Every Night You Visit Me

Every night you visit me.

The room goes dark, but I still see your face.

I see you over me, smell the whiskey on your breath.

I feel your hands on the back of my head.

Every night you visit me.

When my eyes are closed, I feel you there.

I feel you when I’m in his bedroom, the ghost between us.

Trapped in the memory of where I saw you last.

Every night you visit me,

Every time I dare think about someone besides you.

You invaded my dignity, and you invade my most private thoughts.

You destroy the idea of a life without you.

Every night you visit me.

And that’s just how you wanted it to be.

You said you’d be in my life forever when I told you no,

And you made sure you got your way.

Because every night you visit me.

You destroyed every part of my life.

I blame you for that night, I blame you for my pain,
But it’s my fault I can’t keep you out at night.

~E J Royson

Someone is always listening.

Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1 800 656-4673

Suicide Prevention Lifeline
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1 800 273-8255

[Untitled]

Dear Brother,

               I want to preface this by saying I do not know how you feel. Maybe I did at one point, during times where we have shared a common path through life, but I don’t anymore. We haven’t spoken in years, much to my dismay. I’ve come to think perhaps it is because I thought I knew how you felt. How could you feel any different from me when we went through the same trauma? And it never quite sunk in why, no matter how I tried, my attempts to reach out to you never worked.

               Through my own unfortunate experiences with trauma after that of our childhood, I’ve learned our childhood traumas were not the same. We both saw two very separate, very ugly sides of life. Even our experiences had been the same, we were not going to process our grief the same. So I’m sorry for being so closed minded as to think I knew how you felt, knew what you needed, or thinking that forcing myself back into your life was any type of solution.

               Please, do what you need to do to heal. I do not say this to suggest you are in any way broken, but only that it is completely normal for life to tear little holes in our soul. But by not repairing all the stupid little holes we think we can live with, we make it easier for more painful tears to occur. And those are harder to mend. I know this, because I have let this happen to me. By refusing to repair all the stupid little things, I’ve had much greater pains over situations I could have handled far differently had I dealt with the smaller pains in my life first. Some people turn to professional guidance to heal their souls, some people heal through mindfulness, and some heal through peer support. There are so many ways to heal, and I only ask you to do what is best for you in order to live a fulfilling life.

               I say this to you hoping you build the skills to cope with whatever life throws at you, because if you were led to believe it gets easier once you hit adulthood, they lied to you. You’re going to find your path in life, and unfortunately, I can promise you there are going to be hills on your journey. Sometimes you’re going to be fighting to get to the top of a hill, and then it’s going to be a breeze going back down. And sometimes you’re going to get to the top, and there’s not going to be a downhill, and you’re going to have to dig deep to keep going. There will be times where you’re going to be forced to learn what you’re made of in order to keep going. There is no easy way out. You’re going to have to keep going. And it’s going to suck.

               I want you to know that if you feel you’re running out of power to keep going, please do not hesitate to reach out to me. That’s what family is for. I wasn’t always a good sister to you when we were younger and there’s no amount of apologizing I can do to make up for that. There are many times I wish I could go back and change what I’ve done. I would have been a better role model. I would have shown you how to be a responsible young adult. I would have been there for you when you needed me, so that maybe now you would allow me in your life to help you through some of the incredible challenges you are going to face in the next few years: college, finding a job, dealing with heartbreak, moving and starting over somewhere new, and so much more. I want you to know that I will never close the door to you on anything. Like it or not, you are my brother, and if ever you need one of your sisters, I will always be there for you. It doesn’t matter if we haven’t spoken in years—if you find yourself struggling, I will be there, the past in the past, and the future whatever you want it to be. Please don’t ever take one step in life thinking you are alone. Don’t ever think it’s too late. I’ll be there when you need me.

Little Moments

We brushed arms today.

It was nothing, something people overlook every day.

But I’m still thinking about it.

Not because we didn’t apologize

But because we both looked at each other

And we remembered.

I was on the phone in the back office,

Hiding from distractions,

Trying to focus.

You snuck up behind me,

And placed office supplies on my head.

The distraction who finds me wherever I am.

The rain didn’t keep you indoors.

Your eyes made sure I found my car safely from across the lot.

I wanted to wave goodbye, or smile,

But my legs carried me away,

Arms locked to my side, lips frozen in place

Just like yours.

When I came back,

You told me you liked my hair this way,

But you didn’t want to see me.

You told me you missed talking to me,

But I had to delete your number.
She still comes first.

~E J Royson

Sticks and Stones Can Break My Bones, But You Can't Make Me Your Victim

My father was talking with me the other night about how to deal with an upcoming meeting, likely to turn to confrontation, with my mother. We were talking about how she is likely to goad me into picking a fight, and to find a way to engage with me physically. He explained she has always played the victim in her life, how apparently her parents never loved her the same as her other siblings, how she never got what she wanted, how she was an outcast at school, and how both men she married were abusive alcoholics and that's why things didn't worked out, when most people who know her ex-husbands know they are far from either abusive or alcoholic. And I couldn't help but think, how do these apparent things make her a victim? What true horrors has she faced that she could even partly justify being a victim?

Everyone is comprised of both their parents, for better or for worse. My dad told me, "Don't be a victim, Red," and I started to think about all the things I could claim I was a victim of. But I'm not a victim. I am not crippled by the horrors of my past. My mom left me on the front step in freezing rain on New Year's Eve, my mom called the police on me because I was trying to leave her to get home from an abusive visitation session, my mom tried to get me kicked out of school on enough occasions that she was banned from calling the school--but I am not a victim of her. She has not broken me. I will not let her break me. And even besides my mother, I will not be a victim to anyone else. "Don't be a victim, Red," he said. And I thought, No, I'll be a victor.

*     *     *

I am not the victim of bad parenting,
     I am a survivor of bad parenting.
I did not have my spirit broken.
     I am a victor.

I am not the victim of spread rumors,
     I am a survivor of caddy nonsense.
I did not lose who I am inside.
     I am a victor.

I am not the victim of betrayal,
     I am a survivor of the back-stab.
I did not lose the ability to trust others.
     I am a victor.

I am not the victim of child abuse,
     I am a survivor of child abuse.
I did not let her hurt my soul.
     I am a victor.

I am not the victim of sexual assault,
     I am a survivor of sexual assault.
I did not let him take my pride.
     I am a victor.

They cannot make me the victim.
     I will be a survivor.
I am not a victim,
     I am a victor.

~E J Royson

Even With Both Hands Moving

Tick.
Keep your mind busy.
Tick.
Keep your hands moving.
Tick.
Take some pills and fall asleep.
Tick.
It's 3am and the pills have worn off.
Tick.
The ceiling is a white canvas for your imagination.
Tick.
You put on headphones and listen to music to block it all out.

Tick.
But the lyrics.
Tick.
The next song too.
Tick.
How about television?
Tick.
Reruns, boredom takes over.
Tick.
Your mind needs something to do.
Tick.
More pills, more music, more television, more sleep.

Tick.
The phone lights up.
Tick.
Do you look at it?
Tick.
You're desperate.
Tick.
Just a spam email.
Tick.
You lay back down.
Tick.
      Tock.
             Tick.
                   Tock.
                          Tick.
                                Tock.

You tell yourself only a few more days.
Just a few, you'll get through it.
Not knowing is killing you.
Knowing could be all that much worse.
How could it get worse?
It always gets worse.
More pills.
More music.
More television.
More sleep.

It's morning.
Rinse, Repeat.

~E J Royson

Today, I Conquered One of My Biggest Fears

Today, I conquered one of my biggest fears: spending a large amount of time in public, alone.

Now, I don't mean something like spending an hour in the grocery store, or doing ordinary tasks like that. I mean spending leisurely time, in a crowded, public place visibly alone, relaxing, and enjoying the company of one's self.

I think our society often undervalues the importance of being in our own company. I think society is so built on receiving approval from others, that we don't accept the approval of ourselves. Approving of myself is half the reason I struggle with depression in the first place. Growing up, it seemed I was never good enough, always the disappointment of the family. And even still, in comparison to my siblings, I only scraped by with my grades, struggle with my weight, spend my free time playing video games instead of building homes for habitat for humanity, or hiking through the mountains, will struggle to find a job after graduation, and never receive that gleam of approval in my parents' eyes. Anyone see what's wrong with what I just said?

I compared myself to the others in my life, and based my own happiness on the approval of my parents. While, of course, it is nice to have your parents approve of your choices, it shouldn't be the foundation on what you build your happiness upon. I know, that because of who I am and how I was raised, I will always have a chip on my shoulder and an "I'll show them" attitude, but part of what I am trying to base my recovery on is ensuring that what I do, I do because it makes me happy.

That's what my two day trip to Wildwood was about. I have spent so much of my life afraid of what others might think of me if I do something, or act in a certain way. It seems in our culture, anyone who spends their leisure time alone must either have an abrasive personality, or hate people. Sure, I'm introverted, but I've spent the better part of my working years in some form of customer service. I have my moments, but I'm not an asshole at heart. And valuing alone time doesn't mean I hate being around others, it means that I like to hear what my mind has to say every once in a while. So, to be one step closer to self approval, I went to the beach by myself. I sat in a chair by myself. I read my book by myself. I ignored the looks from the large group of friends next to me, when I revealed my curvy self in a bathing suit and laid on my towel in the sun, by myself. And you know what I decided while spending some quality time with myself?

That if I have to spend the better part of my life alone, I'll be okay. I like reading, I like laying on my back, using sand as a pillow, I like how warm sand feels between my toes, I like how when you are laying down, the white foam of the waves could be a tiny army of white horses racing to the sand, only to be shot down as they near the shore. There was a time when sitting on the beach was an inspiration to me, when all of my great ideas for novels would come to me. And today, for the first time in a long time, that came back to me.

I have spent such a long time keeping myself busy, surrounding myself with people I didn't particular like, just so that I wouldn't have to be alone with my thoughts, so that I wouldn't have to think about how sad the rest of my life will be, since I will inevitably be spending it alone. I invested so much of my time into other people, that I forgot what it was like to be invested in myself. I forgot what it was like to be inspired by my own imagination so much so that I can build an entire universe out of a few moments of my own experiences. I have spent so much time, afraid of my own mind, that I neglected the best parts of it.

I might not be as successful as my sister, nor as intelligent as my brother, but I doubt either of them can take a few seconds of their life and transform that brief experience into a fictional universe. I can't let what they excel at take away from my own achievements. And I can't hate myself just because I don't measure up the same way someone wants me to. Sure, my mom can go to her grave swearing I would have made more money as a physical therapist, but my life will be more fulfilled doing what makes me happy, writing, and maybe someday my writing will even help others in a different, but just as important way as physical therapy could have helped them.

So, my advice? Go somewhere by yourself. It can be a coffee shop. Take yourself on a date. Sure, it's a scary thought. Everyone is either going to give you weird looks or pity you. Let them. You are there to spend some time with your own mind. You might be surprised what it has to say to you.

~E J Royson

"I Don't Know"

I realized I haven't written for myself in a while, and I started to wonder why. The more I thought about it, the more I was able to conclude how it is because I don't have words for what I'm feeling. One could speculate that I am, in fact, feeling wordless.

Words are what give us meaning. A word is nothing but something that signifies something else. Can something have meaning if it doesn't have a word, or something to signify its existence? I find myself groping for words to try to understand how I'm feeling. I've been with words brimming on my tongue with no way to let them off. Perhaps I am feeling meaningless.

It's not depression--I know what that feels like. I spend years clawing my way from the bottom. From having to count the reasons every morning so that I would be reminded the worth of getting out of bed. And for a few months a while ago, I was very happy. Every morning I'd find myself feeling untouchable, that no matter how many people would try to tear me down, they'd never be able to even make a dent.

But now I'm in this odd state in the middle, where nothing seems to be happening. But at the same time, everything is happening. It's as if I'm so numb that my life is passing me by without a word from my mouth to try and stop it. I don't like that, because wasting time is wasting a non-renewable resource. 

Maybe my life is lacking meaning right now. Maybe it's the relationships I find myself in, as meaningless as they are fleeting. Maybe it's because I find no joy in my studies anymore. Maybe it's because my family is glass, long since shattered on the floor. Maybe it's because as quickly as I make friends, I lose them.

Nothing ever stays. It was not so long ago that I was so happy, and not so long ago that I was so sad. I'm floating somewhere in the middle, between knowing and not. Between insecurity and safety. Between love and hatred.

If nothing ever stays, I know I can take comfort in knowing that this, too, shall pass. It's just a matter of getting though, and hoping no one takes notice for long enough so that I may escape the ever pressing questions, most frequently, "Are you okay?"

Because there has never been a more dissatisfying answer as, "I don't know."