Archive for the ‘Good-byes’ Category

Inside My Wall

Brick by brick

This wall I built

In empty space

Alone I am placed

Look into my hazel eyes

A lonely man afraid to cry

Joy escapes me

An illusion

A lie

Straight faced

I live the daily grind

No one sees me

No one cares

Unlock my office door

And alone I sit

Holding back tears

Living in my fear

This man of rhyme

Just doing’ my time

At home I smile

Just so they don’t see

That pain and suffering

That engulfs me

Silently they sleep

Alone I weep

Afraid to say

How I truly feel

I don’t want locked doors

Hospital meals

I want to be able to choose

How and when I will lose

No fake love can save me

The choice is made

Dig my grave

By: Tim Lundmark

In two weeks it will be the one year anniversary of the passing of my very special friend Dale Brown. Nursing home policy says I can’t use his real name, but I will not cheat him or his memory by covering it up. He should be a man who is celebrated. I haven’t been looking forward to this time of year because I do not do well with sadness. I have written about him a time or two in the past and even then it was hard to fight back the tears. I don’t think I ever really sat there and just cried my hurt away. I instead have chosen to run and hide. I have a very hard time expressing this level of sadness, because I do not know how to process these feelings. I can handle sadness of either this or that, although most of the time anger masks how I am truly feeling inside. I refuse to let the world see me weak and in my fucked up head it is better people see you angry over shedding tears. This pain I feel over losing him is different. I cannot reprocess it and project anger onto the world. In the pit of my soul my psyche weeps, but my deficiencies as a man keeps those tears from reaching my eyes.

I would love nothing more than to just sit here and turn the faucets on, but I cannot bring myself to do it. I think I am still in the denial stage of grieving. I mean seriously is it healthy to hold onto denial this long? I still expect to see him here as if he had just been hiding from me this whole time; but I don’t, and each time that realization hits me it is as if I am reliving his death all over again. Since his passing I have not been able to allow myself to get close to another resident, because I do not want to build a friendship only to have them taken away from me. Just typing this I realize how selfish that is of me. Why should I deny others the special bond Dale and I shared? Why should I deny myself of these special bonds?

The one thing I learned from my relationship with Dale is I can be real around these guys, because many of them are beyond judgment. I know Dale showed himself to me without blinders on pretending to be someone he wasn’t, and I did the same with him. The conversations we had were some of the only honest conversations I have had with anyone. There was another man here I started to form a bond with, but he eventually left, not by deaths touch but by a relocation. When I first found this out I was devastated yet again, but at least I knew he was still alive, and had not suffered the same fate as Dale did. Awhile back before Dale passed away I became friends with this man who is so wonderful in his own right. He has trouble speaking so you really need to give him some dedicated time so he can express his feelings. When this is done he lights up knowing somebody took the time to stop what they were doing to pay attention to him and truly hear his feelings.

After Dale passed I sort of pushed him and the other residents away. I chose to stay secluded in my office away from the residents so not to get hurt again. I still have a really hard time opening myself up. I know I made just as much of an impact on Dales life as he did mine. I would here compliments from the staff on our special bond, and how it was benefiting Dale. I don’t think they realized his impact on my life was just as strong. I knew I could tell him anything and he would not think any different of me. I could tell him about my recent diagnosis and he would love me just the same. I don’t even feel comfortable stating my diagnosis on this blog, and everyone should know I don’t hold back on my personal opinions and feelings no matter how out there they are.

I think me starting to work at this nursing home at just the right time to have him enter my life was serendipity. If it were not for him “The Bucket List Foundation” would not have been created. The visions I have of him laying alone while he passed away still haunt my mind. I have many regrets in my life but this one sits a top. I claimed to truly care for him as a friend and as a person yet I was not with him when he died. Saying this now just rips at my insides. Before he lost the ability to speak he expressed his fear of dying alone. He was scared, and I wasn’t there to tell him everything was going to be ok. I was not there to hold his hand so he felt the warmth of a loved ones touch. I failed him.

The Bucket List Foundation will serve many purposes but the most important for me is our pledge that our clients will not die alone. I have said this before but perhaps if I am able to deliver on this promise it will heal my intense guilt over letting him pass alone. I hope this does because I can’t deal with a yearly reminder of one of my greatest failures.

God’s Little White Lie

Fall begins and everything dies

No more time to live a lie

If you think you can save me

With one last note or plea

You’d be wrong

I lack the crucial will to be strong

 

A teardrop may come from your eyes

But then you would be living a lie

As you exit the doors

You realized you just worshiped a whore

The last leaf falls from the tree

Desperately seeking the love of the three

 

Where I am no one can go

The Grim Reaper begins to row

I sought the chance to be free

Never again shall I touch the three

To escape from the pain

I gracefully opened my vein

 

Left to right

Within my sight would soon be light

Nothing came as I lay

It was at this point I began to pray

My body goes limp

There was no savior to lead me on this trip

Darkness is all this brought

No more pain and agony in my thoughts

 

Nothingness is what awaits me

No angles to set me free

Blood dripping from freshly cut veins

O’Lord release me from my pains

I reach up towards the heavens in the sky

At this point I realized it’s all a lie

By: Tim Lundmark

I have never responded well to conventional therapy, for some reason I can not stick with it. My logical thought behind that is in therapy you are forced to see who you really are. I already loath my existence and to discover more flaws about myself is only that much more earth shattering. I know I will never be good enough as a husband, father, and person.

This is why I get tattoos, I hope when I put art on my body somehow it improves me as a person. The same is true with expressing myself through piercings, or an anti-conforming appearance. I do these things to disguise and change the piece of shit I am. When I am lucky enough to get one of these things it makes me feel better about myself.

I have no self-worth of who I am. It is so painful knowing you fail in every aspect of your existence. To look in the mirror and hate your own reflection. Everything I touch; begins to decay and eventually dies. With all these things I continue to open my eyes in the morning. Why? If the world knew how I felt inside; there would be a mercy killing. I do not know how to go on. I am unable to weep, because my tears are contained within this stone wall. I am unable to feel joy, because of my thorn shackles.

I have found three coping methods, which allows me to tap into my inner feelings. It acts as the glass against my wall. The trifecta is music, the Tao, and writing. It is these three things which allows my tears to flow, find internal strength, and express myself without judgement. Like the drugs I have drowned myself in, these things only work when they are soaked into my existence.

I write because I need to. I would love nothing more than to be heard by the masses. I am a realist and know my dreams will never come to fruition, like so many things in my life is a hollow dream filled with false hopes. I wake up from this dream, and realize it is what it is; a dream. It has no barring in reality.

I still write, because I continue to follow this delusion that I have talent. There are millions of people who blog, and try to write books, and there are millions who fail. My history of failures only ensure the same outcome. I still write, because for a moment I feel relief. Everytime I metaphorically kill myself it stops me for a moment of literally becoming free.

I find internal strength and hope in being a better man through the Tao Te Ching. This to is short-lived unless I study, reflect, and write everyday. When I leave the words of Lao-tzu the Tao leaves me, and I become what I really am.

No words, no force, no false self-worth can change fate; no matter how many times I try to delude myself. For a fleeting moment my thorn shackles are off and I am allowed to roam these four walls. I try to find an escape. I see the blood and realize an exit doesn’t exist; I end up yearning for the pain my shackles bring.

Music allows me to cry in private, not to show my weakness to a cruel unforgiving world. It is in the words, the arrangements, and feeling which truly touch me. I find myself and lessons within song. I find sadness, strength, and hope. I experience another fleeting moment of serenity which is short-lived no matter how long I listen. I admire their talents and gifts.

All these things mean nothing. It is a vapor from which I desperately try to grab a hold of. It is the ghost of hope, the fairy tales of religion. I used to fear cancer to a point of panic. I welcome and pray for this black death. I deserve the suffering it will bring. No matter how many times I yearned for the peaceful hand of the reaper, I feared the loss of my existence. I no longer fear the reality of a hand which will not greet me.

Some may read this and feel concerned, some may call to see how I am, and others may offer words of encouragement. Please save me the embarrassment of hearing lies. Concern from those who do not care is meaningless, calls from those who don’t will fall on unanswered lines, and encouragement from those who know nothing of my four walls will mean nothing.

Lost in song, words of old, and I write. For now I cry, for now there is hope, for now I am not judged, for now I am.