Workaholic

I went into medicine partly due to heartbreak

The exhaustive training of medical school and residency was a welcome albeit ineffective distraction from my sorrow and loneliness

24-hour shifts are a convenient justification for not keeping in touch with loved ones

Even though the real excuse is my social anxiety and sense of inadequacy

Living within hospital walls, I suspect that I am not the only physician who became a medical doctor to try to forget unrequited love, to escape the world of human relationships

My older colleagues work far more than they need to to make ends meet, far more than any reasonable person would work in a week

Who needs friends or feelings when you have patients and science?

Our skin grows pale under fluorescent lights

Our vision becomes shortsighted as the screens stare unblinkingly

Our hearts forget how to feel carefree

Our muscles atrophy as our brains hypertrophy

Our minds become boxed in with facts, our mental filing cabinets overflow

I am a recovering workaholic working alongside workaholics who do not appear to be in recovery

Perhaps they suspect the same of me

Heads down in the trenches, none of us can know another’s heart

We can only know our own heart, if we listen

We carefully administer medications, surgeries and therapies

We measure progress in numerical metrics of lab values, calculated scores and vital signs

We arrive early and stay late

We work day and night without a break

We always have too much on our plates

We deprive ourselves of sleep, fresh air and food

We know why we have irritable moods

Practicing medicine is an unhealthy, imbalanced lifestyle and we know it

We can only ever heal ourselves

I’m ready to show it

I am finally healing my broken heart

I found that I had to begin at the start

Childhood wounds tangle and bloom

Trauma begets trauma until we change our thoughts, words and actions

Breaking old patterns even as we hold traction

I am love itself, I am the source of what I sought

My cup overflows, it was not all for naught

Take it Back

I feel the knots you’ve tied within me

Stains on my energy

Pains in my body

I observe the damage

Tension, nausea, sensation of suffocation

Insomnia, dizziness, diarrheal defecation

You made me feel powerless for too damn long

You beat me up but my spirit is strong

This shit isn’t mine

This was never mine

This is yours

Take it back

Take it all the fuck back

The trauma and the drama

The hurt and the dirt

Keep your hands and your mind out of my skirt

Don’t tell me what to do

Your mind games were never fun for me

Were they fun for you?

You can win the prize, I offer it freely to you

I won’t play anymore

Your ego will have to deal with the fact that I’m letting my sanity heal

I’m learning to put myself first

Through radical acts of self care to restore my happiness and health

Your energy is yours

Take it back

Labor Pains

Give birth to your best self, America

Painful, messy, terrifying, raw

The most beautiful transformation you’ll ever see

America, you’ve been gestating too long to stop now

Humanity is bursting from your loins, America

Born of the brutal rape of racism

Blood spills on the ground

Fertilizing the soil from which you spring forth

You cannot go back to the way you were, America

You can only keep pushing forward

I am learning to listen to my heart, America

Though the change may not be obvious to you yet

Subtle shifts below the surface move mountains, America

I change my thoughts to change my life

Though the echoes of your trauma are deafening

Though the jaws of your mental imprisonment clamp down hard around me

I no longer strive to be your wounded warrior

I am your healed child, here to show you how to heal yourself

Even though you broke my heart so early and often that you left me without a sense of self

Yet my heart kept on beating

And loving

That is how you heal

Keep on loving

Love yourself, love your life, love your fellow beings and the whole Earth as yourself

Forgive yourself and others

Be kind to all, for we are children on a difficult journey that wouldn’t be so damn difficult if we were kind to each other

Pay it forward and see what happens

Love and kindness and forgiveness is the way

America is having labor pains today

I welcome your birth America, your infinite potential

You suffered so much hate that you became a hater but it is finally time to love, America

Enlightened AF

You can never get to the end of it, you said about The Divine

Your words drew kaleidoscopic visions in my mind

I used to feel oppressed by poverty

Now I know I was only oppressed by the false beliefs within me

All the riches were always inside me

To the mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders

Beyond the collapsing walls, the sky is open

I am still tormented by the torrent of my thoughts

Then I think, ‘I don’t belong in anyone else’s head, nor do they belong in mine’

I try to let go of unhelpful thought-patterns

Such as my deep disappointment when I deem myself as less than perfect in every way, which happens multiple times each day

I may not be able to unthink a thought, but I can balance a negative with a positive, I can let the cloud float away without latching on all day

Today I was transported back to the time when I’d jerk off men for pennies on the dime

Now in the context of a trained medical professional providing a form of physical therapy to another doctor

Standing next to the massage table, I felt as if I hadn’t come far even after all the struggle and sacrifice to get out of poverty, to give my kids a better life

I remind myself that I have enough and I am enough

In my humble, imperfect way

I am enlightened AF sometimes

Love Languages

If you want to show me that you care about me

Be gentle

Be non-judgmental

Don’t bully me or pressure me, manipulate me or coerce me

Don’t try to imprint your paranoid delusions on my mind

Don’t ever tell me what to do, when, or with whom

Control is not my love language

My love language is freedom

Acceptance

Shining light in darkness

Healing and growth

Leaning through the veil of illusion

Not argumentative protrusion into the autonomy of others

You asked me if you were ‘other people’ to me

Absurdly

Like a child wailing from ego injury, I reassured you that you were special, that you are important to me. You are, but for different reasons than you think you are.

Though we are separate, we are also not separate

We are one spirit

You have forgotten

May you remember

Until then, you babble on

Rambling brook

Carrying messages in bottles

Smashing against the rocks of my enlightenment

If you want to win the game, you have to play

To play, you must be playful

Stop making everything so serious, so grave

Stop pretending that you care about oppressed people

As you actively oppress me

You shout for the voiceless, marching with your fist in the air

As you silence my voice without a care

If you care about me, let me be myself, let me live my life

You have your own life to live, your own love language of anger and jealousy

To communicate, we must learn each other’s languages

I think I’m learning your language of anger when I want to shout at you, ‘Leave me alone, I’ve always wanted you out of my life, I’ve had enough of your abuse’.

I refuse to be controlling and jealous like you.

Perhaps you will learn my language and say, ‘I accept you as you are without judgment, I love you unconditionally, I support you as you follow your heart’

Unbridled

I finally found my life partner, my love

We’ve lived together for more than a year, peaceful as doves

Happiness pours like sunlight into my life

We wanted to make our union legal before starting a family so we applied for a marriage license

I let my two sisters know the good news- one sister was warm and loving, the other sharp daggers of ice

The first sister offered to sing a song and bake a cake

The second could not be present on our tentative date- so she rained down anger and hate

She was irate that I might celebrate the day without her in any way, however small

Her tyrant insecure ego ruled all

So I gave in to her, as I do

And excluded the rest of my family too

I am trying to understand her thoughts strange and cruel

Why should she have a say on how I carry out my wedding day?

I am a grown woman

She is unwell, wrathful as a demon unleashed from hell

She took the day dedicated to my happiness and love and made it about her anger and pain

That’s what narcissists do: they take your plans and shit in your hands

I was about to take flight and she pulled me back down, the way she does

Like everyday of my childhood, she still can’t kill my hope

Now if I do have a ceremony in the future, I wouldn’t want her there

Forced and coerced, I’m frozen in PTSD

I don’t want her in my life at all, too long have I suffered abuse and trauma from her disproportionate drama

Growing up I wished for her death for my liberation, but that’s not the way

I must be brave, face her and say

Your presence in my life is toxic

You ruined my childhood and now the day of my marriage too

How many ruined days of my life will be enough for you?

Never enough, I know that much

I ache to break free from your trauma-bonds

My brain throbs from the damage of abuse

The blade of my tongue dangles, hungry to cut you loose

In trying to tie me down, you only tied your noose

Your tight grasp only pushed me away

I’ve got this strong itch to tell you you’re a crazy bitch

If you want to stay in my life, stop being a dick

The narcissist and the co-dependent is an act I’m tired of playing

That’s how I know my man is right for me- he is giving

You have an insatiable appetite for my energy

You can’t imagine the pain you inflict on me

As you claim to care about me

I don’t want your conditional love

Love is unconditional, you’re the one who is fucked up

So I cry and kick and punch the air, wonder if you feel it out there

I hope you have nightmares about me in your sleep, that I set fire to your sheets

I learned terror and violence from you

I want to scream

I want to shout

I want to let my feelings out

A deafening roar presses behind my teeth, that old jangly door

I could drown you in my tears

We are both angry: you were born angry, and I am angry that you impose your anger as my problem; you blame me for your meltdowns which are your responsibility alone

If only everyone did what you wanted, there would be peace, or so you’d have me believe

Peace comes from within, stop your deafening din

I am not responsible for how you feel

You are the one who unleashes your anger

I am the robotic doll with no apparent emotions at all

I am also the bride, and there is no room for you in my sphere of love and positivity

With each breath I regain space for myself

By meditation or medication, I wish you well

On second thought, go to hell

It is OK for me to speak my truth

In the eye of your drama storm, I followed my heart and wed my true love

Amidst healing from your narcissistic abuse

I unite myself with self-love

You always tried to break me, but it only made me more unbreakable

You poisoned my wedding well-  I don’t want to sip from it again

You silenced my wedding bells, not knowing that the ringing in my ears cannot be suppressed

When we were little girls, I believed that I was responsible for your feelings

What an impossible task- you’ve always been mentally ill!

I believed it again when I didn’t stand up to you about getting married- when I took responsibility and cleaned up your mess by hiding my marriage from everyone else so that you wouldn’t feel left out

I hurt myself in the name of not hurting you

Yet you are hurt nonetheless, despite my best efforts, my ultimate sacrifice

I’m so fucking exhausted by this awful game

I hope that I fell for the lie for the last time

Armed with understanding, I slay the dynamic between our archetypes

There will be more tears to shed until the day that you are dead, and probably after that too, just to have known you, to have had my developing neuroendocrine system deformed by you

I struggle between wanting to make amends, to be sisterfriends

and to speak my truth, tell you what I think of you

Here is my unbridled rage: fuck you

Your misery is not my responsibility

I may not feel free yet, but with the pen I can write my revenge

Liberate my thoughts even though you may never read this

For a minute there, I lost myself

All these asshole experiences- with family members, exes, bosses

Simulating that I am a hunted and trapped animal

All this elaborate illusion to challenge me, push me to the limit to see if I can remember under pressure

That I am one with everything, that everything is one

In the quantum field, I tap into my innate healing energy, and radiate healing energy out to those motherfuckers as well

To the haters- though you are hurting, you are still loved

I may not like you, but I can assure you that you too are one with everything

Though you may never believe it in this lifetime, that is your loss, that is your spiritual amnesia to recover

I pray for the swift and complete liberation from suffering of all beings

Sleep Talking

Long ago and far away

On a bus grinding through the night

The air thick with sweat and grime

All we had was time

Beer and ice cream on my lips

Bitterness and liquor on his

The man next to me said that I was afraid of talking in my sleep

He overstepped the boundary that I failed to establish between us

Sometimes when I wake up alone, I wonder if my lover heard me sleep-talking and left me to wallow in my past

I want to tell him the truth about my life, but I fear that he would stop loving me,

or worse- rehash it endless times and tell his religious family who would judge me as a hell-bound, lying, baby-killing whore

They’d be right, in a sense

I have exchanged sex for money and I’ve had 3 abortions, each one horrible in its own way, but not as bad as being stuck in an abusive, disempowering situation

Judge not, motherfuckers

I don’t want any man to judge the decisions I’ve made about my body

Least of all a man who is financially dependent on my career: a profession which swallowed my fetuses whole

My past is nobody’s business but my own

I don’t want to be given a hard time for the hard times I’ve already been through

I’m trying to heal and move on

I’m trying to meet myself with compassion for the trauma I’ve endured

I am strong and tough and vulnerable and delicate

My dark secrets are at once more innocent and scandalous than my jealous partners imagine

I didn’t want to be pregnant anymore so I stopped being pregnant

You weren’t supporting me by being broke and leaving me shamefully unmarried

I didn’t want to spend the weekend with you so I didn’t

I regret the weekend away because the other men treated me both better and worse than you, but I love you- painfully clear now that the hormonal storm of pregnancy has simmered down

Why do I set myself up for drama and disaster? I’m trying to heal but your rehashing of the past dredges up emotional detritus, dragging me back

My old stress addiction dies hard

I clamp my jaw

My teeth grind like a bus in the night

I pray that I didn’t sleep talk last night

Pretty Poison

Pastel petals bloom

Through the display case we swoon

Crystalline icing swirl

Dazzling eyes of boys and girls

Powdered sugar snow

Melting in our mouths is all we know

We are blind to our impending blindness

Wrapped up in celebration and intended kindness

Bakery boxes tied up with string

Filled with treats- our favorite things

Warm flaky crust seems like a must

We willingly plunge our teeth into hidden filling

We don’t foresee that we’d better wake up soon

From our creamy dreams, spoon after spoon

Digging our graves, one gulp at a time

Swallowing pretty poison, spending our dimes

Our wallets grow thin as our bodies grow fat

Sugar causes illness, what do you think of that?

Our organs try to keep up, but our pancreas can only take so much

Diabetes sets our body on fire

In a burning house, tragedies transpire

Our vision fades, our kidneys fail

Our heart cries out, do we hear the wail?

Our arteries harden as our muscles soften

Bite by bite, we build our coffin

Our brain is addicted, our mind turns bitter

With rotting flesh, we lose toes and fingers

An ugly site and a sour smell

Only we can liberate ourselves from this hell

It isn’t pretty and it isn’t sweet

Let’s eat real food and keep our feet

Death Certificate

Another day, another death by COVID.

My COVID patient who died today was relatively healthy and young.

While filling out his death certificate, I paused over the ’cause of death’ section:

 

My patient had multi-organ failure with a subsequent cardiac arrhythmia incompatible with life and viral pneumonia causing respiratory failure, however the failure that lead up to his COVID infection was systemic at a societal level.

 

My patient was a prisoner, infected by COVID-19 because he was denied the ability to socially distance, robbed of the right the protect himself.

 

I didn’t know him, but as I studied his body during his final hours I imagined what his life had been like, and wanted to include on his death certificate:

 

Cause of death:

Complications resulting from loss of human rights due to imprisonment

Secondary to the prison-industrial complex

Secondary to class warfare

Secondary to poverty

Secondary to racism

 

I didn’t know him, but I shared pieces of his struggle:

Adverse childhood experiences, trauma on trauma on trauma

 

His premature death is another stone in my pocket

My path is liberation

Wherever his soul is now, I hope he feels liberated too

Liberated from the brown skin which lead to his incarceration which inevitably did him in.

Sex, Money, Dishes

Tell me you’ve never fought with your partner about sex, money, or dishes.

Sex

I used to fight endlessly about sex, mainly because I didn’t want to have it but my partners did, so we’d fight and fuck, then I’d cry and be blinded by images of destroying my body or their body just to stop the rape and the torture of not feeling safe in my skin. Amazingly, we all survived and now I have a loving partner with whom I have gold-medal sex; you have to experience it to believe it, it’s like I’m cashing in on some sex fund which I invested in long ago. Happily I don’t fight about sex anymore- I’ve got a man I’m attracted to inside and out, and he loves me the way I want to be loved.

Money

I used to exchange sex for money. It seemed like there was always too much sex and not enough money in those transactions, or transgressions. Even those back-alley deals were more straight forward than my relationships in which sex was exchanged for the illusion of not being alone, for food, housing or ‘safety’, though I learned that the cost to my physical, mental and spiritual wellbeing which false relationships exacted was not worth the dinners, drinks, gifts of lingerie, attention or the roof over my head. You might get raped if you travel alone, but if you travel with a man you are guaranteed to get raped. Live within your means because fine dining won’t taste good if you are eating with a strange man, believe me I know. If you have to learn on your own I understand, however if my years of pain can help prevent a moment of your suffering, it will have been worth it.

Dishes

Rare is the man who finishes the dishes. Common are the men who stack the dishes artfully in the sink until there is barely room to turn on the faucet. I have noticed this pattern during my co-habitations with men. I’ve done too many dishes. It especially irks me when men drown sponges in the rinsed yet still not washed dish pile, unperturbed as the sponge decomposes into a musty mess. Men seem deaf to the silent cries of the forgotten dish sponge. Day after day, I rescue the sponge, wringing it out and restoring it to its rightful place safe on dry land, in sight. My man shows his love for me not only through our award-winning sex, but also through money (ie, responsibility for personal  finances to contribute to our future together) and dishes: ladies and gentlemen, my man did the dishes tonight, thus allowing me time to write the words you read. If a man loves you he will want to learn your love language, which you must teach him with patience, positive reinforcement, and more patience.

I grew up doing the dishes, in poverty, and sexually molested by family and friends. My sister would beat me when she got in trouble for not doing the dishes with me after we were told to do them, but the alternative would have been getting beaten by my parents for not doing the dishes, so I was going to get beat no matter what I did. I wished that someone would do the fucking dishes with me. A girl can get lonely amidst the dissolving suds.