Depressed

Sometimes you just have to call it like it is.

My mother is really funny. When I'm excited about something, she gets excited. When I'm negative about something, she reflects that negativity. It's all about feedback.

Sometimes we are in a good mood, we see the world through rose tinted glasses and everything you see and do at that time is positive. You impart those feelings to other people and they reflect that.

Sometimes I second guess myself. It took me a long time to learn to trust my instincts, but I'm realizing that that niggling feeling I get when I'm trying to make a decision that sounds like it is trying to tell me something and which I usually tune out- it is usually on point.

Some people can remain impartial. It is always good to have objective people in your life. But some people will mirror the way you feel or the way you tell a story. If you have a job interview and you tell someone how exciting it is and how you really want the job, they will encourage you to take it. Tell that same person your inhibitions and reservations about said job, and they will tell you it is not for you. So is the job really for you? Do you need to get over your negative feelings or realize that your excitement may not stem from a place that is best for you?

I don't know. I hate making decisions, I really do wish things can work themselves out.

When your job hunt, apartment hunt and guy hunt are all going south, you think it's time for you to quit?

In other words, who can suggest a great vacation spot?

Just Go

You broke my trust, you know.
It hurt.
But it hurt in places where it should not have mattered.

He got in between us,
he ruined what we had,
what was for months already eroding.

I made the mistake of believing him
when he said you and I
were not friends,

In fact could never be friends,
and I should not have told you something
expecting you to keep it to yourself.

I tried to ignore you,
I really did,
knowing that you were leaving

Maybe if I blocked you out
it would hurt less
but you were you

You joked and drew me in
and I laughed,
I coudn't help myself.

I told you to go away,
just go
and don't come back.

You didn't apologize.
You told me some cryptic message
of how you did it for my own good.

With time, you said
I would realize why you had betrayed my trust
But you wouldn't tell me why.

I told you the most hurtful thing
was that HE said we weren't friends
and in that case it shouldn't have mattered.

You called him a jerk,
said he was wrong,
said that you have my back.

I wanted to believe you,
still do,
I would trust you any day more than him.

But you're leaving, you know.
And I'll miss your dumb corny jokes,
your arrogance.

I'll miss your stupid face
He's wrong, you know.
About us.

When I'm mad at you and you try to tell me something
I say "I don't care"
and you say "Yes you do".

You're right,
of course.
I do.

All About S*x

It took me a long time before I stopped stumbling over the word 'sex'. Even now I still feel a pang, an uncomfortable feeling at this "forbidden" word. I'm taking a personal health and nutritional science course, and recently we learned all about sex and birth control. These are things I am aware of, and as mature adults it is normal to sit in a classroom with illustrative slides showing one how to put on a condom. But growing up as a religious girl, I do have a certain reservation when it comes to discussing sex, even in clinical terms, as if I have to try to be nonchalant about it.

Recently at work a new manager was hired to replace one who is leaving. He is ultra-orthodox, a Chassidisher guy with white shirt, black pants, curly payos, the whole nine yards. He is not someone I would ever look at twice on the street, and based on our backgrounds our paths would probably never cross besides for the fact that we work together. When I first met him, I had a misgiving that I would corrupt him, simply by being myself. I grew up in a closed-minded community, and in the process of trying to "find myself" I have attempted to break out of that mold, by rejecting some of the rules I grew up with. That meant looser with my language (cursing), and being more open and free with topics that were previously not discussed.

I overheard a coworker mention to some of the guys that he may have gotten his ex-girlfriend pregnant. I piped in and it turned into a full conversation between joking that he should go on the Maury Povich show, insist on a DNA test, and me saying lamely that he should never have gotten her pregnant. Thus followed a conversation about safe sex and the rate at which protection actually prevents pregnancy.

The new guy was listening avidly. Then he started asking questions about sex, protection, what actually works, etc. I started realizing that this may have gotten out of hand, especially when I saw other people passing by and overhearing the conversation. Talk about inappropriate work conversations.

There's a reason some kids like to 'educate' their more innocent friends. Usually one kid ends up blurting out all the details about sex and sharing it with all their friends before they should actually be discussing it. I'm not saying this guy was completely ignorant, however I feel bad encouraging the conversation, as if I had a hand in opening his mind to the world around him.

The question is not whether these things should be discussed. The answer to that would be yes, in the right setting, with a professional, for constructive purposes, once you are mature and old enough to have questions and want answers, and not just because you are showing off to your friends.

In this case, besides the fact that the setting was wholly inappropriate, I don't think this guy needed to get sex ed that way.

Just because I chose to expose myself to things which I was taught to stay away from, doesn't mean I should rip down his blinders, even if I disagree with being sheltered.

You have to be sensitive to other people's choices and upbringings, regardless of your personal feelings or attitudes on the issues.  

Free

I watch the fountain as the water rises
higher and higher
the squeals of the children in delight
as if guiding it
commanding it
controlling it
saying more! more, we want more!
Higher it goes still
ten feet in the air
splashing back down with a plop
and disappearing into the cracks
it is no longer visible
the water,
yet a second later
it shoots out again
the kids laugh,
they dance
they run near the spray
in the hopes of getting wet
I watch
and want to be the water
want to fly free,
but there is always something tethering me
to the ground
no matter how long I try
the fountain stops
for a moment
I hold my breath
wondering if it is done for the day
time for the kids to go home
but suddenly the water starts up again
the children scream
I feel a pang,
sad that I'm still here watching
that I'm not the water
that I'm not free.

Therapy

Why pay for therapy when you can get it for free?

I sit in the chair at my hairstylist and before I know it she knows my whole life story and yet I have no idea what kind of cut she gave me. I find myself telling her all my woes about my job, school, life, etc. It's a great way to release. I'm sure they are sworn by oath to not revealed the secrets they hear in the chair.

The bakery is another beautiful place, filled with pleasant aromas, and scrumptious looking delicacies. This is where I come on a bad day, or a good day, or any day. The bakery guy smiles at me as I make my selection, I try not to look him in the eye, I wonder if he knows I've been stress eating lately. He recognizes me by face and I know it's time to find a new bakery.

While some people close up like a clam and share nothing with anyone, others can tell everything to their bus driver, bank teller, taxi driver, etc. Really, there are therapy outlets all around us if you just look for them.

No time to go for an appointment? Don't want to spend money on a copay? Just sit on a bench in the park and wait for the next person to sit down next to you. Then start talking.

Your session has begun. 

Hiding

I can't make eye contact.
I try to appear normal but it's difficult.
I know she's talking to me and my brain is telling me to respond but I can't.
I smile, I hope not in a creepy way, and speak in my most normal voice possible.

My whole being is screaming danger! danger, get out,
and I wonder if this is what it feels like to have exposed nerves.
Why are you looking at me?
Why are there so many people in this store?

I keep my voice light when I speak to you,
everything very chilled and nonchalant
what's the point of worrying you
instead I pretend.

Pretend that everything is okay
I don't want to have to explain
you won't get it
and maybe I don't either.

Things are changing
I'm not sure how
I just know it's time
to go.

I can't make eye contact
I may appear to be shifty
I just can't let you see
inside my eyes.

Then you'll know.

Too little too late

I hate you.
I hate you for believing in me, for encouraging me.

Where were you when I doubted myself, when I thought I wasn't good enough and never would be?

I hate the ones who rejected me, who turned me away and made me give up.

I hate the voices in my head, the ones that tell me to stop pretending, to let it go, to move on and abandon my dream.

What dream?

Once I was young and eager, so young and full of something, was it attitude, was it aggression, I don't know that it was passion, but it was something more then this passive-agressive-non-believing lump of discouragement, and though she disgusts me now, that me of years ago had more desire to succeed than this give-up-and-go-home attitude.

I hate you for making me feel again, for making me want it, for using my finger nails to claw at the mountain of dirt to pull myself up and try again when I just want to lay down and admit defeat.

I hate you all.

But you most of all.

I hate you for the lump in my throat which you caused, you must have known it would invoke a reaction. Admitting that your first impression was wrong and that you were glad you were proven wrong.

Maybe you saw something in me that I no longer saw in myself, refused to see in myself because the glass mirror once shiny and clean is now smudged with dirt and blackness to the point where I can't even see myself clearly.

Did you see me? What did you see in me? I know you wouldn't lie.

But why???? Why now. Why when you are leaving and flying miles away, why when I am at the end of the line, why when I am so ready to give up and call it quits, why must you make me feel??

I hate feeling. I hate how you crack my numb exterior, the one I use to protect myself from getting hurt, from people like you.

Once I wished to be seen, to be heard, I thought I was G-d's gift and it was my duty to let people know what they were missing.

A few Youtube videos and articles later and I was put in my place. I was no longer special, I would never make it in this tough world so why bother trying.

I was fine lying to myself. I was fine!

I love how you just assume that I'll do great things. I love how you say it so casually as if it could actually happen.

Can it?

Is it possible that maybe you are right about me?

Is it too late for me to see in myself what you have seen?

I don't hate you. I can't even tell you how much your words mean to me, how much they hurt me but at the same time give me hope.

Maybe I'm not done yet.

Maybe I will do great things.

Maybe it is not too late for me.

Mine

He runs down the stairs, hair wet from a bath and I just want to gather him into my arms and inhale his baby scent. It's his upshernish tomorrow and I can't part with his baby face and his gorgeous golden curls. He tells me something that I struggle to understand and then says, with eyes wide, 'is that cool?'. Of course, everything he says is cool.

I lay on the couch with the baby on my lap after the other kids have gone to sleep. She keeps trying to grab my glasses so I hold up my hand in defense. She grabs my hand in both of her tiny ones and pushes it out of her way. Then goes back to grabbing. I was there the day she was born, and here this little beauty is growing into a mischievous little bundle of cuteness.

I'm exhausted and mom rolls her eyes and asks me why. Well, I may not be a mom but watching her kids is stressful. Don't do this, don't touch that, eat your lunch, no you cannot have candy until you eat, wash your hands, go to bed, give that toy to your brother, etc etc. I can't relax around kids. She tells me I'm too stressed, I should just chill.

She wouldn't mind if I moved into her house, she thinks I'm nuts if I buy food or do laundry anywhere else, cuz I should have come to her, I'm not considered a guest and somehow I've become part of the fabric of their lives.

But there's a part of leaving and going home to my place that makes me realize that they are not 'mine'. Maybe I'm very possessive. I used to get insulted when a kid would tell me 'you're not in charge of me' as they are wont to say when they challenge authority. But this time I simply said, you're right and thank G-d for that. (Plus I responded that it's fine, if he didn't want to listen then I didn't have to read him a story in bed.)

Some kids run to you when they see you and love to be held, and some kids break your heart by turning away when you just want to gather them up in your arms.

One day there will be kids with my name on them, they will be mine to smother, to mother, to baby, to screw up or get it right or simply keep trying thinking there is nothing I can do right. But they will be mine, and no amount of 'going home' will change that.

If you were a picture

"Don't judge me"

* She held a bag in her hand, it said "i'm lovin' it". I assumed that was her dinner. 

* * *

"Once, I was scared of you, but now it is you who are scared of me. That's good, I know you won't come close to me. This is my bed tonight."

* Her scarf looked dirty, no amount of her picking at it would ever get it any cleaner. She started to cough and I wanted to offer my water bottle until I remembered it was empty. I wouldn't want it back anyway. She closed her eyes and blocked out the world and no one came close to her.

* * *

"I'm not crazy"

* She muttered to herself over and over again "no, no I can't do this, no this isn't right" before snatching her bag and leaving the classroom. I wonder if she'll be back.

< 3 Hearts < 3

Voices murmuring around me...
each absorbed in their own...
tired & hungry
and not done yet
2 more hours to go
till the midnight hour
till my paper is due
but I won't be done
no fun
three more finals
this week will never end.

I left my flowers behind
hand-picked by my niece
first for her mother
and then for me,
it's my birthday,
or was,
she says I'm a little old
but I don't feel old
I feel...

I feel like a grown-up
and yet every time they say
"get a grown-up"
I look around frantically
until I realize that
they are all looking at me,
I'm a grown-up now
and yes I stole that line.

Did you know that
monarch butterflies are called
Danaus plexippus
their color is primarily orange and black
they are poisenous to other animals,
and every winter they migrate 2,000
miles to warmer climates?

My favorite colors are purple and pink
they are not actually,
or maybe orange
depends who you ask,
but I got to spend today
with 3 adorable little girls dressed in
that's right
purple and pink
or maybe red,
depending on who you ask.

Did you know
that little kids
can have such big personalities
can give the biggest hugs
can make grown men cry,
did you know?
It's crazy how much you can love a little person
that isn't even yours

She says
"quick, catch me I'm falling!"
every time she goes down the slide,
I wonder what she'd do
if I didn't come running
with my arms outstretched
ready to catch her
but I'll never let her know.

#questionsformen

Do you avoid eye contact with women to prevent unwanted come-ons? Do you wish they wouldn't whistle at you?

Do you avoid a certain street corner because the friendly crossing guard wants to give you his number, maybe have dinner sometime?

 Do you wonder what you did, what you said to make them think that you were interested?

Maybe if you didn't smile at them...

Maybe if you weren't so friendly...

What would you do if a married women said you made her nervous and she thinks she is in love with you?

What would you do if a married women flashed her abs and told you she's been working out lately? (Don't answer that one.)

Is the world as vulnerable a place for you as it is for women?

What would you do if someone made you feel uncomfortable?

Barriers

When, on the last day of class you are reluctant to leave, lingering, hoping for one last bit of wisdom, one more acknowledgment that you exist, that you matter because in this classroom you mattered... And you don't want to let that go... Perhaps once in a lifetime you will have a teacher who will make you feel that way... Lucky are those who've had more than one... You know he's one who has touched you, made an impact on your life, and this leaving, this goodbye cannot take away what you have gained.

He's moving to California. He's told us more details about his personal life than one should. But it's comforting, in a way, to know that he is human.

'If you want to give me a hug, or fist bump me, you can.' I tell him I can't hug him, he asks if we could pretend so we 'air hug'.

We show affection in physical ways, some of us do. Languages of love, it's called. It's easier to hug someone than to simply tell them that you'll miss them.

But this barrier, invisible though it is, is restricting, getting harder and harder to maintain. One day I will tear it down and it won't matter anymore.

משנה מקום, משנה מזל

Standing in the frozen section in Target contemplating the refrigerated cookie dough, just take it home and bake it yourself, hmmm I think I may, as this one has an OU and is dairy-free... Funny thing is, I can bake better than any prepackaged cookie dough, and although the package says "Do not eat raw dough" I open the package as soon as I get home and try the raw dough and instantly regret it, as it's not that good. Nor do the baked cookis taste very good. Ah well, I'll know for next time.

Things are moving around at work, people are leaving, new people are coming, they are moving me upstairs to a different office, and although 'moving upstairs sounds like a promotion, it is not. It is simply a way for a man in power to exert said power and to not have to give a reason for doing what he does. After numerous trips up and down the stairs moving all my stuff, my chair, my computer, everything that I need to keep me sane, I am settled upstairs in silence.

My office was fun, used to be fun, we all know the kind, it happened in high school too, one year it was fun and the next year there was a new principal and the fun was over. There is a new guy in the office, he makes it his job to shush us when it's too noisy, the music is too loud, we are fraternizing when we should be working, etc. He hasn't been here that long and he's a buzz kill.

Upstairs in the new office they tell me it's a quiet office, don't talk unless it's work related, all my friends are downstairs and I am not happy. I know at work you are supposed to work, but healthy socializing is a big part of it, and what with most of the people I started with on their way out, I am holding on to the few familiar faces that are left. When everyone you know starts clearing out, you know it's time to go.

They say that changing one's place physically can change his mazal, and although U don't know if the same can be said for a desk in an office, but maybe this is a good step. I'm trying to figure out what's next for me in life. I'll be graduating in a few months and although that is exciting, I'm not satisfied at my job anymore and I want to move on. Problem is, I don't know what's next.

משנה מקום, משנה מזל.

I hope to figure it out.

The Bird Lady

They were hungry,
is all,
that's why they came so close,
that's why they weren't afraid,
as the bits of stale bread,
rejects by any other name
came tumbling down out of the sky
as if by God himself,
but nay a mere mortal
who took pity
on the birds,
they came in flocks
cacawing
fighting each other
for one tiny scrap of food,
that's why they came.

Night

People go to sleep,
normal people go to sleep,
some stay awake
and wait for those normal people
to wake
so they can play.

Oh morning.

Leave

After trying to come up with all the reasons why I should stay, I didn't come up with much. The answer I kept coming back to was: leave.

"And my prayer is that your story will have involved some leaving and some coming home, some summer and some winter, some roses blooming out like children in a play. My hope is your story will be about changing, about getting something beautiful born inside of you, about learning to love a woman or a man, about learning to love a child, about moving yourself around water, around mountains, around dear friends, about learning to love others more than we love ourselves, about learning oneness as a way of understanding God. We get one story, you and I, and one story alone. God has established the elements, the setting and the climax and the resolution. It would be a crime not to venture out, wouldn’t it?

It might be time for you to go. It might be time to change, to shine out. I want to repeat one word for you: Leave.

Roll the word around on your tongue for a bit. It is a beautiful word, isn’t it? So strong and forceful, the way you have always wanted to be. And you will not be alone. You have never been alone. Don’t worry. Everything will still be here when you get back. It is you who will have changed.”
Donald Miller, Through Painted Deserts: Light, God, and Beauty on the Open Road

I asked myself if leaving was a form of running away, perhaps from a job, an apartment, a life of responsibilities. But exploring is not running away. It is looking for a reason to keep going.


"One fine day, it will be your turn. You will leave homes, cities and countries to pursue grander ambitions. You will leave friends, lovers and possibilities for the chance to roam the world and make deeper connections. You will defy your fear of change, hold your head high and do what you once thought was unthinkable: walk away. And it will be scary. At first. But what I hope you’ll find in the end is that in leaving, you don’t just find love, adventure or freedom. More than anything, you find you."  
The Staying Philosophy

My hope is that in going, I will find a reason to come back.

Whole

We've gone

our whole lives

missing parts of us,

parts we weren't aware

that we were missing.

Until

one day

we've grown into the strong

man, woman

that we strove to be,

and suddenly we're incomplete.

So we search

on buses, trains,

crowded subway platforms

for some small glimpse

of that elusive missing piece.

Not sure what we are looking for,

we keep trying,

maybe next time,

maybe somewhere

nearby

we will find it.

We don't find it,

yet we keep trying,

something in us keeps pushing,

hoping, waiting

maybe, maybe

don't give up yet.

Hello,

is it me you're looking for,

no, not I?

What is it you recognized,

maybe the same face of desperation

you wear yourself.

Like looking in a mirror,

the face of loneliness

looks like you

clothed in someone else.

Now you have two missing pieces,

and no wholes.

Replaceable

It's quiet, the kind of quiet where you hear the hum of traffic from one block over but you can't actually see it, the air is kind of still and kind of warm, it says 50 but feels colder. You know Spring is coming and that's a good sign but we are not quite there yet. Your feet echo on the pavement as you walk, they make clicking sounds and you like that, you walk hard, you always have, and some people turn their head when they hear you coming, you imagine they expect to see a guy with perhaps expensive Italian shoes and instead they behold you. But you are just as good as any man, you are as strong, as smart, as practical, maybe more so. But there are times, times when you are as feminine as any woman, times when you feel weak, you wonder why weakness is attributed to women, also known as the weaker sex, and what makes a man strong and a woman weak, but that's just the way it is. You're all woman when you get mad at your boss for having you stay late and wasting your time, sometimes so mad that you want to throttle him or stab him with a knife. Ya, not really that mad but then again you made a deal with Patrick from work that he would warn you before he shot up the place and you would do the same. Of course, there are days when you hate it so much you threaten-- in your head of course-- to quit, to just leave. You imagine them panicking saying what will we do without her, how will we survive, but of course you are replaceable, everyone is.

Oh Where

He wishes me good night and says, "I hope you get married soon."
Why, I think, why is he saying that,
he says "So you should be going home at 6 to a husband and a family,
not staying here at the office."
Yes, that would be nice I guess,
I say Amen as I always do,
thank him for his bracha.

He has good intentions
I'm sure,
but it's the message that is being sent,
that I cannot be a strong independent woman
who chose a career over family,
no, it must be that I am a sad helpless single damsel in distress,
that I must be saved from myself,
how sad my life must be that I'm still at work at 6 pm.

Cynical much?
But then again, it's hard not to be,
yes sometimes I work late,
yes sometime I wonder what it would be like
to go home to a husband
instead of a quiet lonely room,
but tonight is not that night.

Working late, then class, then homework,
midterms to study for,
at least I'm not making someone wait
anxiously for me at home,
no I am creating my own future,
taking control.

I go home close to midnight,
cold and tired and drained,
choice between the train or the bus,
neither option is great
this late at night.

Some guy stands at the bus stop alone,
he looks dark skinned, perhaps Arabic,
or Israeli, I must have missed his tzitzis,
 or neither, by the sound of his voice he's American like me,
maybe foreign parents in there somewhere.

We talk all the way home,
he walks me to my door
though it's a block out of his way,
I stand outside talking, prolonging,
not wanting to go in.

He asks if I want to keep in touch,
I'm flustered,
we just don't do that
but the second I shrug awkwardly
I think I've made a mistake,
he says goodnight and walks away
and all that's waiting inside
is my sad lonely empty room.

The second I get inside
I google him, search facebook,
try to figure out who he is,
we call it stalking.
I laugh at that strong independent woman
inside of me,
it didn't take much
for her to disappear.

Away

Sometimes you come home
and dream of
never going back
it's so stressful
sucking every ounce of
personal space and time,
it takes everything
and gives nothing,
it's just too hard
now, it's too hard.
You salivate when you think of
going far away, a different
country perhaps, and maybe
never coming back,
you don't want people to worry,
your mom thinks
it's a good idea
you explain your reasoning
your desire to explore
the world, see what's out there
get your wanderlust out of your system
before settling down.
It's the settling down part
that gets you,
you have no idea when or who or how,
you don't like the
lack of control,
you don't know
but this, this you can decide
you can plan
you can fly or drive or walk
away, and choose to come back
or not,
someday there'll be a storage space
with your name on it,
with all your worldly belongings,
you'll leave it all behind
and simply go
wherever
you're not sure where
but anywhere must be better than
here,
you kind of know
that you're too scared, too comfortable,
too -- too to go
maybe you'll surprise yourself,
maybe you'll do it,
quit your job,
leave this life behind
go away not knowing
if or when you're coming back,
maybe you'll do it.

Pain

I don't like the pain,
but I miss the drama,
the highs
and lows
that come with not knowing
or knowing too much
or feeling too much,
and now I simply don't feel at all.

I wanted this,
I know
I asked for it
to feel normal
but what does normal mean
and why do I hate it so.

You and I
try to figure it out
in that tiny little room
shutting the world outside,
but it doesn't stop for me,
all still waiting
when I come back.

And I hate it
and love it
sometimes want to run
and sometimes never want to leave.
I wanted stable
and this isn't it
but it's close to normal.

But why are there days
when I feel so numb
wishing to pinch
pull
cut
until I bleed
something, anything,
to feel pain again.

Is it better to hurt
or to be so numb
that you feel
absolutely
nothing
at all?

Sleep

I don't want to go to sleep.
It's not that I fear the dark,
Or I feel like I would miss out on life,
In fact I crave the dark
And life can wait.

I'm scared of going to sleep,
As the icy hand of night caresses my cheeks
And drowsiness sets in
I try to fight it
To stay awake
To play some more.

I'm scared of
Going to sleep with the quiet
And waking up
Once more
Alone.

The night presses in
My eyelids droop
Begging for respite
Craving sleep
But I fight it
I fight you
Kicking and screaming
But you just don't get it.

Sleep will come,
I know it will.
I can't fight it forever.
If I could just hold on
A little longer...

Take

Take
my memory
of you
with you when you go
I don't want it
anymore,
when I'm all alone.

I try to learn to trust myself
as you trust me,
responsibility,
they give me
more and more each day
that I stay.

You keep talking
about the day you will be gone,
you'll be leaving
so you say,
I keep waiting
not wanting it to come.

I lean on you,
oh how I do,
pretending that I need your help,
but do I,
or is it just the child in me
refusing to let you go?

You watched me grow
I hope I made you proud,
but as they crowd
in the doorway to watch you leave
I hope you'll remember me.

You tease me
that I will be calling you every day
with questions,
I ask them now
while you're around
cuz one day you'll be gone
and I'll have no one to ask anymore.

I don't need you,
not really,
not anymore,
but I ask so that you'll stick around,
cuz one day I'll need you
but you'll be gone.

And I'll be on my own.

Static

Shhhh...
do you hear that?
Quiet...
Shhh...
But they don't get it,
they just keep talking,
your lips are moving
and all I hear is
bla bla bla
your lips are moving
and you lie lie lie,
I wish you'd stop
but maybe it's me that needs to
stop trying,
stop caring,
stop doing,  
stop being
what you want
because what you want
doesn't matter
and what I want
hasn't mattered in too long.

Shhh...
I wish you'd stop talking,
my head craves the silence,
I want to hide in the closet
where no one will find me,
turn off my radio
rip out the plug,
make it stop
all that static
all that chatter,
make it disappear
into the silence.

Shhh....
turn off the TV,
turn off the light,
everyone stop talking,
pretend I'm not here
I pretend like you're not talking
like you don't need something
like the phone's not ringing
and the people aren't demanding service.

I pretend the world is still and silent.

Shhh...
do you hear that?
It is the sound
of a million voices
hushed,
still,
breath frozen
waiting for the signal
to start up again.

But just for a minute,
shhhh.
be still, will you,
and let me enjoy the quiet.

Number 2

I just keep seeing that number 2

that number 2

it's just not number one,

its no more fun

and I just want you to go away

and yet you stay

I hear your voice inside my head

I want it to stop

but you never stop

you're always there

you're everywhere

and I don't want to hate you

but I do.

Because you're that number 2.

Word Salad

Step up and take control
of the show
for if you know
how much power you hold
they will fold
and you will win.

You want to win, don't you,
and winning's not a sin
don't let them in
just keep pushing
just keep doing
just keep being you.

Everyone is leaving,
moving on, going away,
not just for a day,
they will not be back.
And you rejoice for them
but not for you.

For you,
you want more,
you want bigger, you want better
you want brighter and greater and MORE--
so why hold back, why not take it
grasp it and run with it
and never look back.

You feel like a prisoner in this palace,
but who is keeping you here
no one is stopping you
there's the door,
just go, GO why don't you.

But no, they need you
they will always need you
or so you think,
and you want to feel needed
you NEED to feel wanted
and so you stay.

For now.
But when he leaves
so will you-- so you say,
that day will come
and you wonder if he'll call
and you wonder if he'll even remember your name.

You sleep the morning away,
phone on silent so you can't hear them call,
and they do call
but it's okay, they were okay
everything was okay
they can manage without you.

One day they won't need you
and you will be useless to them,
you want to leave
before they realize
how much little value you hold.

The snowflakes hit your face,
this wonderful white world
trees adorned with snow
like a furry white coat
and you are outside in middle of the day.

You are a slave to the job
and you know it.
Don't jump, don't be rash
bide your time before you go
just wait.

Don't hate
the ones
who hold you back
for you realize
there are no bindings
tying you down.

You're free to go
if you please.
The door is wide open.
Why are you still here?

That Face

Surprised to see me?
I've been here all along
waiting for you
to turn and notice me,
yet you never really look.

You don't see life
or love, or future
all you see is dark circles
and makeup smudges
tiredness.

That face
the one that looks dewy and tanned
or pale and white,
that face that looks pristine and fresh
or tired and blurred.

That face
that looks lean and thin
or full and bloated,
that face that smiles in greeting
or glares in warning.

That face
that tells all
and yet reveals not a thing
that face that you can never hide
with an oversized sweater.

That face
at once so familiar
and yet a stranger
that face that makes you look twice
wondering where you've seen her before.

That face
is all that stands between you
and the world,
that face will never leave you,
will never let you go.

Look at her
and tell her
all the things you love
and all the things you hate
about your face.

Normal

It's a typical motzei Shabbos scene. She stands in her kitchen washing the dishes, sweeping the floor, putting away the challah cover, shaking out the table cloth, gathering up her kids' many articles of clothing to bring upstairs and wash.

The phone rings. And rings. And rings again. She answers it, and each time it is a different sibling, calling to say hi, how was Shabbos, who ate over, did your kids sleep, did they like the sweater we sent.

She discusses a purim party theme with one sister, and a newly purchased house with another sister, and when her mother, who has just eaten over that afternoon, calls to say how nice the meal was, they talk briefly.

Typical? Not for me. I try to avoid talking to my siblings as much as I can, and when I do, I rejoice that we managed to have a 4.5 minute conversation without fighting.

I lay on the floor playing with the baby, who is all smiles and refuses to go to sleep. The kids are in pajamas, also trying to stay out of their mother's sight and avoid having to go to bed.

It's snowing out, and I know I have to go home sometime, but I stick around because it feels so normal. Functional.

It's a typical motzei Shabbos scene, only not-so-typical for me.

I can't wait to have my own home and to create my own normal.

:(

Picking a fight
Mad that you're leaving
Mad at you for breaking free
And leaving me behind.
Forgetting me.
Funny how I always thought I'd leave first
And you would stay forever.

Funny how things change.
As much as we wish them
To remain the same
Forever.

Forever seems so long
And yet like that you will be gone
Forever.
And we shall never meet again.

That makes me sad
And mad
And so I fight you
Every step of the way
I contradict you
Disrespect you
Question you
When all I really want to say is that
I'll miss you.

But some things are better left unsaid.

Hiding

Like,
Lying under a pile
Of freshly laundered clothing
Relishing their smell
Their warmth surrounding you
In a hug.

Wanting to hold on
And never let go.
Eyes closed for so long
Never looking, never knowing
What's out there.
Cover your ears
Screaming 'lalala can't hear you!'
As if you could protect yourself
From the harsh reality
Called life.

Soon that bubble will burst
And you will fall
Free falling
Into the night
With no arms to catch you
And no where soft to land.

Cold

The cold
makes you withdraw
into yourself
wishing for warmth
and sun.

But the sun
has gone away
don't know when
it will be back
to stay.

I miss it.
Heightened anxiety
darker moods
uncomfortable
inside your skin.

Freezing wind
as icy as
your stare
when you look at me,
but I look away.

Don't want to see
the truth,
don't want to admit
that you're gone
and you're never coming back.

Want to know why
but don't want to ask,
what's the point.
So I stand in the cold,
waiting for the sun's return.

The Shikse

She was a Shikse, he was a Jew, that was all we ever knew.

My mom was a crazy baal teshuva, and that's how the story began, many years ago.

I can't say that it is over yet.

She thought she could 'save' him.

She thought she was doing the right thing by trying to break them up.

I think she was insane.

"You remember Patricia?"

No... blank stare.

"Patricia, Marc's wife."

Oh.... that Patricia. I thought she was called Patty.

She was never called Patty?

Her kid looks familiar. Zach, is it? I think I've seen pictures on Facebook.

Eleven, is he? Has it really been that long?

Do you even know who I am? Are we really gonna play this dance?

He reminds me of my dad, in that 'they must be related' kind of way. They have the same humor.

My mom keeps saying how important family is, which is kind of funny given our history.

I never had a choice.

But now I do.

I add 'Patricia' on Facebook.

Mending fences, one relative at a time.

No.

They say insanity is doing the same thing
over and over again
and expecting different results.
I guess that makes me insane.

The name of the game is heart break
and you are so good at it,
or is it me who
loves the drama.

Stupid, stupid, stupid,
for going after you
when you were so clearly
through with me.

Those girls who say
better to have the wrong one
than to have no one
has never met you.

Like Frankenstein's monster
I try to be
a little bit of everyone
hoping to be the one for you.

Except that gets me no where
but losing bits of myself
along the way,
pieces I didn't know I lost.

But I am pretty,
oh so pretty,
pretty and witty,
what more could you want?


You can't touch me,
you can't hurt me,
you can't find me
I must be hiding away.

There are so many reasons
for saying 'no'
I've heard them all,
I just don't care.

All it takes is one ''yes',
I've asked G-d
but all I hear
is silence.

Remember Tonight

White hot anger
coursing through me,
the cause partially
unknown.

Can't describe
the reason why
I'm so upset
about today.

The stress
was too much
everything
going wrong.

And you were gone
and I was left
to clean up mistakes,
to fix things.

I hate
when things spiral
out of control
as they often do.

Always playing catch up
never any time
to catch our breath
to recap.

I text you furiously
so mad
to the point of tears
unable to translate to words.

You call me seconds later,
I half expected it,
didn't want to answer,
hesitated.

But your voice,
your words,
they calm me,
bring me back from the edge.

You make everything
seem alright,
everything is manageable
to you.

We never had time
to talk,
but now somehow
we do.

I wonder what the score is,
you rushed home
to see the game,
but waste your time on me.

The snow falls softly around us,
your voice in my ear,
familiar and reassuring,
my stress ebbing away.

I'm going to miss you
when you're gone.
But I'm sure
you already know that.

Landing

The ground is getting closer
the sky grows far away,
The snow is gray and dirty
it's just that kind of day.

I knew I had to come back
I can't be gone forever
But when will things stop moving
When will it all be over.

Sometimes I just can't breath,
it all becomes too much
I need to get away
from reality, lose touch.

But I never really landed
I'm still up in the air
Searching for a place
that was never even there.

They compliment my new look
my hair flows straight and free
I tried to be different
but I can't get away from me.

And every time I go away
I'm forced to return again
Whatever demons I'm fighting
it never really ends.

Snowed In

I never thought I'd be more interested in going to work then sleeping in and having a snow day.

I feel restless.

I just got back from vacation. It's weird, people keep asking me what I did in Florida, and truthfully I didn't do much, but I relaxed and had a great time. I didn't think about work at all. And then I was ready to come back and get back into the swing of things. Everyone at work was happy to see me back, and it's great to have people that you look forward to seeing. (I even got an awkward hug from a guy who didn't understand when I said 'air hug').

But now with the snow shutting down the city, I am bored and itching to go out and do something. Anything.

The problem with being busy all the time with work and school is that your friends pretty much get pushed to the wayside, and when you are 'ready' to hang out again, no one is around. Or you forget their names since it's been so long.

One guy at work  invited another guy over for beers tonight, and just like that they had plans. I wish it were that simple, that I could do away with all the stupid planning, arranging, thinking about fun things to do and never actually doing them. I wish I could just kick back with a friend and grab a beer. But I don't drink beers, and I wasn't invited.

I am sitting here thinking I should go to sleep but I don't have work tomorrow (officially) yet the thought of me sleeping in with a big white wonderful world outside is a downer.

Something about a snow day makes me want to bake. But I have been baking way too much lately, and I am trying to take a break.

"Instead of waiting for things to come to you, go out and make them happen."

Well, look at that. Just got a call from a friend asking me to come over to her place to watch a movie and bake. So yay, I guess I have friends after all.

As one client said to me today, "Happy Blizzard!"

Invisible

Once
everything was
shiny and new
you smiled at me and wanted to know
who I am,
what my story was,
tell me about yourself.

You listened,
or pretended to,
you joked with me,
laughed with me,
looked at me
and made me feel
seen.

Time passes,
the newness wears off
and suddenly I am invisible
to you
to them all
like an old toy forgotten,
never to be played with again.

There's someone new
to fawn over,
someone, something more interesting,
my smile doesn't appeal to you
my cookies no longer satisfy you
I'm yesterday's news
and tomorrow's trash.

Standing outside
with out-stretched arms
head thrown back
howling at the moon
the wind carrying your voice
to heaven
I wonder if they can see me from space.

Does anyone see me,
does anyone hear me,
I talk and you ignore me
you laugh with others
joke with others
but to you
I am invisible.

Snow-covered Beauty

Stress and pressure weighing down on me
making me want to run
away.
I find a place to hide
outside
in the freezing cold
and hope no one will find me.

I talk on the phone in tears
wondering why I can't just
suck it up
and deal with it
like a man
but I'm no man
and no one should have to deal with this.

I love my job
but I hate the way it
sucks me in
leaving work at midnight
because I just can't let go
they don't ask me to stay
but I expect it of myself.

While you were away
I tried
to do the job of two men
but I need you
so please don't go away again.
I tried to be you
but I couldn't.

The sight of fresh white snow
envelopes me in its beauty
and simplicity
I breathe it in
though snow has no smell,
I smell it, I feel it
in every breath.

And the snow
makes everything better
everything brighter
all my problems go away
if only for a minute
as I watch the snowflakes fall lazily to earth
and find a place to rest.

Things will get better I know,
they always do.
Well-rested weekend
and ready to start again.
Sad songs playing on the radio
don't make me sad no more
and I know I've grown.

Get-a-way

Bliss.

My Shabbos turned from an anti-social one-woman no-meals sleep-all-day event into a getaway with 6 other people, spur of the moment decision which I can describe as blissful.

I was surrounded by good company, decent food, and we just chilled. I got dressed up even though the crowd was casual and would not have cared if I stayed in pajamas all day. And I was tempted to do so. But it felt nice to dress up for a change, wear heels.

I experienced a new community. Due to my sheltered and spoiled upbringing, I never realized there was life outside of Brooklyn. There are Jews in other communities! They dress like us, talk like us, go to shul like us. They were warm and welcoming and showed me all that I was missing.

I was right near the ocean, and I could smell the salt in the air. Unfortunately, the weather was rainy the whole day, so we didn't make it to the beach. But it was so relaxing waking up to a peaceful quiet day and having a nice Shabbos with new and interesting people.

I should get away more often.

Comfort

Wearing my red 'hooker' boots, which may or may not be maroon, and that matters because if they are maroon then they are classy, elegant, but if they are red, they scream rebellion, and promiscuity, but today I don't really care, I just want to look good. For who? I don't know.

I don't know why I'm wearing them to work today, they are not so comfortable and not so practical, thought a part of me just really needs a win today. Yesterday I did my hair in an elegant bun, and they noticed. Today I wore my red suede boots, and they noticed. I don't know why I'm trying to get noticed. Maybe because I stopped baking, and I'm scared they will forget me.

I have been baking regularly for the office, I don't know why. Maybe I just want them to like me, accept me, though I've been here for 4 months, they already have a nickname for me, I got a key to the warehouse that not many people have, I got a radio that I requested, and today I got a raise. If that's not acceptance, then I don't know what is.

But I still somehow feel... empty. The office is emptying out, it is 7 pm, and here I am, still here, with nothing better to do at home. It's late and I'm tired and I just want to go home, but this place, this job, it sucks me in, the work never stops and so technically I could stay forever and never leave.

I used to have to leave at a certain time every day to go to school, and now that I'm on break I just stay and get work done, because what's the point of going home to a sad lonely apartment and watching tv for a few hours then going to bed.

I try to stay positive, I looked awesome today and I got many compliments. I feel powerful, I feel like no one will mess with me and I can do it all. I work around mainly guys, and they notice, and they comment, and they can see that I mean business and when I say I'm going places I will make it happen.

Some days I love it, I love being busy and I love being around all these people.

But then there are days like today, when everything becomes overwhelming, when everything is stressful, when everyone is leaving at the end of the day to go home to their kids and families, and I have no one to go home to.

I have big plans for 2015. It is the year I turn 25. I will graduate college with a bachelors degree, I will reach my goal weight, I will reach a financial goal I set for myself, and G-d willing it will be the year that I meet the man I'm gonna marry.

And all that sounds exciting, and it is not all in my hands, and I know that. For some reason G-d wants me to be alone right now, maybe to learn how to become the strong independent woman that I am learning how to be every day. And I know I am not really alone. I call my mom and end up crying on the phone at work, because I just want to go home, only I don't know where that is right now.

But I am scared and I am lonely, and tonight I just don't know where to turn for comfort.

Static

Chatter,
that's how news travels around here.
No form of communication,
hear it through the grapevine
or you never heard it at all.


Head underwater,
can't swallow,
like a golf ball encased in wool
shoved down your throat,
they call it strep,
I call it misery.

Doc says take a day off,
rest and recover,
I apologize to my boss,
say I can come in anyway,
if you need me.

He says we'll manage without you,
so I go back to sleep,
and enjoy two days off,
bliss and oblivious
to what was left behind.

Two days. Two.
"Oh thank G-d you're back."
Her face says it all.
Every single person
asks how I'm feeling,
they missed me.

I'm feeling under-appreciated,
I tell one manager,
I put in a request that went ignored,
I feel like you guys don't respect me.

I just wanted a radio,
I wanted to feel like part of the team,
Like I mattered.
But he just couldn't find one for me.
So I slunk away, mad and upset.

Merry Christmas,
he tells me.
I found one for you after all.
He looks at me and says,
"They were falling apart without you."

Call it an ego boost,
call it insecurity,
call it whatever you want,
it's just nice to feel appreciated.
Too bad it takes getting sick
for them to tell you good job,
we can't do it without you.

And just like that
I matter.

You say hello, I say goodbye

It's the last class of the semester, and we're having a party. One girl tears up relating her experiences in the class. I never get attached. The end of the semester means the end, goodbye, it's been fun, see you never. My group from the final project says, we'll keep in touch, totally! Ya, not gonna happen. If I kept in touch with every person I ever came across in my life, I'd have litter. And no one likes litter. I weed out my friends every now and then, to be sure that only the quality ones remain. (Don't take that the way it sounds, I don't dump friends or anything. I just don't have that many of them).

I don't see the point in keeping in touch, especially at school. I don't need random old classmates in my life. I go to school and go home and that's that.

I got my first grade of the semester: A+. Yay.

 Happy night #2!

Oh Chanukah...

The new guy fist bumped me today. And I just... let it happen. I guess no one filled him in on the weird traditions of no touching guys that we have going on. I want to say something, but it seems a little weak after the fact. Like, hey new guy, I know we fist bumped once, but don't expect it to happen again, cuz I'm shomer negia, and ya that's a real thing. Sometimes I wonder what it really means to be shomer negia. Because honestly, it is so easy to let it go. It's not even an effort, really. You just simply let some guy shake your hand once and suddenly, what's the big deal?

I'm still at work as the sun goes down and Chanukah begins... My body is weak and tired and I feel a cold coming on... I lay down on the floor of the office and shut my eyes... The manager asks if I'm okay, and I tell him I'm fine... There's a big box of chocolate that someone donated, and suddenly I want chocolate... But all the chocolate in the world will not help me feel better... It will make me feel worse.

I walk over to L's desk and just sit down. He asks me what I want. I tell him I'm sick, and honestly I just want some sympathy. His wife was in the office today. He acts uptight around her, as if he never makes inappropriate comments or flirts with anyone when she is not around. He comes from an extremely Chassidish world. People have many sides to them...

I ask him for a ride home. He makes me sit in the back. I live out of his way, but he takes me anyway. I plan to ignore him and listen to music the whole way home. But he talks to me. I tell him how hard it is to be alone on a holiday like Chanukah, where everything is about family. Shidduchim comes up, as it always does. I find myself confiding in him, telling him about a date I had recently. I want him to make it all better. At work, he can be a pain, he ignores me when I make a request that he doesn't like, he blames me for miscommunications, and he is hard to deal with. But when I sit down at his desk to talk, suddenly he is a real person, listening and giving advice.

His phone rings and I see it says 'Home'. He puts his finger to his lips in a shushing motion. After all, his wife can't know that he drove me home, cuz what might that mean...?

We come from two different worlds. I'm not saying I think it's okay to be friendly with a married coworker, and it is definitely a slippery slope. I guess he doesn't want his wife making any insinuations.

I call my mom and tell her how sad it is that I'm alone on Chanukah and lighting candles by myself. I realize how pathetic I sound. I tell Anthony that it is like him being alone on Christmas, to which he responds "I will be alone on Christmas".

I guess it is all about perspective. I don't have it that bad, and I have to remember that.

I hope to bake tonight, and baking always cheers me up.

A freilechin Chanukah to all, and I hope you can see true revealed light in your life.

Give Up

Pitch black,
the sound of rain streaming down
outside my window,
alarm blaring,
coming out of the haze we call sleep,
disoriented,
what is that noise,
shut off the alarm,
looking at the phone like, what is that
and how did it get in my hand.

Crawling to the bathroom,
eyes asdjusting to the light,
staring at your reflection,
thinking about last night
wondering why you have to go through this
again,
and again,
when will it end.

Bleary eyed,
foggy brain,
you know you need to brush your teeth,
do your routine,
get dressed, go to work,
get through the day
but you are so sick of just
getting through the day,
what's the point.

Why,
you don't know who to ask
but you want to ask,
why??
Tired, you are so tired,
the cold bathroom floor, any floor really
seems tempting,
just lie down and curl up in a ball
and sleep.

Let me sleep through it,
shut my eyes
and glide through the hard times in life,
skip over it
straight to the good.
But if we gave up
 when the going got tough,
would there be any good times to have?

Sheldon would offer me a cup of tea,
but hey, TV ain't real life,
plus, I know how to make tea,
but right now I have to go to work,
so I hug myself tight,
saying everything will be okay,
my mom would do that
but she's not here.

Sometimes, the desire to give up is so strong,
but giving up is not an option.

Poison

“Sometimes when things are falling apart, they may actually be falling into place.”

If you hurt me, I will hurt you back,
I will twist and pull and pinch
until you feel the pain that you caused me.

The rain comes pouring down
drenching me,
and I like it, I crave it.

Sometimes we want the pain.
Don't lie,
you like it.

You crave the hurt
you get high on the fall
on the descent into hell.

Oh how you pretend that it's okay
to play, it's all fun and games
until someone gets hurt.

And that someone is always you.
While guys go on their merry way
and don't look back.

Oh how I want to hurt you,
but really who caused this pain,
Not I...?

Take a bite of the poisonous apple
and enjoy it, savor it,
love it.

Tomorrow will come
and he'll still be there,
only you will be in millions of pieces.

And you did this.
But who will take the blame.

To Live

You judge me,
I see it in your eyes when you look at me,
like you know better
what's best for me.

The truth is,
my conscience stopped bothering me
a long time ago
it's quiet now.

I can't say that's a good thing
but I'm enjoying life
no guilt
no regrets.

You think I'm still that innocent girl
of yesteryear
but I'm not
and never will be again.

My choices, my decisions
are on me,
the consequences
affect me alone.

I see a girl in a mini skirt
and I start to judge her,
and then I remember how it feels
to be judged.

I don't want your advice,
so I probably shouldn't tell you
cuz you don't want to know
and that's okay.

I look at her
like you look at me
but remember that
you never know all the details.

I didn't give up
I just decided to live
and not worry about
tomorrow.

You asked

6:00 AM... the world is still and silent,
lights flickering off one by one
the night sky still black.

It's cold out,
my body still waking up
but invigorated.

At work at 6:45 am...
because you asked
and so I came.

To feel needed...
to feel wanted...
your face says it all.

That you didn't know I would come
that you appreciated that I came
but you asked.

And so I came,
no questions asked
because you take care of me.

So I take care of you
and it feels nice
to be needed.

I know I give you a hard time,
but if you need me
just ask and I'll be there.

Chill

I used to hate the cold, dark dreary nights
the light waning at 4
going dark and sucking you in
the cold hitting your hands, and face
places you never knew could feel a draft.

I used to hate the heavy feeling that descended along with winter,
the desire to eat more
extra padding emotionally and physically
wanting to stay indoors
and never ever seeing the sun.

The sky is clear tonight,
millions of stars pricking
the black silky expanse
the cold searing my lungs
but pure and fresh and beautiful,
oh so beautiful.

I can't feel my hands
but I feel alive
I don't feel elation
but the heavy feeling is gone,
for once I don't feel like eating away my feelings,
and I know that means that I've changed.

Huddled in my coat
braced against the cold,
I could stay here forever
frozen in time and place,
just a girl
sitting on a subway platform
wiling away the time
enjoying the beautiful
chilled
silence.

Me

She startles me.
I don't recognize her.

I approach the glass tentatively,
trying to see some trace of familiarity.

The black inky sky creates a one-way mirror,
and I see her.

I see me.
But I've never seen her before.

The hallway is empty
and so I stare unselfconsciously.

Look at her,
that girl who was once ashamed of mirrors and photographs.

That girl who walked awkwardly by guys
wondering what they were thinking.

That girl who begged the world to accept her, love her,
but who couldn't even love herself.

I look at her, at me,
in admiration.

I've had more bad days than not this week,
and yet still the fighter in me won't give up.

I trace the curve of my hips, turn this way and that,
and then simply sit awhile.

I look out at the night sky, loving the view from up here,
the quietness so peaceful it causes me to drift off.

I sleep, and when I wake up she's still there,
staring back pensively.

She's not a stranger.
She's an old friend who was lost for awhile.

And now I've found her.
I finally found me.

Mistakes

It's like Deja Vu, only...different.
I said I'd never make the same mistakes again
and yet here I am.
Weird how we keep circling back.

Frustration builds inside of me
every time you're around.
It's stupid, really. We're grown ups
and yet you act like a child.

Some people victimize themselves
and blame others for their own mistakes.
Is that what I'm doing here?
Were you a mistake?

Every day, every look, every taunt
is a reminder of how foolish this is,
how stupid and careless this is
how I stopped thinking.

I stopped thinking for one minute,
and that was it.
You can't undo what you've done
and consequences follow.

I want to turn back the clock
and start over
but how different would it be really?
There'd be no you, no me. No us.

Just as it's supposed to be.

I wanna get away

Restless.
Can't sit still.
I wanna jump on a plane and fly away,
enjoy the warmth of the sky's embrace.

Close my eyes
and point to a globe,
just go anywhere
and stay for awhile.

Come back when I'm ready,
whenever that may be.
Just not here,
I can't stay here.

I think of all the things that tie me down,
and all the reasons for me to go.
If I were impulsive
I'd be gone by now.

Restless.
Can't sit still.
I think of all the fun I could be having
and all that I'm missing.

I just wanna get away.
Take a break for awhile.
Come back when I'm ready.
Whenever that may be.

Or never.
Imagine starting over somewhere fresh.
Leave your old life behind.
You can be anybody.

How can you keep going
when you want to be
anywhere
but here?

Quietude

I put my mom to sleep in the other room. She's spending the night with me.

I'm waiting for the place to be quiet so I can think.

I think best in middle of the night, when everyone is sleeping. I love the peace, the quiet, the alone time.

I love being alone.

Even if sometimes it gets lonely.

My mom came to class with me tonight. The topic was suicide. She talked about my grandmother.

I never knew her. She died before I was born.

We all knew about her suicide early on. My mom says there are no secrets in our family.

Except for the things we never say.

I used to tell my friends that my grandmother committed suicide before I realized how socially unacceptable that was to talk about.

But isn't that the point, really?

Why must we stigmatize things that we have no control over?

Depression is a sickness and must be treated like any other.

My mom said Bubby Dorris loved to shop, and would buy tons of clothes in many colors.

She would have probably taken us shopping, if she was still alive.

But she's not.

I never really felt anything about it, until I was in Florida when I was 18. I thought about visiting her grave, but never made it there.

I thought, how incredibly selfish of her, to kill herself without thinking of the people she was leaving behind.

Why didn't she think of me??

My mom told her she would be okay. Because that was all she could say.

It's not okay, really. It never is.

My mama stood up there speaking in front of the class, and told them things I never knew.

I knew about her own depression, and finally deciding to get the help she needed.

My teacher told us the way to know if someone is serious about suicide is to ask them if they have a plan. If they do, you should be worried.

My mom said she once thought she would go to Coney Island, start swimming, and never stop.

But she didn't want to do that to her family.

I'm glad she got the help when she did.

They say depression is hereditary.

I wonder how much it will affect me.

Sometimes I feel sad.

But sadness is not depression. Sadness is feelings of pain or loneliness welling up inside of you and seeping out as much as you try to stuff it down.

Every time I get stressed or overwhelmed, I calm my self down by saying, you're okay, everything will be okay.

And it always is.

It's quiet now, and I wish it would stay this way. I wish the quiet calm would last.

Except it never does.

Tomorrow I will get up and go to work and go to school and deal with the stresses and responsibilities that come with my life, and hope that I can get through the day with a smile on my face.

I wish my grandmother lived to see the legacy she left behind.

She wanted to know that we would be okay.

I know we will be okay.

I know, because it took us years to get to this point.

I know, because I knew what depression felt like, that black hole that makes you feel like you will never be happy again.

I know, because you changed, and so did we.

I know we will be okay, and as you sleep in the other room and I remember everything you said to the class tonight, I think about how lucky I am to have a mother as strong as you.

We will be okay because we have each other.

And two is stronger than one.

Winter

That dark, dreary feeling you get from walking outside on a cold rainy night. Hood drawn up, hunched in a sweater, walking fast, hands bunched in the sleeves.

Cold, yes. But refreshing. Walking inside to light and warm air, and already you miss the fresh exhilarating cold of the night air.

Wearing work-out clothes, but not working out. Pretend studying. Waiting for the clock to change.

Procrastinating....

Winter is coming on fast. Think: dark and depressing.

And so it begins.

Languages of Love

I punch him even though I'm not supposed to touch him, because he said my name wrong.

Deliberately.

He says, ow that really hurts, and I tell him he deserves it, because he should know my name by now.

And still I bring him cookies.

~~~~~~~~~~

I'm at the checkout counter and all I have are two boxes of brown sugar.

It's late, the guy behind the counter is eating something, maybe a sad meal he calls dinner.

I feel like talking, saying something, anything.

I'm tired, he's probably tired and couldn't care less what I have to say.

I say, I was in middle of baking and realized I needed brown sugar. How great is it that you are open so late.

He titters. Definitely not a full laugh.

I leave with my purchases, wondering why humans feel the need to interact with complete strangers.

~~~~~~~~~~

My roommates comment every time I bake, asking me what I'm making, what it's for, who it's for, if they could have some.

I tell them I was feeling down and instead of eating away my feelings, I decided to bake and make other people happy.

I know there are people who will be very happy tomorrow to hear I made cookies.

~~~~~~~~~~

I go to pick up my tray from my friend's house, after eating there on Shabbos.

The tray is still filled with my lemon bars, and that makes me sad.

She apologizes and tells me her family doesn't really like to try new things.

That's fine, I will take my lemon bars elsewhere, to a place where people appreciate them.

~~~~~~~~~~

 

I found out that the family friend I have been davening for passed away today. 

I saw the news right before class started. 

I couldn't focus in class.

There was a guy in my class who also knows the family.

It was nice to have someone to commiserate with.

Tomorrow I will be going to a levaya, and that makes me sad. 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

She always had a smile on her face, asking about my mom and my family.

She was at every bris, every family simcha, taking pictures and helping make the family happy.

Her family was our very first neighbors when we moved to Crown Heights.

I grew up with her kids.

Most of her kids are married now, but I keep thinking of her husband, and how very hard it will be for him to move on.

Do people ever really move on from death?

Are they supposed to?

~~~~~~~~~~

I stay up late baking cookies,and think of her smiling down on her family. 

I hope they will be okay.

Praying for a Miracle

A Facebook status. That's how news travels these days. I don't know much, it simply said 'Please say tehillim for'-- and a name. We never called our friends' parents by name, and yet I know the name. How suddenly things change. I don't want to ask questions, I don't know what is going on, but it doesn't seem good.

Surreal. All we can do is pray and hope for good news.

Please have Bracha Miriam bas Chana in your prayers.

Lonely

It's like being in a huge supermarket with many people around you smiling and laughing and talking, but not to you, no never to you.

It's like standing on a street corner talking to a stranger and wishing you weren't strangers any more.

It's like standing on a subway platform and watching the train speeding farther and farther away and suddenly realizing how empty and isolated it feels.

She opens her mouth and a Spanish accent comes out, like she grew up in Spanish Harlem, and yet both of us know we used to go on the same bus to school as kids. She keeps readjusting her hat, like she feels uncomfortable in her own skin, or maybe that's just me projecting my feelings, her pants staring me in the face, the guy standing next to me sans kippah, joking about how he used to be a mashgiach in a restaurant back when he was frum, me laughing at the irony, he thinks I'm laughing at him, but no it's just the situation, trying to find common ground and suddenly the fact that he doesn't wear a yalmuka makes no difference to me, and I don't know why.

It's like trying to form relationships and all they know me for are cookies, and that is something I did to myself, bring cookies once, twice, thrice, and suddenly you are the cookie lady and you can never get away from that, the jokes every day, the demands for more cookies, and you will never be anything more than that. I just want to be friends, except maybe that is a lie.

Sitting in a classroom talking about disorders, anxiety, depression, and trying hard not to diagnose yourself, except you feel yourself experiencing some of the symptoms, speeding heart, shortness of breath, lightheadedness, you just want to go home and eat cookies and watch TV and feel better, except you remember how you are staying away from cookies for awhile, and you have a 10 page paper to write, and suddenly it all seems too much, except no one cares and they all just want you to give it 100%, but you just can't right now.

My mother is driving to Florida tomorrow, I just want to jump in the car and go with her, the sun, oh I miss the sun. And freedom.

See the change

I came out tonight for you, babe. To prove I was there.

There's a selfie of us last year, and the year before, and as our phone cameras get better and better, so do we.

You ask me if I see the change, and I'm happy to say that I finally do.

We measure our lives in segments of time. It's been x amount of years since high school, x amount of years since seminary. What have we done since then? Can you see the change?

I see it in the way I carry myself, in the way I walk. I see it in the way I deal with people on a day to day basis. I see it in the way I show extreme patience with people who wear me thin.

Do you see the change?

I see it in my eyes every morning in the mirror. I see it in the pride I take in my school work. I see it in the joy I have in going to work every day. I see it in the countdown to my diploma.

Do you see the change?

I saw it tonight as we walked down the street, the music blaring as a backdrop, little girls and little boys doing the best they could to make themselves known to each other, hazy smoke the only form of communication between them.

We may have once been them, in some form or another. We all know why those little boys are on the women's side while there is ample room to stand and dance on the men's side, as well as a huge walkway in between. It is pretty obvious in the co-mingling going on till the wee hours of the morning.

The contrast between the drunk and stumbling youths just trying to make their presence felt in the world, and the beautiful stirring niggunim coming from a farbrengin upstairs is quite glaring.

Why?? I want to ask them, shake them, tell them how foolish they are being, why waste your time on little girls and little boys and meaningless relationships that will destroy you little by little until you have no idea of who you are or who you once were.

I want to tell them, I get it, I was once you. But they wouldn't understand, and I don't blame them. We must all go through our own stumbling paths in order to eventually find the light, and as painful as it is to watch, I cannot live the journey for them.

But I see the change in me, in us. We were never really them. We were we, only younger and stupider and filled with angst. We wanted to make noise, and make our presence felt, and make sure the world knew our names.

As I stumble home at 2 am, wondering why I'm still up, knowing that the pain in my back indicates how old and tired I am, my alarm set for 7- since I must get up in the morning for work- reminding me that I'm too old for this, little boys and little girls all over the street drunk or high or whatnot, and then there's me- not better-than-thou, or smarter, just older and wiser. And ya, a little smarter.

I can see the change, not because I hoped and prayed that it would happen, but because I made it happen, and every day that I wake up and try to be a better person and stick to my New Years resolutions, and pray and give tzedakah and try to do all the things I'm supposed to do, and go to work and go to school and take on more and more responsibilities till I'm stretched so thin that it's 2 am on a Sunday night and I'm wishing for the weekend already- that is how I know that I've changed.

I'm no longer that little girl anymore who's definition of self-confidence was synonymous with 'validation', and 'compliments', I don't need to be loud to know that people are looking at me, and watching me, I see it every day when I go to work. And every day is a new opportunity to educate people on who I am as a Jew, as a female, as a Lubavitcher. It is a new opportunity to break down barriers, to redefine misconceptions, to be myself and let people know that it is okay to ask questions if they want answers, but it is not okay to insult out of ignorance.

We have changed, and will G-d willing continue to change and grow into better people.

I can't wait for our next year's selfie, wind in our-- sheitels, watching our men dance. 

Hashem Hu Haelokim

"Why are you crying?", he asks me. He's 7. I doubt he would understand.

"I'm not crying", I tell him.

"Then why are there tears coming from your eyes?"

I want to tell him, because I got lost driving here, my phone died, and I drove around for an hour with no idea where I was going, watching the sun set and knowing Yom Kippur was coming.

I want to tell him, because I am tired and running on no sleep, because my friend's grandmother passed away this morning, and it hit me harder than normal.

I want to tell him, how scary it was to be lost, knowing I was so close to my destination but making so many wrong turns that I was getting farther and farther away.

I want to tell him, how relieved I was to speak to his father and be reassured that I was very close, that the street that looked unfamiliar was actually their street, only I was at the other end of it and had to keep driving straight for miles.

I want to tell him how excited I was to see him and his family, how I just kept repeating in my head over and over 'keep driving straight' until finally, finally, I made it.

I want to tell him how close I was to losing it and falling apart on the road, but I kept hearing a voice in my head telling me to 'relax'.

I want to tell him, how I called my father and heard him bless me over the phone, I just wanted to say, 'Abba, I was lost and I was scared and I just want you to make it better', but I'm 24 and no one can make it better anymore.

He's 7. He wouldn't understand.

But HE would.

I cried through maariv. And at the end of the fast, when we say 7 times 'Hashem Hu Haelokim', I realized that He is my father, that He is the one and only G-d, and He is the only one that can make it better.

I was lost, and I found my way back.

It doesn't matter how many times you fall, it matters how many times you pick yourself up and keep going.

May my prayers on Yom Kippur help give me the strength to keep going throughout the year, and keep getting back up after every fall.

Shavua Tov, and Shana Tova.

Checking In

Hey G-d, what's up? I had a really great year. No regrets here. Every time around this time of year, I find myself faced with the question: Do I have any regrets from the past year? Is there anything I can improve on for the coming year? When my answer came up as: no regrets, I thought, maybe I should dig deeper.

I used to be flooded with spirituality, emotion, a conscience telling me right from wrong. Now, I have to work really hard to feel bad about anything that I may be doing wrong. I find myself caring less and less about the things that once gave me a pang when I thought about it. Self improvement? Not so much.

It comes down to: no time, lack of caring, exhaustion, etc. When you find yourself simply not caring for self-improvement, that's when you know you need it the most.

I told a friend recently that I'm comfortable with who I am. She had commented on a top I was wearing with a slightly low neckline. My response was, ya maybe there is room for improvement in my tznius, but I just don't care anymore. I feel comfortable, and that's okay with me.

But what that is really saying is, I'm too lazy or stubborn or careless to do anything about it. I simply don't want to. I want to keep on living the way that I am, without anyone trying to lecture me or guilt me into changing. I don't want to change. I want to be happy with who I am.

But is G-d happy? Today I tried explaining to a coworker the definition of a chossid. A true chossid does what the Rebbe has asked and demanded of him, and he does it without questioning, without superimposing his own will, because he knows that the Rebbe has his best interest at heart, and he must do everything mehadrin min hamihadrin- the best of the best. He can't slack, he can't be lazy, he can't go around saying, I am what I am and I just don't care to change.

What happens when you get too comfortable in your lifestyle, and you stop feeling bad about doing the wrong things?

Time for a wake up call.

I'm still waiting for that.

Good luck finding your own way. Wishing you a Gmar Chasima Tova, an easy fast, and a year filled with spirituality, positivity, and growth.

Just a Ride

I close my eyes and let the wind whip over me,
caressing my hair.
The music at full blast.
No need to open the windows,
for the top is down.

Guys and cars,
that's what they say.
He has a convertible.
He is oh so cute.
He has good taste in music.

And yet we ride silently.
The music meant to dissuade conversation.
And at the end of the ride
we exchange polite 'good nights' and say
see you at work.

I have no need for little-girl crushes
but my heart flutters at the way his eyes light up
when he sees me coming.
I pretend to like football
to keep the conversation going.

It's just a ride,
I tell myself.
But if this were a real date
instead of a gracious favor from a coworker
it wouldn't be just a ride.

Who am I?

You want to know my name.

You ask me if I'm "Chabad".

Does it matter what I am? I'm a Jew, you're a Jew, we're all the same.

Suddenly, I'm the odd one out. You poke fun at Chabad.

I don't see the humor.

You ask me if my middle name is Chaya. You seem to assume we must all be Mushkys, or closely related.

You ask me if I'm Gezhe (Chabad Bourgeoisie). I'm not even sure what that means. Only, I know I'm not it. You say I must be Gezhe, since I would only marry within Chabad.

I don't see the humor in that.

You say things like, 'Oh I've been to Chevra shul'  (the controversial Crown Heights 'modern shul'.')

That's great. I don't care.

I ask you why you assumed I'm Chabad.

You say I have a certain 'look'.

I still don't get it.

You say it must be because I'm not wearing the thick seam stockings.

Huh.

In class a guy with a clearly Jewish name asked me what my plans are for 'HH'.

I look at him blankly.

'High Holidays', he clarifies.

Still not getting it.

He asks me what synagogue I'm affiliated with.

Um, none really.

He tells me he bought  new 'Talis'.

That's great. Really. I would totally buy a new one if I wore one too.

I wonder if this is his once a year check-in with G-d. Maybe that's why he is so eager to discuss it with me.

Truthfully, I haven't really thought about Rosh Hashanah. I've thought about it, as in I'm aware it is coming up pretty soon. But self-reflection- none of that.

Does this guy have it easier than me? Once a year check up, get a new Talis, go to synagogue. He keeps talking about it. Either he is trying to impress me, or it is really important to him.

Me: Oh wait, when is Rosh Hashanah again? The 22? No, wait, that's the day of my friend's wedding. (Think: Dress, hair, make up, shoes. Yup, that's what I'm looking forward to.) So, Rosh Hashanah must be a couple days after. Huh. Okay.

Who am I, you want to know?

I'm different. I'm Chabad and to some that means making fun, singing yechi when I walk in the room, mocking me.

To another, I may be as frum or more frum than his lady-Rabbi. I may be that one connection to real Judaism. I may be the representation of everything religious to him.

I don't know what I am. Everyone wants to know these days, esspecially Shadchanim.

'How tznius are you?'

I don't know, do you want me to measure my skirt?

Who am I, you want to know.

People, does it really matter?

A Jew is a Jew is a Jew.

This year, we are all celebrating Rosh Hashanah together.

And that's all that matters.

It's a Man's World

In the company where I work, there are mostly men employed in upper management. Amongst the females are myself, and about 4 other women. For some weird reason, the women's bathroom is in the all-male manager's office, while the men's bathroom is in the break room. Any time I need to use the facilities, I must walk amongst all the guys. It's awkward.

What I learned while working here:

1) Grown men are really just little boys in grown up bodies.

2) They have no filters. Even when women are in the room, they crack dirty jokes. The kind of things I'm sure they'd never want repeated to their wives.

3) They curse. And then put fake money in the swear jar.

These people are all older than me by at least ten years. At times I feel like I'm in a room full of children.

Hopefully this is just their 'playground', and they can then go home and be respectful husbands and fathers.