Haunted kisses
moonlit eyes of wonder
trembling caresses
a virgin ripe for the taking.
Offered to the gods
forsaken by her people
left to wander lifeless vistas
as though she is the criminal
the one found to be lacking.
Terror and delight
should not,
could not
co-exist together
in one person
at all times.
But that is what she does.
A contradiction
from every angle
to becoming
every man’s angel.
Jay-lyn Doerksen
Feb. 16/18

Pay the Piper

dark and all consuming
roils up from the ground
chaining me,
staking me in place.
Unable to move forward
not because
I am lame
but because
I do not know how.
For so long
the stresses
the emotions
have been blunted
and ignored.
Now it is time to pay the piper
and I am so afraid.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen
January 28/18


Every once in awhile
that tiny voice appears
whispering assurances
in my ear
that one cup would be enough.
Just pour a little bit
sip it fast
so no one will see.
Feel the rush through my veins
as I embrace
sweet oblivion.
I thrust fingers through my eyes
gouging for that voice;
I want to rid myself of torment
abrade the thirst
that itches beneath the surface.
It is agony,
the curse visited by forefathers
upon the innocence of life
breaking our spirits,
with spirits.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen
January 21/18

Face of an Addict

***I wrote this during the last week of December.***
I was sitting here trying to read and having a bit of difficulty concentrating. The reason being is that I have nothing to focus on. And without having something to focus on I begin to think. As I begin to think I begin to compare and I begin to remember.
I believe that my body, once I acknowledge that something is wrong, goes into free fall. Everything comes at me so hard and so fast, that I am unable to cope. Than I use the pills to stop it all from hurting. I am not excusing my behaviour I am trying so hard to understand why I do what I do. Why do I so desperately not want to feel that I am willing to risk my son, my life, my job with this addiction?
Three and a half years ago, the day before I went on short term disability I went into work as usual. My anxiety was at an all time high. I had taken half an ativan to help me relax. Once inside it continued. I was feeling so low. I was destroying myself. I was killing myself. What good was I to anyone. I took some Robax on top of the ativan. I began crying and could not stop. How the hell I got home without killing myself or someone else, I have no idea. The very next day I was told I needed to deal with my depression and to go see my doctor.
Let’s jump forward to December 23, 2017 and the only difference was the amount of Robax I took and there was no ativan in the mix. I wanted it to stop. I no longer wanted to do this to myself. I was still trying to cover up my addiction lying to my supervisor who found me even though I knew damn well that she knew I was. I have been lying to everyone for years. And this is really hard to face.
I am the face of an addict. I am not on the streets. I pay my bills. My rent. I feed my son and clothe him. I interact with others. I work. But an addict I be. I am unsure why I want to feel less? I keep looking for triggers and can find several of them, but each time the choice was mine. And every few days I would dump the bottle and I would have a stern chat with myself. That this could not go on, it had to stop.
I tried scare tactics. Such as, did I really want T waking up one morning and finding me dead? Was that what I wanted for my son? NO! Big and resounding. I do not want to be remembered as his drug addled mother. But even that was not enough to make me quit. And soon I would find myself going and buying more pills and consuming them. Pushing aside the lonliness that I was feeling because I felt I could not talk to anyone. That no one wants to hear my self pity. And I consumed more pills.
I keep pausing as I type this because this is really hard for me to process. Both times that I went on short term disability I behaved in the exact same manner.  Three and a half years apart. Only this time I was ready, I had had enough. And I took that helping hand that reached out to me and I grasped it like a life line. I have more retrospection to do. I have more that I need to digest. But for now, I need to rest, because these are hard truths that I am learning about myself.
I am an addict.
I will not allow my addiction to define me.
I will beat my addiction.
I will finally be the best me that I can be.


***Mirabel Tiara found on internet***

One of the hardest things that I had forgotten about depression are the ups and downs. How one day I can feel great. I have energy to burn. I want to accomplish things. So I dive right in. Cleaning, organizing, exercising you name it. And I fly.

Than come the down days. Where I am lethargic. I have no desire to move. Eating is difficult. I stare at the t.v. or my phone or write in brief spurts, all so I do not have to think. And the tears. They keep coming. I feel nothing. It is easier that way. Because otherwise, all the pain and emotions that are swirling around inside of me needs to break free, and I can only handle so much.

I have been writing a lot. Little bits and pieces as I make realizations. As I begin to honestly look at my past and can see the consequences of my actions. And the actions of others. After I do something like that, I am exhausted. My poetry comes and goes. Part of me worries that as I am writing about the same thing over and over again, that it is going to sound the same. So I am struggling there. This blog, is the first one that I have written about my depression since Dec. 28th.

When I say I am exhausted, people look at me like what do you mean? How can you be exhausted? You are home all day, doing nothing more tiring than reading/writing/watching t.v., like seriously. Yes seriously, I am the Queen of pushing it all aside. Thrust it deep down inside of me and if I cover it up for long enough, eventually I will forget about it. Yet I do not. It festers within me, eating away at my confidence, my self-worth, my life. Than I begin to look for outlets to avoid dealing with the pain, hence the drinking and drugs. (As an aside, I have found giving up alcohol to be far easier than the pills.)

Now, I am reflecting. Not every hour of every day, but I do. I do not pick the topic, my voice starts talking and I listen. Write. Cry.

There are things that I have not looked at for years. The abuse by my dad. How it was dealt with. That right there is going to be a topic and a half. I do not want to spend a lot of time discussing this aspect because I am bringing that asshole back to life. I do not want to give him that luxury. I will though, as this is going to be the only way that I am ever going to be able to find peace with myself. To be able to let it fade into my past where it belongs. Rather than leaving it to poison me over and over again. Despite my beliefs, I envision my father standing on a tiny rock in the middle of a lave pit and it slowly, excruciatingly rises until he is covered. And throughout the whole thing he can feel the burning of the lava as it sears the bone from his flesh. Repeat. I hate that man so much and yet I love him because he is my dad.

The loss of my daughter when I was 21. Never ever dealt with it besides getting drunk every year on her birthday. So I did not have to deal with the pain. (Are you sensing a theme with me?)

The beginning of my addiction. With this one, I have so much to figure out.

My life in general. Obviously I need to make changes. Positive ones that reflect the direction I want to move in. This means examining every corner of myself and trimming away what no longer works and adding those things that do.

I am angry. I am sad. I can be happy for a time. What I no longer am is the Queen of Denial. (Remember also Queen of Deflection…..I give myself a lot of tiaras)

As painful and hard as this is going to be, I am in it to become better. To learn how to cope healthily when I become depressed/overwhelmed/stressed. I am not naive enough to believe that after this I will never be depressed again for that is not the nature of this disease. However, I will be better prepared and more able to help myself. I will become stronger, braver and more alive. I am going to trade in the denial tiara to become Queen of Acceptance. 🙂

The Cage

This rusted iron cage

the only home I have known

no comfort

only cold disregard

of my lying ways.

Logic has no need here

only emotions

hold control and even though

those voices whisper contempt

I ignore it all.

Edges softened to crimson

shadows bleed through

and the horror of my truth

burns brightly in this darkness.

I spin around

copper strands wrapping

and I reach above

stretching thin

until I reach the edge

and pull myself forward.

I slip between the bars

and take a step back

suddenly it is at my feet

a small rusted cage

no bigger than my heart.

Jay-lyn Doerksen

December 30/17

Death’s Embrace

***Picture via Pintrest***
Crumpled over
shuddering with tears
as despair and anguish
wash through me.
Not cleansing
but pull forward the memories,
the burning images
of my deceit.
My escape?
Only limited by the lies I tell
as I search for the elusive high
that will shut me down,
carry me away from here.
Away from my perceptions,
away from the abyss I perch above,
away from the darkness
every reaching.
Glittering shards of glass
reflect back an image
a thousand times over.
A skeletal face
winking at my fear
at my desire.
Walk with me
it croons stalking forward,
hand out….
pills to be shared.
I hover above,
watching this image of myself
wondering if this last time
will Death catch my fall
and cradle me within his embrace.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen
January 1 2018