Category: Unsent Letters

Poetry, Unsent Letters

Poem: I Am that I Am

Sara Elizabeth

Finding the balance between selfless and self-sacrifice

Your lips on hers and the cold wind caressing mine

The space between your growth; spiritual awakening

And my seemingly endless sleepless nights

It’s the distance of space and time and we always come back – isn’t that right?

I try to remember, the oceans and a dream of lavender and the trailer my dad died in

A lake in between to cross to his new home, so different

A space in between, the balance of you and me 

It’s not that far and it’s always been right there, on the tip of my tongue

In each moment of despair

The way I knew she was gone before the doctor’s declared – her heart was still beating but her soul was no longer there

So close to crossing that ocean but not to die – I hope not to die

Just to understand and to finally feel like I am alive, no longer haunted upstairs

When I cry for you, for him, for God – no longer screaming at my mother to remind her she is gone

Finding the balance between you and me

The cards say yes, give it a year, and let him dream 

Of the space between my growth; spiritual awakening

Until this witching hour ends and a new night begins

It’s how it always happens when the veil is thin, we return to each other time and time again

Am I waking up to the memories of now, before, after – a dream of hope, a dream to come

The atmosphere is between us but if I leave, can I still breathe?

A space between, the balance of you and me

I have to believe because the moment I stop, wait what was I saying? It’s on the tip of my tongue

In this moment of despair

I know this is chosen and if I could just remember then maybe I wouldn’t be here – I’d be back home, a place my soul can no longer go

So close to crossing these ocean galaxies, but not to die – Dear god please don’t let this mean I am going to die

Just to understand to reach out and finally touch your hand – no longer haunted upstairs

When I run to you now, you will always be there – not hidden or just out of reach because I belong

In the space between selfless and self-sacrifice

I choose me. I choose you. And I do this every single time

I come back into the fold for a moment, stepping behind the veil

Of you

Of me

It’s always been you

It’s always been me

My sun, my moon, my stars

I am your galaxy

I am that I am

And I will always continue to be

For you

For me

Personal Stories, Unsent Letters

An Open Letter to the ER Doctor

Sara Elizabeth

To the doctor who saw me at the ER last night, My breasts are not inherently sexual.

Examining the staph infection that has taken over 1/4 of my breasts – not to mention to all of sores the sores that keep getting worse and are not responding to antibiotics over – is not sexual.

But your religion taught you that my body as a female is sexual and dirty and wrong.

Because of this, you a freaking medical doctor working in an emergency room, refused to examine it my staph infection. Instead you asked me if I had a picture. Thankfully I did actually have a picture.I had taken one that I sent over to my friend and sister to show how bad it’s been getting. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t overreacting, since every single health issue I have has been diminished and neglected by the majority of the doctors I’ve seen. I didn’t want to waste my time going – but everyone said I should.

I’m used to going to do doctors while having seizures, numbness, drooping face, and a plethora of other symptoms. And I’m used to them brushing it off or telling me which specialist to go to next. I’m not used to being sexualized. By. A. Doctor.

You looked at the picture left the room without a word. I waited and waited, feeling ashamed and stupid for even bothering to come in. I would’ve gone to urgent care instead, but they don’t accept my insurance. I would’ve waited for the doctor, but it was the weekend and this was just getting worse. I almost got up and left.

While I dealt with my own crisis, debating whether to just give up and leave, I can only assume you were having a moral crisis given the size of the infection whether you should look at my breast or not. I’m sure you saw the results of my biopsy from my last visit that this is indeed a staph infection and it’s not responding to treatment.

Finally, you came back and examined it. After squeezing when there is clearly no puss and pushing and pinching it in every which way, while I writhed in pain, you said

“It’s not that bad.”

I am aware that is not as bad as an infection can be. But the fact that its spreading, I was running a low-grade fever, and everything else going on with my body – I am trying to get someone to listen before it does get “that bad”.

I am positive if you had this size of a wound on your penis or testicles, you would be bed ridden, demanding treatment immediately. There have been so many studies done on how doctors (even female doctors) do not take female patients seriously. A man can go in with the same demeanor, presenting the same symptoms, and he will get tests, treatment, and referrals more often than women who have the same symptoms or diagnosis.

Maybe if this infection was on my arm, the doctor would have felt the need to treat it.

Maybe if my psych stays weren’t in my medical record.

Maybe if I fit the Mormon image and didn’t have tattoos and piercings and colored hair.

Maybe if I wasn’t obese – because fat people choose to be fat and they choose to be sick because all of their problems are related to their weight, right?

Maybe if I fit whatever your ideal is of a sick patient who deserves treatment… maybe this infection would already be gone.

PS. To you and all the other doctors who are quick to tell me I don’t have cancer and don’t need a mammogram because its all surface lesions, please kindly go back to medical school and study inflammatory breast cancer, skin cancer, and cancer in hormonal glands. While I am mostly positive that this is simply a Lupus/Scleroderma/MS flare and it’s causing all of my body’s issues – whatever the cause, I deserve proper treatment.

Thanks…. but not really,

S.

Unsent Letters

To the friend who never said goodbye,

Sara Elizabeth

Though I get so mad at you sometimes, I don’t hate you and in a way, I think I understand. I want you to know that a part of me understands that you’re doing what you think is best. There is part of me that knows that you wouldn’t intentionally cause such pain — if there wasn’t a good reason for it. But then this is where my brain, or maybe my heart, kicks in and in a pleading voice, asks “Right? He wouldn’t just walk away for no reason, right?” … You gotta understand, you were my best friend – even if I wasn’t yours – and I told you that if you ever gotta stop talking to me, whether its because of my mental health, your girlfriend, or whatever – I just needed you to tell me. Silence is my true weakness. Silence destroys my spirit and shapes me into an empty version of myself.

Mental health aside, losing a friend is always a hard thing. Throw BPD into the mix with my extreme fear of real or imagined abandonment … It’s a wonder I was able to function so well after you decided to just stop talking to me. All I want to know is why? What did I do that was so terrible that you couldn’t even say goodbye? That you would bring my worst fear, silence, to life?

The other night I was at the venue where I came to see your fight. I was there for a concert, but of course, I remembered you. I remembered how proud I was of you. How I felt silly, but I prayed that you would be prepared for your fight and do well and be safe. I prayed for your success in all things, because that’s what mattered to you. I wanted you to reach your dreams. I still do, because even if your silence is an intentional disregard of me, I care about you. I care about your dreams. I am sorry that I’ve called you so many times. I’m sorry I’ve left countless texts. I’m sorry if I can’t just “take a hint” – but I deserve an explanation. I deserve a proper goodbye.

Or a friend.

I’ll be fine with whichever. I just need that closure, and you gotta know that. God knows you have to know what your silence is causing. You’ve seen me break over much less. So, what will it be?

I wish you would tell me.

 

Unsent Letters

Personal Entry: Unsent Letter

Sara Elizabeth

You don’t know how hard I have to laugh and how loud I have to talk so I can drown out the loss of your friendship. I know I got a bit crazy those last few weeks. I mean, more crazy than usual. It was unfair of me to cling to you in such a way and expect you to just handle it the way I wanted, or even needed, you to handle it. I knew my behavior was inexcusable and overwhelming and insane and stressful – but here I go rambling again. I want to yell at you that you weren’t brave enough to just tell me goodbye and briefly explain the circumstances as to why we can no longer be friends anymore. But … that’s also not fair. Let’s be honest, I’m a mess of a human being and I shouldn’t be mad at you (or anyone else) who has or who will walk away.

There’s a song by Lacy Sturm, “You’re Not Alone”. She wrote the song when a dying woman had told her relatives that they were not alone – that God is always with them. It was this woman’s dying wish that they not rely upon her or anyone else to be God, because there’s only one God that is God enough to be God for you. For so long, I have projected the actions of other people onto my Heavenly Father. One day, I sent you a text how your consistency and patience with me reminded me that Heavenly Father isn’t leaving either. The problem was, I was still projecting you onto my relationship with my Heavenly Father, and so when you “left”, I let go of God. I fell apart in a really silent way. It’s not your fault. It’s mine, and maybe all of this Hell I’ve been going through is a blessing, so that I can learn to fully trust in the reality of God and His love for me. I was at the women’s conference last night in the most terrible mood ever for countless reasons. All I could think is I just needed something. Anything. President Uchtdorf’s talk was exactly what I needed, and it’s given me a lot to ponder.

Knowing all of this doesn’t make it hurt any less. In fact, I haven’t even let myself accept any of it. Not really. I don’t have the luxury to let myself feel your absence or allow myself to truly break.

I have been keeping all my pieces together – not just from you, but from everything, and today I can’t do it. Today, I can’t be happy. I can’t laugh. I can’t smile. I’m okay, and I’ll be fine … but I think I need to let myself cry. I need to let myself feel this, because in the words of John Green, “That’s the thing about pain. It demands to be felt.”

So, today I am not battling my depression quite so gracefully. I am crying over the loss of your friendship, the loneliness and isolation I find myself drowning in, the memories of a life I once built years ago that I had to walk away from, the child that died inside me before ever getting a chance to live, and the fear of having to go through everything alone because even if people try to be there for me, I can’t let anyone in … because if I *really* let them in, they will walk away.

I’m crying because sometimes I wonder how Heavenly Father must feel, when he holds onto us so tightly – loves us so much – and we just walk away without so much as a word. Your silence kills me, and I’m only human. I wonder how much our silence – my silence right now – hurts our Heavenly Father.