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. . . bottom of the well

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ok, I had to start somewhere. so, why not at the bottom?
the bottom of the bottom of the well.

I must warn you, the writing posted here isn't very pretty. these posts are taken from my journals, emails, and letters from the past few years... they are snapshots of my own personal darkness.

the writing here may be as difficult to read and take in as it was to write and now, post. but it's all very real. very sincere. and very comfortable, I imagine, remaining in it's abyss. but, I have decided to dig them up... to bring them to the surface... to bring them to life, here... for you.

this is a side of me -- a facet of me -- that is just as real as the me you see doing handstands to a brillant summer sunset.

I dig. I go deep. I am swallowed whole. and eventually, I surface, for air.

right now, I just wanna say 'thank you for being here'.
and so...

go easy on yourself.
be good to each other.
and if you love someone,
tell them so...



in the darkness with eyes shut,
I listen,
the wild autumn wind
through the trees
outside my bedroom window,
and for a moment,
I let it carry me away...

I am a young girl
in that rambling ancient farmhouse,
there, high
on the hill
in the middle of nowhere,
saying prayers out loud
to guardian angels along the wall...
october wind
rattles the windows, while
fear grips me,

I hold tight to
my dreams of tomorrow...
dreams of
the me, yet-to-be...
as bright as my eyes...
I gather them,
wrap myself in them,
wander through them,
lose myself in them,
and drift

at the center of the storm,
I believe,
I trust,
I know
that somehow,
everything is going to be

I am there...
for a moment


I let the wind carry me back

back to now...
back to

to my life

a life I
never dreamed of,
never imagined,
barely recognize...

and I wonder...

how did I get here?

how did this happen?

what did I do?

tears flood these eyes as
I hold tight
to nothing at all...
my prayers out loud
become pleas to the
angels of mercy,
bargains with the
angels of death

the hope,
the dreams,
the belief,
the trust,
the knowing --
all that made these eyes
so big and wide and bright
as a young girl --
where did they do?


I desperately search
the darkness,
with eyes shut,
listening close
to the wild, wicked weather
just outside my bedroom window

~ gee cobain, 2005



when I think about those who
have pushed me around and knocked me down,
I can see (now) that they (then) were the ones
giving me the most shit
for being pushed around and knocked down.

~ gee cobain, 2003


when I turn you away, shut the door,
lock it tight, don't allow you in,
it's my way of protecting you --
of shielding you -- from something too painful
to witness, or become a part of...
perhaps, when dealing with this alone, I believe
I am dancing with these demons
with dignity and grace.

~ gee cobain, 2003



I want to write about this. I do. about everything.
to tell the story. my story.
but as I sit here wanting to, needing to, I am blocked.
I'm crying still, inside and out...
wanting to speak...
but listening instead to that inner voice, asking me,
* who the hell do I think I am to feel so badly?
* and don't I realize that everybody has a story to tell?
* and c'mon! people deal with this kind of thing all the time and still make huge successes out of their lives!
* and it's my fault anyway for not applying myself and not wanting something better badly enough to actually do something about it!
* and why don't I just try harder?
* and why do I keep making obvious self-defeating moves at critical times?

*... and for-chri-sake, stop whining-pissing-moaning about it all because, truthfully,
there will always be somebody else
who is struggling even more so
than me.

who the hell am I?
who the hell do I think I am, anyway...?

gee cobain, 2003


I don't know how to describe what this place in my
life feels like without using the word 'stripped'.
and it 's happened abruptly,

and senselessly.

but as I find myself
bare and raw,
I realize that there are even more layers here.

and like an onion, I peel one layer at a time,
thinking this horribly painful one MUST be the last one...

only to find that there's another underneath...

more, to look at closely...
even more to examine...
even more to shout "What the FUCK?!" over...
even more to mourn for... to cry over...
and eventually,
to release.

and miraculously,
the stripping has evolved,
beginning as something inflicted upon me,
now turning into an essential excavation --
a desperate dig --
that my spirit clings to, furiously,
as if it were a matter of life or death.

that's exactly what it is.

~ gee cobain, 2003


. . . like I imagine a heart attack to be,
this came at me
from out of nowhere...
striking, seizing all function and life,
snuffing out all future imaginings
and dreams...
it gripped me violently,
and immediately,
and then
I was


gone from the hope.
gone from the dream.
gone from gee.
and suddenly, I found myself standing in the shower.
just standing there.
and crying.
until the water ran cold.

I imagine it's
difficult and frustrating and painful
to know me,
even to love me.
I know this.
if it means anything at all,
I am aware and not completely ignorant
to this fact.
it's just terribly hard to BE me right now.
I don't know (yet) how to do this any differently
than how I'm doing it at this moment --
with displaced anger and endless tears
and suffocating sadness and poorly vented frustration and absolute fear and intense agony
and vociferous desperation...
that's how I respond to
all of this, as me, right now.

I'm crashing, I know.
just when I thought I already totalled the vehicle,
I see that I was only weaving and fishtailing back there.

but now,
I'm crashing.

or, at least, it really seems that way. . .

~ gee cobain, 2003


I saw m. today. we talked about the (superficial) picture of 'normal' that we paint over time, to anesthetize the deepest parts of ourselves -- of entire
families even -- from the trauma inflicted either upon us or by us. the person, or the family, on the surface appears to be adequately functioning... while, at it's core, it is damaged... severely detached from reality. because, you see, one must become detached in order to experience trauma and then still find a way to get up every day and put their shoes on. families end up walking around with intoxicated smiles on their faces, baking cookies after church while discussing the weather... but then, there are the outsiders within a family... the ones who sit there with tears on their faces and holes in their hearts for no apparent reason, yet dying to scream out, "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG HERE?" but after years and years of wondering and looking, one often concludes that THEY must be the problem. because...
take a look around.
nothing appears to be wrong here.

but, shit happens. and shit compounds. and the outsiders sometimes become overwhelmed by everyday life, and they can reach their limit, right to the edge, and hang by a thread for dear life...

until they feel the thread snap...
or they simply let go...
or both.

here, the fog lifts. 'normal' is seen in a different light..
it doesn't necessarily get any easier, but things do become a little clearer. a deeper understanding of the big picture is given and here, an awakening can begin to occur.

funny, but I can hear you saying,
"hang on, gee... hang on girl..."

~ gee cobain, 2003


it feels like I've lived so much of my life
dropping the ball.
which makes me ask myself
when was I given the ball?
where did I drop the ball?
how did I drop the ball?
and why do I continue to drop the ball...?

like, I'm stuck in a perpetual ball-dropping cycle,
and up to my neck in ball-droppings.

~ gee cobain, 2003


" when, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
and trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
and look upon myself and curse my fate,
wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
with what I most enjoy contented least;
yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
haply I think on thee, and then my state,
like to the lark at break of day arising
from sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
for thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
that then I scorn to change my state with kings."

( ~ william shakespeare ~ )

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are original creations
by me, gee cobain
(unless otherwise noted)

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