NaPoWriMo: Don’t Slow Down

*Skipped the prompt today as I was inspired by something else.

Depression runs young in my family
but so did I.

To the playground across the field,
the half mile to school.
Even my dad knew I was a runner early on.
His brother used to call me “Legs”
cause well, I was 3/4 legs
and those legs never stopped moving.

Depression runs young in my family,
but I guess I ran just a little faster.

Because aside from the dramatic
journal entries of a preteen,
everything says I was a happy kid.

I was quiet in class, yeah,
but as soon as that bell rang,
I was out there running, and shouting, and laughing
and playing Magic on the playground
with my best friends.

I loved school, and I was good at it.
I got noticed for my creative writing,
my speedy calculations,
and my diverse skills in gym class.

In sixth grade, when I was the fastest girl
to run the mile and a half
during fitness testing,
I got recruited for cross-country.
I didn’t know what it was.
But somebody wanted ME.

I started training the next day.
Running the mile to and from school.
I would ask my sister to bike alongside me
so I had someone to keep up with.
On the weekends,
my mom would come to the track with me.
She’d stand in the middle with a stopwatch
as I ran around and around and around.

We both cheered when I got a new PR,
and when I didn’t,
I would go again.

Those next summers I ran every 5k, 8k and 10k
road race in a 30 mile radius.
And my medals clanked together
every time I opened my bedroom door.

Depression runs young in my family.
But I guess I was just too quick.

It almost caught me freshman year,
when I got plowed over by a rollerblader
and ran 3 miles with blood dripping
from my knees to my toes.
The injury left me wavering
as an alternate for Varsity.

My sister had gone away to college
and things were uneasy at home.
I found myself sneaking out of class
to clear my eyes after getting a rash text.
But, there wasn’t anything I could do
so I forced a smile.

After all, I was the happy kid.
I loved high school, and I was good at it.
Not just the learning, though
I did love
Mr. Hill’s essay tests and
playing elementary spelling games
in Spanish class.
But what I mean is, the balancing.
I had a boyfriend, a best friend,
a Letterman’s jacket filling up with pins
and As across the board.

I was golden.

I was a good Christian girl,
and even after abandoning those views
at 18 years old,
I still wouldn’t touch alcohol
until my 21st birthday.
But, it didn’t take long before I had my first black out.
It was terrifying,
especially when I found out someone
was trying to get me there.
Who does that to a person? I’d thought.

I was much more careful after that
drinking a full glass of water between each drink.
I was smart. I liked the buzz.
But I wasn’t about to be hungover.
I was too busy finishing senior year,
editing the student newspaper,
and working two part-time jobs.

Depression runs young in my family
but it took awhile to catch up to me.

Maybe it was that first half marathon
that really slowed me down.
You know, 13.1 miles
can really take a toll.

It was the next day that I found out about his suicide.
Just two afternoons after I hugged him at our commencement speech.
Only three days after I hurried past him in the courtyard
to avoid a conversation I just didn’t have the time of day for.
It was his birthday yesterday, he would have turned 28.

It was the day before I moved
to a new apartment for a new job
in a new city where I didn’t know a soul.

A city that was finally close enough for you to visit
we’d talked about it for months.
we didn’t have any plans, but we were sure to get some laughs
because you always made me laugh.

But two weeks after I ran that half marathon,
moved to a new city, started a new job,
I got a call from my best friend, your cousin.

You were gone, she said.

It was a motorcycle accident.
You might have been racing a friend,
but I guess it didn’t really matter.
Your wheels slid on some loose gravel
and I never saw you again.

No, I didn’t look at your lifeless face
in the casket.
I couldn’t.

Maybe I should have.
Because month’s after you were gone
I was still pulling out my phone
with a giant smile on my face
ready to text you about a visit.
I never quite got to hitting send –

reality would hit
and every time
it was like getting that call all over again.

Depression runs young in my family.
And eventually I wasn’t fast enough anymore.

I’d blame the 32Ds and asthma
for slowing me down.
But turns out the depression just had more fuel.

It hit strong and unexpected
Like running into an invisible brick wall.

Those blackouts I’d tried so hard to avoid,
were becoming common place
and not just on Friday and Saturday night,
I took any excuse I could get to leave my lonely apartment
and have a drink.
And when you work at a newspaper,
there is ALWAYS an excuse to get a drink.
And a drink never really means a drink.

I’d find myself down by the river
at dawn and wonder how I got there.

It stung when my mom said I was just like my dad.
I wouldn’t speak to her for awhile.
But I’d slide in his CD on my drive across town.
His voice set to those old folk tunes
I knew by heart seemed to be the only thing I could count on.

So, when a bump in the road
scratched my CD
I lost it.

Depression runs young in my family.
And I guess it’s got some endurance.

Because 5 years later, I’m here
on the other side of the country
training for a full marathon
hoping I can finally out run this thing.

NaPoWriMo: Stages & Different Pages

I was staying up late, fueled solely by sugar-filled Energy drinks,
with my head in the books, as they say.

But really my head was perched upon one hand
the other, set on the keyboard,
finger tapping the “J” as I read and reread my lead,
trying to drum some life into my words.

While she was sipping a light-beer in a country bar
with a man twice her age, as they say.

But really she was only a third-less his,
Wearing a new pair of the old flares,
and the same faux-suede shoes she’d soon slip-off
to slide on the dance floor in her socks.

Later, I would slip out of the newsroom
to answer my phone in the quiet college hall.
And return with a silent wonder,
Or a buzzing worry, rather.
But I hadn’t time to think of matters
not worthy of my front page.

So while she was becoming a mother
to one, and two and four,
I was chugging a glass of water
between 2-for-1 long islands
trying my best to keep a dizzy-head
level on the crowded dance floor.

She’d be passed out
in an old wooden rocker
for the brief silent moment
between the many midnight wakings.

And I, would wake to a friend jumping on our bed
and hold tight to the sheet –
the only thing between his feet
and our tangled limbs.

While she was growing her family,
one by one by one, and eventually two,
I was learning to manage my own team
of six self-deprecating stylists
and trying my best to love them
as she loved hers.

NaPoWriMo: Lines

Focus
on the lines,
they said.

But lines
lines are a funny thing.

Moving fast
and
slow.

When at the fair
you try to avoid
the long ones are a waste of time
but the longest of all,

might be worth the wait.

So, you start at the end
and wait
and wait.

Lines are a funny thing.

You highlight them
and repeat them aloud
’til in your memory
they are easily found.
But just before the final show
they decide to change them
ever so.

Lines are
a funny thing.

Sometimes you draw a line
to separate the right
from wrong
but sometimes
it’s just a fine line
between standing up for yourself
and hurting someone else.

At times, we blur the lines
between fact
and fiction
like when we enhance the catch
to feed the whole room
or relive a moment
that’s not quite our own
we assume the details
for story’s sake
but in turn, the tale
becomes ever so fake.

Lines are a funny thing.

We anticipate the front of the line
but we’re wary of being
on the front line.

Sometimes kids get out of line,
like when they swear at mom
because she said they need some time
off line.

Lines are a funny thing.

But, sometimes lines aren’t so funny.
Like the lines of work that seem to be known
for the power-thirsty bosses
who
get off the hook
when they cross the line
time
after time.

Perhaps, someone needs to
drop them a line
and let them know,

Time’s Up.