Broken-Hearted Teenager

I'm pulling out some of my younger poetry from, well, when I was younger. It's terribly written, but it's who I was then.

Wednesday, Oct. 03, 2001 - 3:17 p.m.

They tell me to make a Christmas Wish

To wish for whatever I please

And the wish for I want

Gets me down on my knees

I do not wish for money

I do not wish for toys

I do not wish for clothes

Or other little joys

My wish is for my Daddy

For him to take time to think

Before he decides to sip

His achocalic drink

Wednesday, Oct. 17, 2001 - 9:56 p.m.
If you had a choice
Between beer and family
Let me ask you a question-
What would your choice be?

Let me tell you my father's choice
One that brought so much pain
A choice that brought me
Tears that fall like rain

He picked his beer
Over the family
At times I feel
It's more valued then me

How could he pick
His beer over me
Hurt and destory
His whole family?

I'll never understand
I'll never know why
I'll be able to stop
The tears which I cry

If you have that choice-
Please choose your family
Because I come from
Experience, you see.


Monday, Jan. 07, 2002 - 8:45 p.m.


Even though you hear my laugh
You don't know what I hide
For as the joyous sound comes out
Tears are flowing inside

A smile may be on my face
But that smile's a lie
For hidden, deep within
I frankly want to die

I may seem happy
But I am depressed
I may seem joyful
But I am upset

And when the tears
Brim in my eyes
Telling you it's allergies
Is one of my lies

So when you ask me
"How do you do?"
I might not tell
The truth to you

So remember when you see me....
Looks aren't always what lays outside
For with every smile I smile
Another tear I cry



Tuesday, Jan. 22, 2002 - 8:43 p.m.
I sit back and wonder
If I would to die
If anyone would care
If anyone would cry

I sit back and ponder
The meaning of life
Why I was given
All this pain and strife

Friendships fading away
Old friends are gone
Time to pack up
Time to move on

Schoolwork is falling
I'm starting to fail
I'm starting to cry
Starting to wail

Family is shattering
My heart is in two
I'm hiding the pain
In my big eyes of blue

Mabye if I just
Curl up and die
No one will care
No one will cry

Good-bye.



I was so broken all those year ago. And I'm so sad I was so lost, so alone.
If only I could go back and tell 14-year-old Nora that it gets better.
That she'll find friends! That she'll find love! That she'll find hope!
That she'll break ties with those asshats, that she'll break FREE of that pain. That she'll still fight with PTSD, ED-NOS, major depression, chronic pain... but she'll find a support system.

And that her life is beautiful.

Nothing (To My Father)

I wrote this poem my senior year of high school spring semester. The assignment for class was to write a "tribute" or "dedication" poem to someone. The other students in this class wrote these mushy lovely poems to someone they admired or who they looked up to. Me? I took the exact opposite approach. I blew the socks off the creative writing teacher as this was his first year teaching and I guess he wasn't expecting that. That's me, breaking the norms! ;D

It has been revamped since then (I last modified it sometime in 2008 when I took creative writing at community college) because I didn't like the format that the teacher made me stick to. So I tightened the language, made it in a style and format I liked, and this is the final project. I still have the original somewhere but I like this quite a bit better. ;)

Nothing (To My Father)

I reflect upon the past,
wondering if I knew the truth
or if I was fooled, and what I knew was
nothing.

What happened to make things change?
When did you quit loving me?
Did you ever truly love me, or am I
Nothing

Stop tormenting me!
Yet why should you love me?
Whatever did I do; am I just
nothing?

You used your tricks to harm me,
and wounded me by your words.
Some scars never heal,
Nothing

Your priorities were distorted
Alcohol was your idol,
I realized I was simply
nothing

I believe Family is the most important thing
You claimed it.
Yet your actions proved otherwise,
Nothing

The lies begins to come out,
I'm victim to your hypocrisy,
and fading into
nothing

As I learned the truth,
and free myself from your grasp
I realize that I was never
nothing

Starting live anew,
running free from the past
learning to live without you, no longer
Nothing

And in the end,
I realize at last
it is not I, but it is you who is
nothing.

I just want you to know who I am

I remember the first time I cried out for help from my depression. I remember the first time I held out my hand. It was 2001 and I was 14 years old. I had braces complete with rubber bands that snapped across the room when I spoke and no sense of style. Exhibit A: school picture from that year. Again, I was so young and naive to many things. I read my poetry from back then, and some of it breaks my heart even now for a much younger me. 14 is far too young to plan out a suicide. 14 is far too young to hold a razor blade in your hand, and makes imprints on tender white skin. I still have those scars. I still see them daily. I still weep for my younger self. But the first time I reached out for help, besides posting on internet message boards that I was broken, hurting, and scared, before emailing my youth pastor and telling him what an inner hell I lived in... was to write a poem, and give it to my Sunday school teacher. This is that poem:

The pain that grips my youthful heart
Rips me up, tears me apart
The tears that brim in my young eyes
Might come to you as a surprise
I cannot handle the pain
Not the tears that fall like rain
The dull, study ache that's settled deep down
The heavy burden that I carry around
But I hide the pain-I hide the tears
I hide the saddness, I hide my fears
Nobody understands, and I feel like nobody cares
And all I can do is say some simple prayers
I just don't know, I gotta get it out
I cannot take this burdern about
No one to turn to, all I can do is cry
No one who'd care if I should die
I'm about ready to use it, I don't know what to do
I guess all I can do is turn to you

I left the spelling errors intact. It didn't seem right to correct them. A month after giving this to my sunday school teacher, I had the police at my school to talk me out of suicide. My parents were blindsided. They had no idea I was so hurting, so broken. I hid it well. I learned that lesson at 14 years old: how to completely hide my pain. How to retreat within myself, how to throw up walls so high that no one could enter, not even myself. I learned how to perfect my facade, how to live within myself. To smile and laugh, and act like I was fine. But the truth is I wasn't. The truth is I was broken. I recently found this snippet of a poem from back then, and my heart broke. I wept.

Just wanna die, just wanna die
Tired of just wonderin' why
Wanna die, wanna be in my grave
Too scared and afraid to wave
Wanna be strong wanna be brave

I was 14. I hadn't lived yet. I had no idea what I would face later in my life, that I would make such painful decisions at age 18 and again at age 21. I didn't know that I would continue to spiral deeper into depression, bounce from counselor to counselor, and have labels such as PTSD and EDNOS slapped on me. That just one cut would turn into a lifelong addiction, and every day is a daily battle to not lapse back into it. I had no idea.

It's scary. I just want to go back and hold my younger self, to tell her at age 24 she'd finally be pulling herself out of all this crap. That she'd finally start approaching the other side, that there's hoping waiting for her. I was fourteen. I shouldn't have felt like this... and yet I did.

ready to smile, and love life

Here she stands today, in her brilliant shining way
Stronger than her pain, in her brilliant shining way

><> ><> <>< ><>

I know what it's like to have crippling depression.
I know what it's like to be consumed with hopeless.
I know what it's like to be drenched in pain, both physical and emotional.
And for the first time, I'm starting to see the other side.
I'm starting to reach out of the abyss.
I'm starting to spread my wings and leap -
leap into hope, leap into the future,
leap into a new life.
I'm a dreamer, a starry-eyed girl, passionate
I love and I live and I laugh and I learn
And I'm more than my disabilites.
I'm more than a list of medications,
a ball of symtoms,
and rattled off disorders.

I am more than an abused child,
rather, I am survivor.
I am more than a victim,
I am an overcomer.
I am more than a child with questions -
Questions about faith and life and love
and God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit
and creation and forgiveness and
sin and the past and the present and
the future
but rather, I am a seeker
Trying to place the pieces of the puzzle together,
trying to finish the row of Tetris.

I am learning to live...
and it's a beautiful ride.

hold on, it gets better than you know

Hold on. To the ones weeping in the night. To the one clutching a knife. To one the ones starving themselves. To the ones not sure how it will work out. To the ones who don't know why they get up each morning.

To the ones who have bodies that are raging medical warfare. To the ones who look in the mirror and shudder at the reflection. To the ones who fight an inward battle against themselves.

Hold on.

I am now going to pull out a poem from senior year of high school. I don't think it's a groundbreaking or even a good poem, but I think the message fits well with this post.

Pushing the food around your plate,
Trying to make yourself look great
Not realizing the beauty in the mirror,
Blinded by an image that is unclear
Why can’t you see?
You’re worth so much more

Brown eyes, tainted with pain
With a ticket on a runaway train,
Ivory white skin, with crimson impressions
Each a mark of your own imperfections
Why can’t you see?
You’re worth so much more

Putting yourself down at every turn,
Forgetting that life is a lesson learned.
Not seeing the friend that I see,
Battered and tattered by your family
Why can’t you see?
You’re worth so much more

Learning to cope, and learning to breathe
Wishing that all the pain would just leave,
As each day goes on, for you I’ll be strong,
I’ll be the one, with a hand to hang on
Why can’t you see?
You’re worth so much more

I’ll be the one with a smile and a prayer,
The friend who will always say “I care”,
I’ll be the candle, in the midst of the night
The one who saves you from an endless fight
I’ll help you see,
You’re worth so much more.

For I've been there, and I'm there now,
I know together we'll make it somehow,
We'll make it together, day-by-day
Take my hand, and I'll show the way
And we'll let the world see,
We're worth so much more

Hold on, my friends.
Take the hands outstretched to you.
Listen to the people who want to help - allow them in.
There are better days.

coffee black and egg white

It's always interesting to see how I've come and where I've been.

This is a poem I wrote in 2007. It shows how trapped in depression I was, which is I think what makes it interesting. It saddens me to see how trapped in depression I was, and also that Christians cast the stink eye at me for being that depressed. Um, Psalms anyone!?!

Silent cries echo upon deaf ears;
a reminder of childhood fears

Resounding silence fills the room...
A whisper of agony, a tale of doom

Crimson scars lined up one by one,
telling a tale of a battle begun

Cerise tears rolling down her arm;
Fighting the enemy of self harm

In a world that no one can see,
An orphan in her own family

A hand reaching out for affection...
and a life going in the wrong direction

A scream that remains unheard,
visions that are tainted and blurred

Fighting a battle against herself;
for no comfort comes from anyone else

A razor cradled in a small hand;
carving a pain only she will understand

A step in the wrong direction;
another imprint, another imperfection

Faded wounds are setting the pace
each moment another step in the race

Finding a moment of shelter and peace
in that time of bittersweet release

And as the clocks chime their last ring,
she lets out her final hushed scream

Random Ramblings and Ponderings

I will be returning to my chapel series this weekend as I've decided to make that a once a week thing. I think too many "anti chapel" (which I'm certainly not but it could be perceived that way) posts in a row would bring on cries for me to be burnt at the stake. Or something equally bad, I'm sure. I don't want to step on too many toes in a row.

I don't have any profound thoughts today, no mind-blowing words. Maybe because the thought of having a blog entry where I'm honest about how I am scares me. If the walls were down, would people still love me? If I no longer protected myself with stone cold boundaries, would I still be accepted? Anyhow, that's the kind of thoughts racing around in my head right now.

And now, I'm going to close with a poem I wrote awhile back. I've been homesick... but rereading this poem reminds me that maybe I'm not truly home. Nor will I ever be.

If home is where the heart is,
then where do I belong?

My heart lies with the women,
who holds her stillborn child
as she weeps for the life that never was

My heart lies with the homeless
who shivers in the cold October rain
as they weep for a place to stay warm

My heart lies with the little girl
who lost her parents to AIDS
as she weeps to be loved once again

My heart lies with the teenage boy
who holds the knife to his wrists
as he weeps for a reason to live

My heart lies with the teenage girl
who was sold into the sex trade
as she weeps for her innocence to return

My heart lies with the children
who tremble in fear when their hear parents
as they weep for a safe place to sleep

If this is where my heart is,
then where does my home reside?