comment option from the blog. But people have met through my comments and helped each other.
I’ve mentioned comments before in articles and the responses have made it worse. People pride themselves in responding to every comment on their blogs. They brag about it in the comments. Some actually do genuine responses, but there are also those who do fake responses. If you’ve been blogging long enough you know what I mean. I personally am not going to do fake responses just to make my blog grow. That’s not me.
When I first began blogging I was able to make myself respond, but things have gotten worse as time has passed. I want people to know they can blog however they like and grow a blog. It’s your content that matters. If you have something people find worthwhile, that’s all that matters.
Don’t let other bloggers who say you must respond to every comment in order to be a good blogger, a successful blogger, force you to do anything. If you are like me and feel physically ill sometimes at the idea of having to respond to a comment, learn to not worry about it. I do it at times because a comment really requires a response, or I am having a good moment.
Is it a Social Anxiety issue? Maybe. Is it some kind of phobia about people? Maybe. Sounds like they are both the same to me.
If you read my blog and you comment and I don’t respond, don’t take it as I am not reading your comment or that I am not appreciating it. Sometimes I will click like on the comments to show I read them and appreciate them. Some people are Blog Nazis and don’t think that’s good enough. Whatever.
I’m good with what I can do. You be good with what you can do. Don’t judge. This is my outlet. This is how I talk to the world. And this is the last time I am going to talk about comments on this blog. I’m tired of it. Almost as tired as I am of people complaining about me not replying to comments.
Much Love, Success, and Respect
Ronovan
© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2015
There’s a saying that goes something like, “You don’t know what you got till it’s gone.” For about two years I’ve kind of laughed at that phrase. For some of us, when something is gone we don’t even know what it was which means we don’t miss it.
I’ve been fine with it. I go through each day with a new loss flittering away and I feel fine. That’s because I don’t know what flitters away. Okay, so I know something is likely being lost. I’m aware that memories are lost.
Normally I don’t stress about it because stressing leads to other problems. Recently a memory loss, a huge one, became evident—with vigor.
I’ll explain an “other” problem for a moment. Depression. Well, I don’t know that it really needs to be explained. We all know what depression is. When a memory goes away and I then have people forcing that memory back in my head, or trying to get it back in there, things happen. The brain snaps. I actually at some point feel a pop in my head. I am sure it’s not really anything physical, only a psychological representation of what is happening.
When that happens, Ronovan is gone for a time.
My huge memory loss recently led to such a situation. I would think things were going fine, then wham, another hit from a different side. Lulled into things being okay. Wham, another hit. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat.
Now, here I am, depressed, physically ill, and looking for the learning lesson of it all.
Memory problems make for a bad emotional entity. They also make for a bad relationship of any type. You wake up and you don’t know if that person who is your friend, spouse, significant other, father figure is still going to be that for you.
Who is it fair to in that situation? As I’ve been writing this I’ve been sorting through it all. I suppose the best thing is if it’s a repeat offender status thing, cut and run if the situation allows for it. I know live in family members can’t do that but there are things you can do.
Accept the memory loss person (MLP) for who they are, knowing what is possible.
Be supportive in the efforts of the MLP to handle it. Think for a moment about this. You wake up, or are even going along writing or watching a video and then—WHAM—you don’t know what day it is, or what city you are in, or who that person in the other room is. Ever wonder how a person handles that each day?
Think about being in the middle of a sentence and forgetting who it is across the table from you. In this age of internet and digital conversations and friendships it’s even more difficult to remember without those constant physical/visual cues.
People might find it surprising that I wake up and have forgotten the people in my house. Or I will go through one of those situations above. My body goes through a routine each morning and I discover what my problems are and I just go with it. I’ve told myself in letters not to stress, that I am normal. This is normal for me. I tell myself to begin to write something from a list of projects I’m working on.
Sometimes memories will come back or at least enough of a familiarity to make things fine or functionable. Yeah, another of my made up words.
What about the other person, the person forgotten?
What would I do if I were on the other end of this?
I honestly can’t answer that with an all encompassing solution. I think patience is part of it, understanding, and you know maybe even just cut and run. I know people balk at that last one but it is an option. But that is the option people will focus on here because it is seen as the uncaring, cold idea and how could I even think of telling someone to do that if a person cared about the MLP or of the MLP cares about the person.
I’ve been living with this for two years. You get to the point, where after having written about it, thought about it, and lived through it, you cut through it all to the heart or heartless of it all and give solutions.
And what about the MLP? Should they keep trying to remember, opening themselves up to an emotional tug-of-war to then either go through the loss again, perhaps not knowing it, or then being shut off once a connection is established again?
What do I do?
I have no one answer for myself. Perhaps I should, it would make my life easier. Can a person live a life, a healthy life mentally without people? I suppose they can but I’m not that far gone yet.
Now, for those who look at my writing and things I share each day and think I seem normal and I have all these friendships and all, the MLP has tricks they use to get by. Don’t call out the MLP for this if you still want to be a part of their life. At least they are trying.
I’ll tell you one trick I have. It’s called the Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge. No, that’s not a plug for my challenge. I am telling you about a trick. There are people who do the challenge every week, and that means I read their work, usually at least twice, think about it, review it, see their names, and all of that every week. It doesn’t work for each person because of lack of regularity but when I see the name I know it’s familiar and once I get to their site things come back.
MLPs have sensory/emotional impressions of people if not actual memories. I know by a name, if it has been around me long enough, if that person is someone that is positive for me or negative, if that person is a friend or foe, if that person is emotionally good for me or a life drain.
When you hear that old saying about first impressions, it’s true. Make a good first impression and good last impression as well. You are asking, “How do I know when that last impression will be?” Whenever you leave the communication presence of someone, that’s your last impression until the next time you connect with them.
Well, this has been a longer message than I had planned, and I’m not sure if it is even what I had intended, but it is what it is and that’s all that it is. So, as I have just now read back through it, you might find it surprising I forgot about half of what I wrote while I was writing this. But again, it is what it is. I’m not to blame, you are not to blame, there is no blame.
Oh, I just remembered why I was writing this. Seriously. That big recent memory loss I had, like a mind wipe almost, took some important people away and broke things. Hmm, never mind. You know, I’ve tried. I think I will just deal with the depression of it all, come out the other side, and say I am what I am. It’s all I can be. Even if I don’t like it, I have to accept it or wind up on the 6 o’clock news.
Much Respect
Ronovan
© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2015
Today I need to speak about something. Amnesia. I”m a faker. You read my blog and all I say. You think how I write everything and link things together, how I know so much about blogging and my life.
I’m a faker.
I study, and have routines.
People think of me as being well. How Ronovan is not sick any longer.
I am a master faker.
What you read in this blog are the words of a man who repeats his life daily. I eat the same meals daily. I have medicines laid out in small cups with time labels with them as a reminder when to take them daily.
Then the 70 year old mother in-law must remind to take them.
People have read some of my recent series on comic books with memories I have and don’t realize those are memories I have been told only hours earlier. Fortunately memories having been shared previously with other people in my life, even my 10 year old son. Apparently I talked with him a great deal about comic books, or else he listened well.
But I’m a faker.
I went to my parents this past Saturday. I know this. I don’t remember what happened.
Amnesia and short term memory problems are not fun. Add to that Fibromyalgia and Fibro fog. Think of having blank spots of decades. Think of not having memories to share of experiences. Think of having people who obviously care but you no longer know them.
Think of the stress on the mind and body as one tries to remember and can’t and people don’t understand. Think of wanting to retreat into a world that only you exist in and be alone forever.
I’m a faker.
I am selfish.
My focus has become me, when apparently it once was everyone else. I leave the house once every two months or so. I walk out the door perhaps four. I look at my cat Spunky through the door as the woman I call Grandma feeds him and his family and he loves on her.
I have become afraid of any illness. I don’t want to return to the hospital.
I write books. I know this because I am reminded of it. It is a daily part of what I do. Routine. I have a writing partnership. I enjoy writing, it allows me to create worlds and people and not worry about reality or lost realities.
I don’t have to worry about disappointing, hurting or causing people to hate me because of my not remembering. Imagine having people in your life, nice people, but people who make your brain feel as though it were being compressed and about to pop at the same time.
Now combine that with the guilt of knowing it must be your fault. Then the physical ill that occurs. The mass confusion that begins and creates these storms of what to do, what to do. Now you cannot sleep but two or three hours a day. Eating is something that you think you did. You realize that noise in your stomach must mean you are hungry.
Imagine all of the storms together and for a moment you wonder what hungry is. You know what it is but for a moment you forget.
You make a decision to try and help yourself be well, to be at the least a little better, to stop the confusion storms and pains. The migraine spikes and sleeplessness might end. Then, you are . . .
What are you?
You spent days and days agonizing over decisions.
People don’t understand memory problems. It is an almost surreal thing. I don’t understand it and I live it. At least I think i do. My world is one being formed anew and quite often it seems built on loss.
I never intend to cause problems, pain, disappointments, heartbreak, heartache. However, it seems as though when I am honest I am a disaster creator. I feel hated at times. People don’t understand that I just don’t know.
And they don’t understand that I understand how they just don’t know how I don’t know any longer. Is it easy for me to tell people, “I don’t know you”? To finally come out and try to worry about me?
I’m sitting here now after having done that and now feeling a need to relieve myself of the breakfast I had to take with my first cup of medicines for the day, yes, a cup of pills. I can’t lose them. If I get sick, the pills are gone.
I’m stressing to the max, as some might say. Do I let guilt of something I don’t know force me to lie? Or do I keep trying to be healthy and try to mend?
You see, I try to be an encourager to a lot of people. It’s not something I do on purpose, but I share and it just has happened. Sure, I love it. It’s part of my make up. I guess my DNA or something. Now I am a disappointer, a devastator, a person that hates, a person that is a liar.
Yes, I have been called some of those things today. I understand it. After sharing this I will likely turn off and lie here in bed hoping I feel up to going to my son’s baseball game, his 11th game ever, and I’ve only been able to attend one. I ended up in the hospital the last time. Precautions have had to be made. Now, I’m not even sure I will be able to go.
Do I blame anyone?
Yes.
I blame me. I’m the one with amnesia. I’m the one that loses what people don’t understand. I’m the one that causes the pain. I’m the one that can’t explain because I don’t have the words at times. Yeah, that’s part of it all too, I don’t have the words. For a writer, not knowing words makes for some boring writing. The thesaurus is my friend. I use it and put in the word that is almost what I know I am looking for.
I don’t hate. I don’t lie. I don’t have the energy or time left in my life to do either. What am I?
I am me.
Whatever that me is today, that’s who I am.
Ronovan
This has not been a sympathy piece. It has been a blogging piece, old school style. A dear diary style of post. Something I had to get out and put down.
First of all, THIS IS NOT A SELF SEEKING PITY POST! I am simply sharing as therapy here. I share to let others see that we are all the same and have the same things happen or similar things happen. Even the positive people of the world have screwed up lives at times. So PLEASE do not take this as a pity post.
Seeing that tomorrow is my day for a positive post I am getting myself ready for it now. The past few days have been those days where I want to simply sleep all day.
I’ve been on the verge of:
A lot of people look at me and think, just rest. “You do too much.” “It’ll be okay.” “You’re under stress.” But they forget a few things about me. Old Ronovan isn’t all okay up there in the noggin.
It’s been a while since I’ve been on the cusp of debilitating depression. Depressed? Yes. Hide in my room and not come out for any reason whatsoever? No. I think it’s been maybe a month and a half or so.
Recently I’ve lost memories of friends. I get emails from them and have to wing it. I don’t want people to get upset with me, because I hope things will come back. I read back through previous emails from them to get an idea of things and then come up with a decent reply.
You know, the bad part is there are people I wish at times would just disappear that don’t. Do you have people like that?
What people don’t get is I do so much in order to keep out of depression. But then I get in to so much and border on letting people down and then the depression begins.
So why am I saying all of this while wanting to get ready for a positive day of posts? You gotta get it out of your system.
Know what I mean? You have those friends like that? They like to wear their problems and not get rid of them. It’s like they are so happy to be down. I share and get it over with. blah
It’s difficult to be a friend of mine in the sense of like a outside of blog friend. Like in email and chat friend. You don’t know if I am going to be normal one moment and completely not handle situations properly the next. There is like a wire inside my mind that overheats and as it does it doesn’t want to work right.
You know like on the dryer in your house. Sometimes a part will heat up and it will actually just get hotter and hotter. That’s my brain. I can feel it at times doing that. But it feels more like an icepick scratching and scraping away at a spot, trying to make its way deeper inside my brain.
That’s when I enter the, “I’m sorry” zone. I apologize for everything and then I disappear. I’m not gone for good, but I need to shut down and try to patch things back up and cool the brain down.
I hope my friends are reading this so they will understand me better. If not? I guess I will keep going through the cycle. You do what you have to do, right?
See you all tomorrow for Be Wonderful on Wednesday. I’ve got the bad out and can now go for the good. You can even look at this as positive. I do. I shared it, I didn’t wear it. And I’m not hiding.
Oh, a cool thing today. My son is in the fourth grade and recently they took a reading test to see their level of reading. He sort of blew it off not realizing what it was for. His level came out to be half way through the 8th Grade and he was second highest in his grade. He so needs to learn each test is a test no matter what it is. Geesh. Imagine what he might have done. Anyone surprised he’s an advanced reader?
Remember to find me and follow me at @RonovanWrites, on Google+, and on Facebook.
© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2015
1000 Voices Speak for Compassion.
As I write this it’s the 19th and something nagged at me the 20th was a date I should know. I logged on to facebook and saw a 1000 Voices for Compassion update. It’s a group for bloggers that I think the name of speaks for itself. Now here I am writing. Good thing I joined the group at some point. Not sure when, but I did.
People forget all the time. People instantly think of Alzheimer’s patients when you start talking about memory problems. We’ve learned to have compassion for them.
But there are other reasons people forget. You have accidents that result in concussions, brain damage, and that can be a problem.
Have you ever wondered about people with amnesia? Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be an adult and not know 40 years worth of memories, people, history? Have you ever wondered how to deal with people like that? Probably not.
Let’s play pretend.
You look completely healthy. Actually you look healthier than before your accident. People look at you and have no clue anything is wrong. You might have to ask one of the simplest things you should know and people will think you are joking.
The responses range from a laugh and answer, to a curse and walking off. All you want to know is where the cooking oil is or which aisle the peanut butter is on.
Imagine if you will, walking in to a store and each time it is a brand new store, no matter how many times you walk in to the store. As far as you know have never been in that store.
Okay, let’s change that. Let’s say you wake up and you don’t know where you are. You look beside you and see a notebook that is opened to a page that says ‘Read Me’. Reading you now know your name, where you are, what is wrong with you, and how to find the restroom in the house because there is a hand drawn map on one of the pages you are told to read.
Imagine that is you every morning because not only do you have amnesia but you have short term memory problems as well.
Then you have to deal with people being mean to you. You are nice to everyone. You even cover your being afraid by joking with the cashier while the 70 year-old woman who drives you places is paying for the groceries.
Now imagine people you know, who talk to you each day, wanting you to be the exact person you were before. But you can’t. You don’t know how you became the person you were before. You want to be that person for those people and you search and search and you try to remember but the keys can’t be found.
Imagine the lack of understanding you have to deal with, even when told by the people they understand. Yes, you understand how the other people are frustrated because you can’t be the same. But what can you do about it? Can you make yourself remember and be the same? I guess that’s where the compassion comes in. Imagine the guilt you would have for not remembering. Imagine how you would see these people sad and looking at you to make things better and can’t. Imagine how the insides of you, the amnesiac are ripped apart each time that look is given, that word is said. Imagine how difficult it is for you to even face those situations that will rip them apart. Imagine the depression you would go through. Imagine how you would want it all to end.
All the things of your life that made you who you were and be the way you were and love the way you did have been forgotten—no, they have been taken away. What have they been replaced with? Opportunities for being made to feel like you are stupid and opportunities for guilt because you aren’t ABLE to act as you once did even if you do feel the same way.
Amnesiacs are a rare thing. They look healthy. They look normal. They are great actors. But they can’t do some of the simplest things due to no fault of their own. How many do you know?
Hello, my name is Ronovan. It says so on my notebook on my bed. Nice to meet you . . . again.
© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2015
I hear your voice
Two words
They hammer at the wall
Of my mind’s death
Heaven sent
Or heart found
I am pulled from the darkness
I breathe
I grieve
I mourn
I want the death again
Why this torture for me
Why the agony of this loss
Why so here and so not
Why
Days of pleading prevail
Please, God bring my ease
Please, God bring me release
Please, God break my mind again
Please, God
Knowing but still nothing
Two words
Freeing me from death
Condemning me to worse
Why were you taken
Why
Where is the never ending joy
Where is my peace
Why does my heart need ache
Why every day
Free me from this tearing of my soul
I pray for an end
Not quick enough
The story of a poem. Think of a man who is in the hospital and unconscious. He hears a voice calling to him, he sees a face. He sees a little girl’s face. He opens his eyes to a place he doesn’t know, with a broken mind. The little girl isn’t there. Where is she? The little girl was never born. She called out to the man. It wasn’t his turn. She used what she could to tell him it just wasn’t his time yet.
Flash forward and the man remembers about the little girl. He remembers who the little girl is. He wants it to be his time. But his time is not quick enough. He wants the memory to go away. But it won’t go away quick enough.
I have seen comments to this poem and I have even seen poems written as a response in which I am tagged in. Thank you for the thoughts and the words, but the suppositions are nowhere near the mark. This is one that cannot recover, cannot be brought back, cannot be made to have a better day. If you pray, pray I forget that I once gain forget the memories that came to me that inspired this poem. Please do so.
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Two words created to inspire creativity. For some it pulls out of them a positive and uplifting experience as they tap into either a fun and joyful memory or moment. For others it may be the complete opposite. That is the magic of words. You never know for certain what will be brought to the mind, even to the mind of the one creating the words. Or perhaps for some there is no surprise where this lost mind travels.
I hear you calling,
Forcing my lost mind to break,
You free me to death.
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The infinite days of the finite ways draw me down and bind like stays.
Those are words that came to me as I started typing the word ‘The’. I often let the words flow for a moment to see where my mind is. I have found through blogging you get the most out of your life by letting your life out.
That’s what real blogging is about, letting parts of your life out onto a screen for people to read. Why we think we’re that interesting is beyond me. But the truth is we connect with each other because we like to know we’re not the only ones out there like this.
On Monday I feel again. Some of you know my story. Well it happened again but not so tragic. I am comfortably–um, strike that. I am sitting in my bed covered with a faux fur leopard print sherpa and a tin of caramel popcorn for breakfast. No, I don’t intend to eat the entire tin. At least not for breakfast. It’s a small one; I’ll be okay.
Disasters in your life make you sit back and think. Sometimes you find yourself lying down and thinking. Or leaning forward and thinking. I can’t stay in one position very long so I am all over the place.
So, I fell. Hit my head again. Makes you wonder about things. What if I had hit it just right and Blog World was gone from memory? I’m sure I would find my way back here soon enough but I can only imagine what I would be like.
Yes, I said faux fur leopard print sherpa, Hugh. And no you can’t have it.
I am NOT writing this for sympathy words or anything like that. I’m just blogging, the old fashioned way. The migraines are spiking right now so posts may be a little slim for a time, but knowing me I will have things out like usual. I have things in drafts I may pull out.
Blog Tip: Hold things in reserve. You don’t have to post everything you write. If you keep some things in your drafts then you can pull them out to post when you get in that situation of not being able to write something that is entertaining.
On that note, if you are around about 7:00 PM tonight Eastern Time or New York City Time, check out Hugh’s blog for my next guest post as I help out during his MIA moments. You can see mine from yesterday by clicking here. If you are hesitant, just think, it’s to help Hugh out, not me. Get Hugh some views and maybe even follow his blog if you’re not already. The 7 PM post? I’ll just say it’s Pure Love. I hope to please.
© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2015
Sometimes I look and search for a story to tell.
Walk down the same lines, find I’m unwell.
But is that really the case of what I really and truly am to be?
Or is it something else other people have planned for me?
I know I’m not great inside, making confessions and fail.
But does that mean that I am really unwell?
Only time will tell.
Music, songs, lyrics and their meanings. Anyone that can write a novel in the space of a chorus and a few verses has my envy. Some people have said I should do something with some of my lyrical poetry. Can’t write or play music so that’s kind of a brick wall. Besides, my story is always the same.
Today’s song came out of left field. I was not really feeling any of the Beatles songs I was looking at and I really wanted a song writer. Billy Joel was suggested but then one of the best song writers of the modern era came to mind and I ended up with Rob Thomas and Matchbox Twenty. It helps I’ve seen them in concert at least twice.
Unwell.
On the live DVD Show: A Night in the Life of Matchbox Twenty, Rob Thomas states that he wrote the song as a metaphor for humanity in general, a song for people who are “messed up and feel alone like that. We all feel a little messed up sometimes… you’re not alone.”-Wikipedia
I just rediscovered this song today. As I read the lyrics, as I do first when looking for a song to connect to and share, every line hit with me. Though I don’t ride the train, being in public in lines of any type is a train of sorts.
Wearing sunglasses everywhere I go and earplugs 24 hours a day 7 days a week and in public draws glances and kids stare at you. You hear the whispers. “What’s wrong with that man?” Up to that point you trick yourself into thinking nothing is wrong.
I don’t remember things from before but I know feelings of situations. For a man who at one time total strangers would say “You stay here near that man while I run into the restroom” at an amusement park now being that man that there is something wrong with, that’s the unwell part. It’s not the actual problem that is the problem, it’s the problem people make out of the problem that’s the problem. That’s what makes me unwell.
Reading the lyrics, yeah I stare at the ceiling, finding those familiar shadows. I know where the spot that reminds me of a puppy is. I also can look at the designs in the floor and find the clown face or the robot.
Am I headed for a breakdown? Probably. I haven’t stepped over that line yet but I can see it and the chalk has been blurred a bit. I am unwell. I discover how to be well but then unwell happens. Sure, I’ve become the master of appearances. Look at Rob Thomas. All those lines inside of him. He taps into something to come up with these great lyrics. Great lyrics come from a genuine place. Is Rob unwell, or was he when he wrote this song? How is he now?
I’ve resigned myself to unwell. I’m okay with it. I don’t sleep much. Sometimes none, sometimes 2 hours. Occasionally I will get 5 in. Less than 4 is the norm. The rest of the time is spent writing and reading, both of which I am not really supposed to be doing if I want to be well. But you know what?
No
Way
Am I going to stare at the ceiling
All
Day
Waiting for the
Break
Down
Everyone knows is on the way.
Stop comparing me,
To who I used to be.
All day staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
All night hearing voices telling me
That I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good for something
Hold on
Feeling like I’m headed for a breakdown
And I don’t know why
But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be, me
I’m talking to myself in public
Dodging glances on the train
And I know, I know they’ve all been talking about me
I can hear them whisper
And it makes me think there must be something wrong with me
Out of all the hours thinking
Somehow I’ve lost my mind
But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
I’ve been talking in my sleep
Pretty soon they’ll come to get me
Yeah, they’re taking me away
But I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Hey, how I used to be
How I used to be
Well, I’m just a little unwell
How I used to be
How I used to be
I’m just a little unwell
Ronovan The Unwell but You Can’t Tell
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I remember a time long ago when . . . wait a minute. No I don’t. I love amnesia jokes. Only an amnesiac can tell them though, so don’t get any ideas. I’m looking at you, what’s your name. You know who I’m talking about.
Over a year ago I had an epiphany, well actually I had an accident in my home. I think of that day as “A loss of” my mind and think how it turns out that it was the best thing that could have happened to me in many ways. I got a chance to do something many people wish they could do but just don’t seem to find the time or maybe even courage to do. I got the chance to . . .
Choose To Let Go
You see, I have these writings about my past. I can delve into them daily in an attempt to become who I once was. I can read memories including old grudges. I can stumble over great long forgotten, even before last summer, nuggets of wonderful. Being able to choose, in someways, is “Finding Freedom” from all of those influences that led me to have certain opinions about things that were muddied with opinions and thoughts not quite as straight forward as they are now.
Yeah, I could become that old me.
Or and this is a BIG or.
I can choose to let go of a past and concentrate on becoming someone that I want to be. I have the important parts of that past in front of me so why not concentrate on those and making my life better? The important memories return as they need to, such as “Church Playground Memories” I wrote about several months ago about my son.
You know there are a lot of things in life you can’t control. I’ve discovered that. The one thing you can control is how your mind works. Do you love? Do you hate? Do you pick this meal or that meal? Do you read this book or that book? There are a great many things you can control.
One of those things you can control is choice. Choose to let go of those things in your life that just get in the way of you moving forward and becoming that kind, loving, creative, inspiring and whatever other positive words you can think of, person.
I had to let go of a lot of things. I even let go of family. Sounds bad doesn’t it? This part of my family was a negative influence on my recovery. Each time I see this family member’s name now, I think that negative thought. Some minds that have been damaged CAN’T let go of some things. So I did something I COULD do. I chose to remove contact with that person. You know when a family member makes jokes about your amnesia it’s a bit cruel. I’ve moved on from that, but I remember it. I chose to instead of being in contact with a relative I didn’t remember anyway and apparently didn’t have contact with for almost 20 years to focus on people that care about me now.
The mind, the heart, the body, all of you cannot heal without a positive environment. That is something I have discovered this past year. You have a problem? You can’t move forward? Look around you and see why. Then make a choice. Either stay and stagnate or move on and heal.
You’ll notice a few links today. Those are links to articles I’ve written about my dealings with my Amnesia.
Much Respect
Ronovan
For a different take on Choose To Let Go visit Meanings and Musings article of the same name by clicking the link.
© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2014
Each week I like to talk about a song. Sometimes it doesn’t happen, even months have gone by without my sharing, but as I was looking for a song last time to share I came across this one. I saved it.
I’ve never ran across a song where the first five lines were written about me quite so perfectly. Although the song is written about a man in his early forties seeing x-rays of his father, I take more as a autobiographical account through most of the song in regards to myself.
The Song
For Tim McGraw, the American Country music artist who had the number 1 hit of the year for 2004 with Live Like You Were Dying written by Tim Nichols and Craig Wiseman, it was more personal as his own father, estranged as he was, professional baseball pitcher Tug McGraw suffered from a brain tumor and died in January of the same year.
The Moment
Life has moments in it that wake you up. Sometimes they wake you up after they knock you out. Why my particular moment decided to add Amnesia to the mix I’m not certain and I don’t question. I just move along and enjoy life as best I can.
Enter the Beatles
The other song I considered today was While My Guitar Gently Weeps by George Harrison and the Beatles. Harrison wrote the song after reading the I Ching.
“seemed to me to be based on the Eastern concept that everything is relative to everything else… opposed to the Western view that things are merely coincidental.”~Harrison, George (2002). I, Me, Mine. San Francisco: Chronicle Books.
He went to his parents home and decided to write a song on the first two words he saw in a book he opened. Gently Weeps.
Harrison Mistaken
Harrison got it wrong. There might be people who believe in coincidences but this Westerner doesn’t. This Westerner in the sense Harrison was referring to in the Christian sense knows there are no coincidences. You see I know there are actions taking place in the world with a reaction to follow.
My ‘accident’ was no accident. I see it as something that was made to happen for a reason. No, I do not think God thought to do me harm, He does not do that. But what He does it take that moment and give one the opportunity to do good from it.
I haven’t done much good as opposed to before other than begin blogging. But a great many things have happened since then. Some have come to fruition already, and others are of the slow growing variety of tree of my life. Either way I will enjoy picking the fruit and enjoying the taste of it.
Is It Ever Too Late
Some people might read this and be angry because their situation is worse than mine and I dare to say that we are given the opportunity to make something out of it. Perhaps a person has days to live or months. Is a second to little to do something positive and leave this world with something of yourself that others might look to in an inspirational way? A squeeze of the hand between an estranged father in a hospital bed and his son is not too late to make a memorable moment.
I was in my early forties
With a lot of life before me
When a moment came that stopped me on a dime
I spent most of the next days, looking at the x-rays
Talking bout the options and talking bout sweet time
I asked him when it sank in
That this might really be the real end
How’s it hit ‘cha when you get that kind of news?
Man, what’d ya do?
And he said
I went skydiving
I went rocky mountain climbing
I went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu
And I loved deeper
And I spoke sweeter
And I gave forgiveness I’d been denyin’
And he said, Someday I hope you get the chance
To live like you were dyin’
He said, I was finally the husband
That most the time I wasn’t
And I became a friend, a friend would like to have
And all of a sudden goin’ fishin’
Wasn’t such an imposition
And I went three times that year I lost my dad
Well I, I finally read the good book
And I took a good long hard look
At what I’d do if I could do it all again
And then
I went skydiving
I went rocky mountain climbing
I went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu
And I loved deeper
And I spoke sweeter
And I gave forgiveness I’d been denyin’
And he said, Someday I hope you get the chance
To live like you were dyin’
Like tomorrow was a gift
And ya got eternity to think about what to do with it
What did you do with it?
What did I do with it?
What would I do with it?
Skydiving
I went rocky mountain climbing
I went two point seven seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu
And I loved deeper
And I spoke sweeter
And I watched an eagle as it was flyin’
And he said, Someday I hope you get the chance
To live like you were dyin’
To live like you were dyin’
To live like you were dyin’
To live like you were dyin’
To live like you were dyin’
© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2014
Did you know people hate me?
Sounds impossible I know but they do. I am an odd person. I have strange ailments. Today let’s talk about Amnesia. Mine is persisting in much of the areas of my life.
First of all I don’t want people to think this is a pity article. I’m fine. When I say I am fine, I really mean it. I am merely sharing this for people to understand why things happen in my life the way they do and perhaps they have experiences with someone and this might help explain it. So really, I handle this all the time, every day, so no worries, Okay?
For those of you not aware, I fell in my home and received a concussion which caused Retrograde Amnesia, meaning memories before the accident as well as Short Term Amnesia, meaning I have problems retaining current information. Now you know why I write so much. Think of this Blog as my notes on life and even my poetry can tell me where and what I was at during a given day.
The Short Term Memory Loss is the issue here. Mine tends to be when I sleep, or am absent from something too long. My mind also apparently uses it as a defense against reminders of bad situations.
I recent times my Chronic Fatigue has been flaring up in a big way resulting in a lot of sleep, not good for the memory. I’ve forgotten people. I’ve forgotten friends.
Why do people hate me?
I forget them. That’s bad. I know it. But then there is something in my mind that says run. There is an element of fear there. Did you know a big guy like me fears something like forgetting people and their hating him? Yeah, it happens. I have a lot of issues in life to deal with, one is my son. Can you imagine being 10 and having a father who has Amnesia, Fibromyalgia, Osteoarthritis, Chronic Fatigue, Light and Sound Sensitivity and isn’t allowed to drive yet?
My son worries about me every day. He checks on me all the time. He doesn’t know that I notice but I do. I see him looking in my room to make sure I am okay. Yeah, my son has to be the kid with the weirdo dad. I try to act as normal as can be around him but there are limitations.
Then I have people that hate me.
My number of waking hours each day have dwindled. My writing here has dwindled, my writing on LitWorldInterviews has dwindled recently. I did NaNoWriMo but i felt obligated after agreeing to it and that’s where the most of the waking hours went. My mind operates differently than most I suppose.
So for those hate me . . .
Okay. once I get all those other problems under control, maybe I cam make it so people won’t hate me as much. For now, I am just trying to stay awake long enough to see my son at night and trying to get up in the mornings to see him off to school.
Much Respect
Ronovan
PS-I would have mentioned the 24/7 Migraines I have but I thought that was over kill.
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You make the best of me, from what I used to be
Carrying me though, to a life that is brand new
I don’t want to see, the man that I used to be
Forever in your arms, protected from all harms
Say you’ll never go, that our love is even more than we know
Do you think you will find, another love like ours in all mankind
Take the rest of me, and set me free
I can shine through, because of the love of me by you
Baby you’re the key, to what I am meant to be
Stay here by my side, our worlds meant to collide
Say you’ll never go, that our live is even more than we know
Do you think you will find, another love like ours in all mankind
One step closer to the fall, reach out and save me, make that call
Inside a moment of the last, you make up for my lost past
If I never thought again, all I would need is the touch of your hand
Say you’ll never go
Because our love is more than you know
Say you’ll never go
I’m so glad to find
That I can call
You
Mine
© Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com 2014
The truth of it is,
Something you don’t want to know,
Is my love runs deep.
How deep you may ask,
Does it run into this man,
Whose truth is a search?
That truth is a loss,
Of something he cannot find,
Buried dark and deep.
But with truth in love,
I will return to the light,
So deep in us all.
Ronovan~11~19~2014
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