“To love me is to love a haunted house”

Hey, how are you doing? Really, without the “I’m fine,” facade, How are you? I’m having a rough week.

I wrote out this post before my internet connection went out and deleted what I am actually incredibly proud of, and am sure would have been a semi-interesting read. Since today I lack the energy to retype all of it, I’ll leave you with excerpts from a poem by Brenna Twohy, one that sums up what I have been feeling.

From Anxiety: A Ghost Story

To love me
is to love a haunted house–
it’s fun to visit once a year,
but no one wants to live there,
and when you say,
“Tell me about the bad days,”
it sounds like all the neighborhood kids daring each other to ring the doorbell, 
you love me
like the family walking through Horrorland holding hands–
You are not stupid,
or careless, 
or even brave,
you’ve just never seen 
the close-up of a haunting. 

Darling,
this love will not cure me. 
And this love will not scrape 
the blood from the baseboards,
but it will turn all the lights on,
it will bring basil 
back from the farmer’s market 
and it will plant it in every windowsill,
it is the kind of love 
that gives me goosebumps,
when you say to the ghosts,
“If you’re staying, 
then you better make room,”
and we kiss against the walls 
that tonight are not shaking,
so we turn the music up
and we dance to Miles Davis,
and you say, 
“My god,
this house.
The way that it stands
even on the months 
that no one goes into 
or comes out of it.”

-Brenna Twohy

Here is a link to her full, live version of it. And if you enjoy what you see and hear, please check out the poet and support them or Button Poetry, a brand that supports these amazing poets that I am lucky enough to get the chance to quote.

Before I sign off this week, I want to thank everyone who has helped me through this horror movie like week. Believe me, your words and actions do not go unnoticed. Without a small group of people this week I would have felt even more suffocated and controlled by the iron strong grip of my anxiety on the back of my faded sweatshirt. So, thank you from the bottom of my heavy heart.

Here’s to an early happy new year, and the chance to start over.

Wishing you all good health and justice,

Stan