This is a picture of the poem I wrote in 8th grade about my existential crisis.
Almost two years prior, my family had left the cult I was born into and raised in.
It was a fundamentalist bible group with a charismatic and severely abusive ego maniac at the helm. At age 13, I was fit to be tied, full of anger and confusion.
I was mad at my parents, mad at the God, and mad at the world for being such a strange and confusing place to live in. Life seemed meaningless and my dreams felt unattainably irrelevant.
In the poem you will see that my future peeks through. I was able, after many years, to climb my way out and transmute the pile of filth under which I was buried. The pain would go on taking up a big part of my life for another 15+ years.
That time of my life was a major rite of passage, when I would begin a crisis of spirit to struggle with religion, god, abandonment, fear, codependency, and anxiety.
I did not know then that everything I was going through - and the ensuing years of painful relationships, abuse, and trauma - would be the ground from which I would rise, stronger, wiser, and supporting so many others in their self healing path.
Perhaps you can relate in your own way to a time in your life when you felt the same way. Feel free to share in the comments if you can relate with what I wrote.
This poem is a product of an assignment I was given in English class. Apparently the teacher liked it.
Here it is:
I Am
I am flying free, in touch with my soul, yet shoveled under a mound of filth.
I wonder how my life would be if I didn’t have anyone to love me.
I hear the sounds of work and dreams sculpted with passion and love in people who dream.
I see my dream, not far away, so close that I might touch it.
I am flying free in touch with my soul, yet shoveled under a mound of filth.
I pretend to love only one, to share the joy of only one, but it is impossible.
I feel as if I’m drowning in a tunnel of water, where there is no end.
I touch my darkest, innermost being that scares my real self.
I worry that I shall not live or get a chance to follow my dream.
I cry to get out of this fabricated, untrue, and evil life.
I am flying free in touch with my soul, yet shoveled under a mound of filth.
I understand the basic see-saw of life, but do not want to be a part of it.
I say to the depth of me not to fear, but to accomplish. It is not possible.
I dream to dance so high above the clouds and fill the world with peace and joy.
I try to achieve each day where I made a difference in something.
I hoe that I will leive to see the day where all is one.
I am flying free in touch with my soul, yet shoveled under a mound of filth.
by Rachel Bishop April 7, 1989.
Thank you for your support of my writing! I am working on a book too, about healing the wounded heart. If you feel called, I would greatly appreciate it if you share my posts and donate if you can.