Strangled by the threads of expectation

pushed on one’s self 

until they are choking

unable to articulate their screams,

because today nobody cares.

Pushed into the rubber room,

walls plush with velvet padding

tormented screams rent the air

as demons play games.

Games of love, 

only to be shown that love is not for them.

Games of torture,

voices grinding in their ears

until they can take it no more.

Strangled by the threads of expectation

unable to bear 

this less than perfect image.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

December 31/17

Where goes that child?

Where goes that child?
That golden haired dream,
with silver laughter
and dreams so big.
What tarnished her light,
what blew it out?
Where goes that girl?
That raw bundle of nerves
with words twisting on her tongue
and she knew
that writing was all she would do.
Where goes the dreams of this woman
who lays broken and bleeding
her words restored but her spirit
so long supressed
fights to return,
to merge;
that child,
that girl
with this woman.
Her past fogiven,
her present believed in
and dreams of the future
will heal her heart.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen
December 30/17

Bleak Moments

Bleak moments
bleeding together
becoming a black landscape
of broken shadows and torment.
A pathway breaks before
each turn covered with thorns
heartache and pain
as I crawl forward
desirous of change,
of a chance at life again.
For so long
and anger,
have been the building blocks
of my life.
I want to replace them,
I want to change them to
and love.
I want to rescue
that tiny little me
hidden in the corner of my soul,
the one who use to have grand dreams
but has become a ghost in
this life.
Jay-lyn Doerksen
December 30/17

Thank You

A year ago today I began this blog, this journey that I have been on through my writing, my life.

I began this blog to get back into the rhyme of writing. I closed the door on my writing a really long time ago. Twenty years give or take. I thought, oh I will write about my life as a mom, T, some poetry. Figured that if I could get my family and friends to like it and follow me, well hey than that was okay.

It took a little doing, writing at least once or twice a week. I never planned it out, just wrote whatever came to mind. And than the poetry flowed a little although I was hesitant to share. Than I began a slip into depression and I began to write about that.

I should mention that during this time mom was following me. K3 and omg real live people. That is right, there were people out there that I did not know (thus were not obligated to tell me that what I wrote was good/decent/okay), who would read and like my writings. And I began to feel proud of what I was doing with my writing.

Using this blog to be able to get out my depression, my anger, my fear and my pain has been a life saver. I rode that depressive blip as I am calling my spring fall from grace, out with the use of this blog. I found it freeing to write it all down, share it and it calmed my spirit, my soul.

I began to write more and more. Suddenly it was becoming a daily thing. There was an outpouring of creativity. And if I were to go throughout the day without writing, whether it was an idea, the beginning of a blog, a poem, there was something wrong.

I am about to embark on another journey. One that includes addiction, depression, anxiety, self-worth issues, delusions for the need of perfection and why. And I will write about it, because for me, my words, that is part of my healing. Part of making sense of myself for myself.

What I really started out to say, was I want to thank all of you who have dropped by, read my stories and liked them. I know some of what I write may not be everyone’s cup of tea and that is okay, but I appreciate each and everyone of you who has come along on this ride and decided that they didn’t mind how I drove the Crazy Bus.  🙂

Blurred Chaos

The blurred chaos surrounds me
sucking everything in
wrecking havoc on my senses.
I want to dig my fingers into my skull
and pull from within
this mass of pink ooze,
that with mere electrical impulses
and levels of seretonin
can reduce me
to this mess.
I want to tear my heart from my chest
yes I realize
not even a realistic portrait
but it is a symbol
of love and loss
pain and sorrow.
I need to be free of the malestrom of emotions
swirling so palpably
a cyclone of my own making.
I want to no longer fear
to no longer deny
I want to be free
I want to be happy.
Jay-lyn Doerksen
December 27/17


When I am walking
I pull myself within
hoping that no one will notice
that no one will see.
For on their faces
I can see
their thoughts,
their disgust with me.
I see their lips curl
I glimpse the pity
the disbelief
that I could put myself here.
This is my reality
no matter what you say
this is how I see the world
and it is not okay.
Jay-lyn Doerksen
December 28/17


One of the outcomes of this round of depression is my realization that a lot of people like, care and love me. They all only want what is best for me.  They are all here to help me and they are not going to take no for an answer no matter how hard and furiously I protest that I am alright. For me this a most unusual circumstance. When I am depressed, sad and feeling alone, I reach out to know one. The tape that is playing in my head, is such a deep part of my psyche that I do not even hear it speaking to me any more. It has become so invasive, that it has morphed into a feeling of unworthiness, for why on earth would anyone want to hear that I was feeling lonely? Why would they care that I was sad today and had no idea why? Why would anyone want to listen to me whine away about my life? I could go on and on, for the list is a long one.
This is one of the reasons I think that I have such a difficult time realizing what is going on with me. Where once I would actually hear a voice in my head chanting these things, I could send it away. I would say aloud ‘You are not real. I am not stupid. I do not ruin everything.’ Now, it is this all enveloping warm blanket of emotions and feelings that I do not want to have, so rather than face them, this time around I used pills to try and make everything all better. Wow was I ever a fool. Apparently, and who knew, after awhile your body says ‘screw you lady, enough is enough and I am done with this.’ Thank goodness I have that type of body, and I made the admission aloud to a lot of people. Several doctors. Friends. Family.
As I reread these lines, it makes it sound like I am very blase about this addiction and depression. I am not. I have struggled with pills for 20 plus years. I have at times been able to control my need for them, I went years after T was born. Always though, some crisis, some emotional upheavel will drive me straight back into those seductive arms. Yesterday at the doctor’s office I was offered something that would help me with my anxiety and I declined. I do not want anything in the house that could tempt me. I even purged my cupboard here at home. Of Motrin, Cold & Flu Medication, Sinus Medication, all normal products that people have in their homes and I turfed it all. I know that may even sound like I have gone overboard, but it is a slippery slope for me. So I am going to work on controlling my anxiety with deep breaths and anchoring myself.
I know where my struggle for perfection comes from. One day I will write about that but today it is my worthiness. There are usually definative points where trauma is inflicted and you know why you are acting a certain way. The voice that looped through my head previously was my dad’s because as a child I was always ruining everything for him. I was stupid for doing simple child things. Once I identified that, I was able to take care of the matter. That was during my first round of depression and therapy sessions. I used positive words and when the voice began, I was able to mentally scream it down.
The amount of anger and the daily wearing down of my being and again an inordinate amount of pills, contributed to my second round of depression. I worked through the anger, I worked through the hatred that I felt for myself and released the control that my father still had on me. This even though he had been dead for ten or so years. I also had to work through some of my issues that I had never faced with mom too. Four months I did not speak to her after I wrote her a long angry letter. It took me time, but mom and me, we are stronger than ever and if there is anything that I have stated over and over in the last few days it is ‘I want my mommy!’
This time around, it is my sense of failure, my desire for everything to be controlled that has sent me precariously close to the ragged edge of the cliff. And like that lone shrub growing stubbornly on the edge, I cling there. I am not willing to allow this to get any worse. I am going to work really hard at accepting these hands of love and caring that reach out to pull me back from that ledge. I am going to be doing a lot of introspection. Some of it I will post and some will be most personal and I think that I am going to keep those thoughts to myself for the moment. Writing is my life line. I begin therapy on January 29th unless my doctor can pull some strings and get me in sooner. He may have a different counselor/therapist he wants me to see. And most of all, I am going to be kind to myself and love myself. I may have been forgetting to do that lately.