I Am Not Okay

Today, I am not okay.

Yesterday, I was not okay.

As far back as I can remember, I have never been okay.

I have been many things to many people.

But I have never been me.

They have never truly seen me.

Who am I?

A question that I ask myself everyday.

Who am I?

I am not okay.

That I know.

There are moments of flashes.

The past, the abuse, the hurt.

Then as my heart cracks a little more,

I realize once more, I am not okay.

Once, I realized that the childhood fantasy of an alternate reality, was just that.

There was no fictitious world in which I existed where my biological mother was not mentally ill.

Were my biological father was not a drug addict seeking recovery.

The stars I wished upon so fervently, the god I prayed to each night,

The desperation with which to please, all fruitless.

I was the child of an outcast.

I was the bastard with a religious fanatic as a mother.

I witnessed psychotic episodes.

I was bruised and battered by psychotic episodes.

I stood beside her while she screamed on street corners about the god she and I no longer shared.

I was not okay.

I was invisible.

I was a dirty child, with pleading eyes that no one ever looked into.

Today I am not okay.

Who am I?

What am I?

Will I ever know?

Will I ever be more than my past?

The dirty, hungry child that loved with a passion that made people uncomfortable,

She is inside of me and she is screaming.

She is killing me.

I feel her, sometimes she is all I can feel.

The pain, the grief, the longing, the resentment, the rage.

The rage.

The rage that could destroy my world if let loose.

I hold it inside of me like an animal, caged inside of my chest.

The rage, the darkness that threatens to overwhelm me.

I am not okay.

I hurt. Everyday I hurt.

I long for “normal.”

I long for peace.

I long for a separation from the past.

I long for the dirty, hungry child to go and be with her mother.

Who am I?

I am not okay.

I am trying. Every day I am trying.

But.

I am not okay.

My entire life has been spent surviving.

My entire life has been spent recovering.

My childhood was filled with pain, with hunger, with longing, with a desire to be loved and wanted, with everything except what I should have had.

A family.

Love.

Security.

Protection.

Laughter.

Food.

I was alone.

I was never okay.

I tried so damn hard and it was never enough.

I am not okay.

I am broken, shattered and shifted.

I am abnormal.

I am an abomination.

My heart cannot take much more,

Then more is thrown at it,

Cracks,

So many cracks and the light is brilliant.

I am trying to heal.

I am trying to believe in healing.

I am trying to help.

I am trying to be good.

I am so far from okay.

If I ever am okay, I wonder who I will be, what I will be.

All I hear are those damn waves, calling to me.

I don’t want to go.

I want her, that damaged child, I want her to go.

I want her to walk into the water and let it consume her.

I want her to join her mother so I can live.

I am not okay.

She is ripping me apart and I do not know how to pull the pieces back together.

The rage.

She is the light. She is the darkness. She is the love. She is the hate.

She is me.

Only I know the true me and she is not who people think she is.

She is so much more and so much less.

She is capable of so much destruction and beauty.

She is hidden. She has always been hidden.

I am not okay.

I smile, say, Hi. How are you?

I try to take care of others.

But in truth, the darkness is overwhelming and with each crack the light threatens to break through.

An explosion of me.

The past, the present, the future.

Who am I?

Today, I am not okay.