Relationships

Hunger

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"Organic Onions" © Susy Morris, 2009. CC BY-NC 2.0.
“Organic Onions” © Susy Morris, 2009. CC BY-NC 2.0.
I spent the morning handing out produce at a food bank downtown. Wrapped up in scarves and gloves we curved up our mouths at hundreds, making eye contact and conversation. “Just be warm and welcoming,” our volunteer coordinator told us. What that really means is, “Just acknowledge their humanity.”

Hungry. Not just their bellies. They want someone to see them. Someone to let them know that they’re noticed. They matter. They’re still worthy human beings.

Never in my life have I wondered where my next meal would come from. There were weeks when every meal was Top Ramen and cigarettes, but the meals always existed. I always had the luxury of being more concerned with my monthly booze budget. I made the decision to focus on getting high or drunk over getting fed, but always got fed anyway. I’m thankful for that. But I know the other kind of hunger. The kind Bruce Springsteen sings about. The one that volunteers and donation centers can’t combat. Continue reading →

Addiction

Glass

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"Dark Skies" © Fraser Mummery, 2011. CC BY 2.0.
“Dark Skies” © Fraser Mummery, 2011. CC BY 2.0.
It used to be leaping from my chair and, in one grand swoop, clearing my desk of everything. A smashed computer screen, pens, paper, and a couple half-full glasses of water littering the floor. “Look at me!” I wondered how you didn’t notice. “Please, just look at me.”

Now my posture tightens. Teeth clench. I don’t break eye contact and I steady my breath. In a moment indiscernible from the next the glass I’m holding is crushed in my hand. Fragments embed in the folds of my skin, sparkling water and a lime wedge. I don’t flinch, just cock my head. “You were saying…” Continue reading →

Autobiography

Attachments

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"Empty Room, Window" © Tim Samoff, 2005. CC BY-ND 2.0.
“Empty Room, Window” © Tim Samoff, 2005. CC BY-ND 2.0.
I don’t keep things. Journals get discarded when filled. My photo collection gets whittled down over and over again. My mind remembers the way old friends formed their letters. The dots of their i’s, the curve of their a’s. But I’ll never uncover intricately folded pieces of notebook paper containing their secrets.

Sometimes I remember an old picture I wish I still had. I catch myself hoping that someone held on to a copy and it will resurface someday. Show up in the mail with no return address as a reminder we used to be different people. Existence used to mean something else. Continue reading →