Stars between the cracks in existence.

*insomnia and pain related ramblings.

I sit beneath dark starless skies and I wonder why the clouds must hide them my from view. I eat beetroot straight from the pack using the same spoon i used to eat the tinned peaches, I am hungry, but right now I eat for the sake of the naproxen pill I just swallowed. I chase it with pain killers and wait patiently, sipping sweet tea and wondering what else I can eat. One, two, three, four I know the source of today’s pain and the tiredness that rocks deep at the core of my soul. One, two, three, four. I could quit. I won’t though. i ponder my own insanity as I recall the screwed up sheet of paper with pencil scribblings of my plans for the year. I could quit. I am my
own worse enemy. I am stubbornness with a capital S. One, two, three, four. I wonder what kind of muscle memory it takes for a person to write pen to paper. Today I danced in the perfect rhythm of the beats I counted in my head as I stared at my feet. One, two, three, four…four times I looked self discovery in the face, in the faces of the other dancers as they stared indifferently at me facing them instead of the blank magnolia wall. It is only through failure that we learn to excel. Some would call my coordination a failure, i call it a triumph. I look again to the skies and wonder why I cannot see the twinkling of the dying lights, why must there be only darkness. I’m hungry and consider cereal as an option as the pain killers kick in and the naproxen sets to work. I try to recall the last time I slept straight through the night, but my memory struggles to go that far. Stifling a yawn I grab my hot water bottle, another piece of of beetroot and climb back into bed, with heavy eyes, I look one last time into the dark skies and hope I might see a single star  from between the cracks in existence.

Karen Hayward ©2016. 

Watch “the proclaimers/500 miles” on YouTube

It’s line dancing Thursday…it is Thursday right? Hmm best go check :-). Whenever they play this song my brain literally switches off, no functioning at all, I just stand there, singing. I look stupid, I’m good with looking stupid, someones gotta look stupid right?  I need dancing today, I have an over flow of energy I need to burn, I doubt my body agrees my muscles are screaming in pain as it is, ahh the joys of chronic pain, but I figure I already hurt, what’s a little more pain :-)….I see an afternoon of sleeping ahead :-). Anyhow, this is just a ramble, I need to go play this song on repeat and get it out my system, cos I will learn this dance, I will learn this dance!


Hope. Life writing.


Apparently I had a little left over from yesterdays writing prompt hope!

And in the beginning…we all have an in the beginning, a point in time when we hit the rocky depths of the abyss and we pleaded with whatever God we could find that would listen, for some light, even if at that time it came only in the form of a shadow. If you are yet to experience this moment, then I promise you it will come, it haunts your existence waiting in the shadows to reveal to you, who it is you truly are. We’ve all seen the quotes telling the world that strength is a hidden beauty discovered somewhere in the pits of hell…or something along those lines, so there’s no need for me to tell you this. And so it is that, in the darkness I have discovered my strengths. As a writer it always intrigues me to discover where a person writes from, more than once I have been told we write from the pains of society, lost love, lost freedoms and the iron bars of true identity and as much as I would like to say this is invalid, it is entirely true. Every word we spill onto the page is the fulfillment of the yin and yang concept, to see beauty we must know of ugliness, to know love we must understand hate, to know pain we must recall a time when we felt nothing. My life is seemingly filled with ‘and in the beginnings’ that I am only aware of when I speak of my past and I see the look in others eyes, such a simple response and in that moment they inadvertently make me feel some how ashamed of my nonchalant descriptions…and I wonder am I broken? My husband says to me in that strained, ‘the holy fuck are you doing’ voice that he gets when he see’s me climbing the step ladders, ‘Please don’t do these things.’ and I think, don’t do what? don’t live? You see I recall that moment of darkness as though it were tattooed across my skin, in a sense it is, it’s tattooed through my muscles, pain, there is not a single day when I will forget that feeling of ripping my back muscle, again and again and again until the days blurred into weeks and the weeks blurred into years and the pain was finally defined as chronic until the brain no longer knew the difference between what hurt and what didn’t. And of all the, in the beginning moments in my life pain has been the most defining. I recall the darkness that seeped into my mind stealing away my dreams bit by bit until the abyss was the only hope I had left. For the first time in my life I didn’t know how to rise above this pain. I was rapidly forgetting what it felt like to feel no pain in my body until that day when I forgot, it was gone, I could no longer recall the freedom of pain free movement. It amazes me how we recall with ease the moment in our lives when the world imploded and yet try as I might I don’t recall when it changed, when the pain become a low buzzing that I could once again at the very least try to fight, I don’t recall when I started to hear the birds sing again, or feel the beauty of the sun against my naked skin, I don’t recall when the world became as amazing as what it now is.  Each day is a day I never believed would come and so I am creating new dreams as I wander through, redefining the rules and creating a reality just for me. I saw a quote yesterday that said something like, ‘a goal without plans is just a wish,’  I’ve been surviving on stolen wishes for years, this was not the life I was meant to have and yet I would not trade who I am now for anything this world can offer. I don’t ever want to write from the pains of my past, from the broken childhood to the teenage years that were shrouded in darkness and coveted by guardian angels I never knew existed to the realisation of having your every dream swiped away from you, but in reality it is in the blank canvas of the unknown that I discovered beauty. It is here in the muscles that scream in pain  that I discovered a stubbornness to survive, a need to see beauty, a desire to feel passion but mostly I learned that i could depend on myself alone my every need could be fulfilled by me and there may come a day when I have to put pen to paper and declare in poetic melody that I built my walls to high, that the ones that love me cannot reach me and I will write in scribbled letters of the key that was always there, but they just never opened their eyes to see. And so in the beginning when the world I wanted became the world I could not have darkness seeped in and stole away my light, but somewhere in that deep abyss a small flame flickered, perhaps the flame that tells me my past is just that, or perhaps the whispered strength of wisdom or maybe the last flame of hope.


Karen Hayward ©2016