Entry Ninety-Six

Second entry in the story "The Wicker Chair from Downstairs". Enjoy!

Sunday January 4, 2009

Have I mentioned that I'm still in the hospital? Yeah. They want to keep me here and see how well I progress physically. They think that if I make enough progress, that shows I'm strong enough for surgery. They say that they might be able to reverse everything. They are promising my parents a miracle. I know they are lying and the only reason they want to keep me here is so they can suck more money out of my family.

Mom and Dad are in a hotel just down the road, even though they only live 10 minutes from the hospital anyway. More money. They are paying for this ridiculous shrink. More money. The are also paying for Mr. "positive reinforcement will heal anything". More money.

Why don't they just let me be? Let me sit in some darkened room with a telescope by my window. Like that one Hitchcock movie. Whatever it was called. I could become the worlds creepiest peeping Tom and witness a murder or something. Watch the married woman across the street undress. That kind of thing.

It sure beats spending everything you own on things that aren't going to make a difference. Maybe they are spending the rest of my college fund. I find that acceptable. What am I going to do with my life in a wheelchair anyway? Certainly not anything I was planning on doing before.

I don't know you well enough, PhD, to trust you with what my dreams used to be. So don't even ask.

You want something honest? I don't want to be here anymore in this place of crushed hope. How many people praying for a miracle actually get it?

My parents go to a Christian church. I used to go when I was a kid, enchanted by the idea of God and his wish granting power. Convinced that he was this all powerful being like a super hero. Then, like finding out Santa Clause wasn't real, I found out that God wasn't much more than the dream of the hopeful. So when I was 14 and crafty enough to get away with it I started skipping out on Sunday School. When I was 16 I stopped going to church all together except for Christmas and Easter where it was easier to attend than to endure the death stares of my mother.

So imagine my surprise and displeasure when this young guy in a suite and tie comes in and announces that he is Pastor Franks and he has come to pray for me.

I less than politely declined, using some choice words that no doubt sullied my already darkened soul.

The guy only smiled.

He's one of those young pastors. Like an assistant pastor or something. He takes over when the crinkly dude, the guy I remember being old when I was a kid- Pastor…Old Guy, or whatever his name is-finally kicks it. I bet my parents asked for him hoping he could "identify" with me. Reach me because he still has some semblance of youth. He looks maybe in his early 30's.

And he just smiled.

He says that he is here at the request of my parents. They care about me very much.

"So what?" I say. "Are they expecting God to grant them a wish then? Is he going to give them their miracle just because you came here and said hallelujah?"

Then he goes into this speech about how just because I don't believe God can't help me doesn't mean that my parents don't. It also doesn't mean that he WONT help. Whatever.

I try to ignore him and hope that he goes away but he keeps asking me questions. You would think he was a shrink!

Why does everyone want to help me? What do they think they can do? Cure me? Make things better? Say a magic word and make it all disappear?

I tell you what, you show me a time machine that can help me change the past and MAYBE I'll consider changing my attitude.

Entry Ninety-Five

The Last entry of this batch of poems from this particular time in my life.

The fall of 2005.

What a time.

Entry Eighteen

Peering over the edge, I see true turmoil taking place. The wall that left us all blind must be parted without question.

Entry Nineteen

Sometimes my heart, crushed with a deepened bottomless ache, cannot hold all that it is meant to endure. It bursts and my blood rushes out, leaving me empty.

Entry Twenty

Ode to a Math Class - 9/23/2005

A dream.
Stifled by the clenching fist of failure.
A cold hard wind blows
Stings my eyes
Making me blind.
Straining so hard to succeed only to be beat back each and every time.
Bloody and weakened, I try again.
Gathering my reserve to have the strength to fight.
But once again, assailed by my weakness, I am left behind.
Weak and bloodied, I crawl my way back to battle.
But, to weak to care, I receive the final blow.
I fall. I fail.
A dream.
Stifled by the clenching fist of failure.

Math was undoubtedly my worst subject (at least until I discovered the horribleness of Ichthyology). I can't believe that this early on I was already this negative about it.

Entry Twenty-One

We are fast approaching the abyss. The point of no return is long since past. The only way to go is down. A falling, failing world which flails its arms in hopes of slowing its descent. We are blind. Not wanting to see what awaits. Doom. We can see it but do nothing. We lead all to this end and joy in its coming. We know. Looking on in fierce denial. To great are we to descend so far. We will never chance to dwell there. "'Tis true!" I cry unto you. We are so fat with our own indulgence that we are unable to squeeze our writhing mass down that pit of flame. Hissing tongues would taste out flesh and to them it would be bitter. So much that they say "be gone! We need none of your evil." Even those who glory in all the things of Satan would look upon us and say, "How can such a thing be so? What brings man to such disgusting obesity on the empty fat of evil?"

"Greed." I answer. "Pride and hatred. Fear and folly. Power and mindlessness."

Damnation are we. A twisted growth of filth so vile. We blind ourselves with the excrement of our souls. That which comes from out hearts is not clean, but stinking and black, oozing with evil life.

And we cannot escape. We know the way out. The way to be clean. To be good. To love, laugh, and live life as it really should be. What awaits us in the fast approaching future? The abyss, and we can do nothing now to avoid it.

Um...wow. I am pulling no punches here. I could have left this entry out. But no. This is honesty. I was filled with dark imagery and a sense of hopelessness in the fate of the world. of society. I can still see its downfall, and who can't? But really? I think I exaggerated JUST a tad.

But that's who I was in 2005. A wreck of personal emotions that needed an outlet.

But wait...there's more!

Entry Twenty-Two

Fear. A delicious sensation. A feast of blood that pumps through every inch of me. It causes a thorough scouring of everything good inside as pure animal instinct takes over. The mind is purged of all rational thought and everything goes black. Things do not slow down, as most expect. No. They accelerate to an uncontrolled speed so that nothing can be done to prevent what is going to happen.

There you have it. This has been a journey through the mind of Sarah Lambson around the time that she graduated from high school and was experiencing her first semester of college. Scary, right? I am very glad that I got over that phase.

At the same time I wish I was able to still dole out that kind of imagery and emotion. Sometimes I feel like watching Netflix and reading unintellectual books has dulled my mind to the point where I am nowhere near as creative as I used to be.

Then I think that's not really true. I'm just creative in different ways.

I hope you enjoyed this journey. More writing from the past of Me will follow in the coming weeks and months. And maybe some new stuff too.

Entry Ninety-Four

I'm still going.

Entry Fourteen:

Regret of Love Poem - 9/20/25 (one guess as to who this was about)

I always thought you'd be the one.
O knight! O one of my desiring.
To see you so flawless, so perfect
was a foolishness I was not prepared to accept.
I wished so hard for your caring
And always hopefully daring
I threw myself at your feet.
I tried so hard to make you see
But your blindness took all the energy
Of my fancy and it was lost.
Lost in the shadow of your lack of feeling.
Lost in looking at gullible on the ceiling.
Hardening against your constant batter.
No matter.
Time has proved your flaws.
My heart has seen the way
And today, I no longer feel the need.
The need to have your affection.
You've lost me, but I know I was never
What you sought.

Reading this now, I remember how I still pined for him at least a year longer. This can also apply to a more recent crush. It's easy to lie to yourself at first. But time passes and you find that you still aren't over then.

It's not until even MORE time passes that you realize that the energy you are giving out is wasted and truly fruitless. It becomes easier once they stop giving you something to hold on to.

Entry Fifteen:

Ladies - 9/8/2005

That the lady doth think to much, I protest.
Her mind is water. Absorbs all
And makes new paths.
Exploring.
The path to curiosity.
The way to knowledge.
Without water or women
Where would the world be?
Explorers move slower by land
And without the help of a native woman
lost.
Men are lost.
Water is essential to life
as is the thought of a woman.

The line "her mind is water" can sound like a negative thing. I meant it to be positive. Like LIVING water. Moving water. Water of knowledge. This was meant to be an empowering poem for women.

Entry Sixteen:

Drumsticks

A A
tic drum
toc beat
Ry In
them my
to mind
beat does
stea con
dy stant
al dance
ways

This one does not translate as well typed out. I was wrote this for a class. We were supposed to write one of those poems that looked like they topic they were written about. The topic was supposed to represent us. So I chose drum sticks. Drumming was my life back then.

Entry Seventeen:

AIM - 9/13/2005

I wander.
Aimless. No aim. No AIM.
I am powerless. In this world of power
I lack. No brains for power. I have no
Need. No want. What do I want?
Reality. Real. Together with a face.
Feeling. To feel. I have felt and been
Left wanting more.
But in this world, it is power and
AIM.

Voices balance precariously and live.
Words screened from person to person.
Abbreviated words that hold little love.
Little life.
What has our world come to?
What is our aim?
Our AIM.
Our Weakness.

This was obviously before I because the avid internet, Skype, Facebook, Twitter user I am now. At this point Facebook was in it's early stages. I don't think Skype existed. I am almost positive that Twitter was not invented yet. AOL instant messenger was a big thing. It was how people instant chatted. AIM. I didn't have an AIM account. Part of me felt cut off from the world. Another part of me believed that this was just an emotionless form of communication. I still think it can be, though I thoroughly enjoy my Skype chats with my sisters.

The First stanza, if you read down the left side, says this: I wander. Aimless. I am powerless. I lack. Need. Reality. Feeling. Left but AIM. Okay, the last part doesn't make much sense. It was really supposed to be "no feeling left but AIM" down the side. But I didn't go with that, apparently. Oh well.

This next one is pretty depressing. I will explain why at the end.

Entry Eighteen: 9/11/2005

I know. I understand what my problem is. Why I am unhappy and channel that unhappiness to others through aggression.

I feel alone. I'm not. But I feel that am without. There is a warm circle and I am on the rim looking in. If I receive an invite, the roar of my doubt causes me to be deaf. They are gone. All those who I knew and cared for have left me behind. They are accepted. They are no longer alone.

But I am alone. I am afraid. What shall, can I do? Does anyone care? Understand? No one sees me. They catch a glimmer of me as I float around their circle. But it is fleeting because my fear and stubbornness pull me away.

No one sees. No one knows.

I feel alone.

Yeah, this one is depressing. I was full of self pity. This was, like many of these, written at the start of my first semester of college. I didn't know anyone in my classes. Most of my friends had gone elsewhere. I felt like I didn't know anyone in the University Ward. I felt very alone at this time. If I had made a little effort I would have been fine. As it was I felt constantly on the outside looking in. I will admit that I didn't make very many friends in college. I didn't have any extra curricular activities that I participated in. I didn't identify with many of the people in my classes. I am still friends with some of them on Facebook, but I only still have contact with one f them regularly.

College was NOT my strong point. I still had so much growing to do.

Not that I don't STILL have a lot of growing to do.

Entry Ninety-Three

This one was one that I wrote for Honors. Or A.P. in high school. I was so impressed with myself at the time. I still think it's one of my better works. It's also more polished than the other stuff because it was edited for class.

Entry Thirteen:

Hope or Hell

To stand upon the precipice of life. Upon the wings of salvation. Only one thing enters the mind. The breeze becomes caught in the threads of my logic and pulls it to

And fro to

And fro

So that no thing...comes to be...making sense at all...so that...which things were true...are now false.
That breeze which whispers what all wish to know and carries with it:
Peace.
The smell of care, the sound of endless possibilities, the feeling of a call reaching to the skies. The knowledge of simplicity. But all good things fade into the darkening sky as the breeze quickens its pace. Pushing and pulling at my heart strings in a roar of sound and I feel eternal damning pain and...

All at once...a window is thrown open and...so curious I peer inside. Seeing what was, what is, and what is still not so. All the same.

Truth!

This is what is revealed to me.
Evil***
This was, is, and always will be...
our fate.
The window closes...
Darkness follows and then it is only I. Alone with that breeze tugging my logic to

And fro to

And fro

So that all...once being...wanted good...had been light...is now darkness. Only one thought comes to mind. Escape. To find a place and join all those who found peace in the warm embrace of what lies beyond. Refuge. The only purpose left. Standing upon the precipice, upon the wings I fly to my fate. My mind clears and sees only one sight.

***
The shells of those who lose all they had to something cold and empty. Crushed souls devoured by the flame of their fellow man. Children scarred by the fear of nations. A wash of fire/ A raging inferno all within the eyes of...
Brothers. Sisters. Family...friends. Withing the hearts of every being. A terrible anguish.
Like boiling sweat
And a tear freezes

This one takes a little more explanation.

First, you must know that at the times I was REALLY into ellipses. Even more so than usual. To me they represented broken or uncertain thought and that was what I was trying to convey in this particular piece of work. The "To and Fro" section was written that way so that the readers eyes were pulled back and forth across the page. Just after those happen, both times, there is a series of broken disjointed thoughts. This is also very intentional. They aren't meant to make much sense because logic is being pulled to and fro and is trying to grasp one concept but failing.

Here is the most important part of the poem. The Asterisk's. The poem is called Hope or Hell because the reader ultimately chooses one or the other. If they read the poem in a linear fashion (that is passing over the asterisk at first and continuing on and then catching the asterisk at the end) they are met with hell. The last thing they read in the poem is a dark passage. Even if they mentally insert it into the place where the asterisk is, their mind ends on a cold note.

If, however, the reader comes upon the asterisk and reads that section before moving on, they end on a hopeful note. The end of the poem ends hopefully.

I know it's weird. Like I said, when I wrote it, I thought it was inspired.

So there you go. I still have more entries but those are for another day.

Entry Ninety-Two

Continuing on with the trend.

Entry Seven:

I Think He Liked Spring

I think he like Spring
Her sweet, soft touch and mellow heart
A time to love, to see, to feel
A time to ease into life in calm, slow movements

I think he liked Summer
Her boisterous color and light
A time to shine, to heal, to exhilarate
A time to show life what you're made of in *fearless actions

I think he liked Autumn
Her beautiful face and sweet voice
A time to think, to know, to understand
A time to gain new knowledge in large successful strides

I think he liked Winter
Her silent elegance and soft beauty
A time to reflect, to breathe, to be
A time to look on choices past and learn from our mistakes

I think he likes life...

* The word was originally "rash" and I didn't like it there.

Also, be glad that I am mostly editing these for spelling (current failings in the spelling department aside). There are we a lot of misspelled words.

Entry Eight:

Ethereal Beauty

Ethereal beauty.
All is passing.
Nothing constant
But
Love.
Words.

That was a short one. How true it is.


Entry Nine:

We Go Forward We Go Back - 9/14/2005

We go forward, we go back.
Mindless trail and lonely track.
For though we may meet others there,
This life alone we all must bear.
Though some may chance to hear the call
We make as we begin to fall,
And for a moment aid our trial,
And help us life the load a while,
In the end we hold our own,
'Till flesh is gone and all is bone,
And meet all others up above.
At the end of our difficult road is love.

Huh, so far not as much darkness. I guess I had my moments.

Entry Ten:

Here I Sit

And so here I sit to mark the passing seconds. With my weapon, my soul, I attempt to consume the darkness. I cry out only to be silenced with no sound of voice. The cold hard slab of stone that bears mt heart cannot be warmed by my hope. A small flit of hope. Like a freezing bird vainly twitching its wings to obtain flight. Because of cold winters fist, it succeeds not. It grapples for a moment with dying hope but all too soon the battle is over with the frigid wanderer crying out in triumph. And a single tear shows all that is wept for hope. For it is lost but was never sought save it were by those whose flame were kindled if only for a moment.
And so here I sit to make the passing seconds. Slowly, as I fade away, I hear a call, A whisper of unending love and the warmth of spring returned. But only in a different time where hope is a strong blaze and winter is but a struggle of frost on the horizon...

Okay, back to some darkness. But there is hope at the end. Bear with me. I have three more. This is a big entry today. Wednesday is by giant hum day entry writing day. I guess.

Entry Eleven: 1/14/2006

The weariness enfolds my mind. Wraps it in a quilt of dark, sweet comfort. What do we know when or eyes are closed? We know of fantasies contrived. We understand nothing. Only the rhythmic rise and fall of our own breath. For on the brink of sleep are our minds the most clear and the most aware of what it is to be alive.

Entry Twelve:

View of a Taken Land

I see ahead a darkened wood. Piercing through: A ravaging light. Another also. They serve as the eyes of man, seeing naught but the dollar upon the plot. Beside it, a torn meadow. Deep cuts: treads of what we would. Movement. Two flicks of speed. The fear of a small creature brave enough to venture into a world once known as sanctuary. Behind, the buzz of angry power. Fluorescent and artificial, it casts a gloomy shadow in the form of my slouched body. I pause-look left. Right. A fear of who (not what) may be lurking. Just to have me. Nothing like the raw primal fear that all nature has when it is only us and the mother that is constant nurturer. It is baseless paranoia we feel now. Of something we know isn't there. And if it were, what would we do? The instinct is lost to us and we fail. Those two eyes. The buzzing behind. They protect me. But in truth, they may be my greatest threat.

This one loses me sometimes. I haven't gone through and made changes to these. These are the raw younger Sarah products. I wish I could remember where I was when I wrote this.

The next one that I want to share really needs it's own entry. So I am going to close this one and start that one. I know it's two entries in one day. I'm just bored.

Entry Ninety-One

So, some more of the stuff I wrote 5 years ago. Don't judge, just enjoy.

Entry Four:

Lesson of Growth, 8-30-2005

Into the dark abyss they pull me.
Into the light of the dark abyss I go.
To know.
What shall we learn from the deep black pit
Into which we all descend?
A journey we must all endure. A quest.
Few emerge from the grip. Must never leave.
They see the opening but never walk out.
They don't want to.
No desire to.
But those who exit with the scars written on their eyes
Have been blinded by the light
The darkness emits.
They close them to vanish the truth etched on their
Innocence.
But in the darkness of the light, at least there is
Hope.
For only ones who inhabit it are those
Who survived the light of the darkness.

Honestly, I have no idea what was going on in my brain when I was writing this. Something selfish, no doubt. It was my first semester of college. Give me a break.

Entry Five:

I stand alone. A pillar once grand and tall, now beaten and worn. A plain standing stub of a person who has long forgotten the purpose of existence. the candle, once bright and reaching, stands extinguished and smoking sadly. The remnant of its body only a blob of lost hopes and dreams. The passers by all pass me by. Paying no heed to the pathetic stump that hinders their passage. No longer he reaching standard I once was. The goals once held by my once steady hand now lie in shambles around my feet. Shards of what good values used to permeate the world.

Wow. Another dark entry. This was one of those rough times. I had just joined the university ward and was feeling like no one really accepted me. I didn't feel welcome. So for a time I didn't go as frequently. That was a troublesome time that I eventually got over. Thank goodness.

Entry Six:

I Am... , 3-10-2006

Waylaid by the constant roadblocks shutting off every creative path my mind would take.
In a state of constant emotional distraction
In search of a purpose
In want of true love
Wishful
Frequently dissatisfied with my choices
Perpetually afraid of the smallest mistakes and blunders
Currently not paying attention to my Biology professor
Coming to grips with the fact that I am academically average
Unsure of my way
Feeling blindly for a purpose in my life
Lacking in courage
Subconsciously aware of my narrowness of mind
Struggling to untie the mass of knots that is my life
Firm in my beliefs but weakened by a certain young man who seems to have some unbreakable power over me
Still subconsciously attracted to this same young man
sorely missing my best friends
Hopelessly shy and closed in
Careless
Admittedly immature
Not who I appear to be
Weak
Paranoid
Selfish
Imperfect
A mess
Human
Myself
Able to Change
Sarah Bethany Lambson

I can't be sure but I think this one was written when I was reconsidering my major. That might have been a little later. I DO know that this was written a short time after a discussion on religion with the nameless young man mentioned in the poem. He did have this strange and horrible power over me. Oh, the years of unrequited love! But I really like that at the end I put that I am able to change. Even then I saw hope. I saw the light. I also find it interesting that I mention being in search of my "purpose" twice. I must have been really lost in the purpose department.

This particular poem has inspired me to write on similar to it about myself right now. each line is meant to go with the matching line in the poem above. Here I go.

I Am...circa 2011

Road-tripping down highways of creativity I have ignored for years
In a state of constant emotional boredom
Beginning to see my purpose
In want of a love that is real and mature
Encouraged
No longer letting my gaze linger behind me, but ahead of me
Aware of the consequences and learning from them
Owning up to the little blunders and working to avoid the big ones
Currently not doing work at the job that I work at
Understanding that being a genius isn't everything and experience is invaluable
Unsure of my way, but taking confident steps nonetheless
Removing the blindfold from my eyes
Embracing my fears
Broadening the lanes of my mind without compromising my beliefs
Working to knit new ties in my life
Firm in my belief and growing stronger every day
Learning how to let go
Sorely missing my new friends
No longer shy but still introverted
A procrastinator/time waster
Working on the whole maturity thing little by little
A whole different person once you get to know me better
Weak in some things and strong in others
Stubborn
Sometimes self indulging
Imperfect
Becoming a whole person
Human
Myself
Working to Change
Sarah Bethany Lambson

Happy day before Friday!

Entry Ninety

First: I would love if the two of you who read this blog would read the previous post. Tell me what you think. I like the idea so far, but I'm not sure how it will go.

Second: I found this journal that has a bunch of poetry I wrote in 2005 and 2006. It's all pretty dark. But I have been inspired by my creative sister Elise. I am going to share it. For better or for worse. Because at heart, I am a creative person. And I want to be what I had the potential to be in those years on angst. A good writer.

This one doesn't have a date on it like some of my "poetry" did. Not all of it is even really poetry. Just stuff that I wrote. I'm just going to start from the beginning of the journal and go from there.

First Entry:

I felt a chill which warmed my heart. A swift sharp breeze slipping through each strand of hair and touching my face so coldly. But sun and cloud together work. Strive to provide the simplest beauty which causes my eyes to shimmer with uncontrolled emotion. Chord after chord of springs sweet music. Held by the tangible smells in the air and lifted by the breeze which teases my heart and pulls along with it the promise of rain. A growing tension. An acceptance of change.

I think I wrote this while sitting at a picnic table at Proctor Park. I did this a lot in college because it was an escape from the pressures of classes and from the tragedy that was my unrequited love for a certain person who will remain nameless on this blog. This one isn't so dark. I had a couple rays of brightness, it seems.

Second Entry:

Tale of a Weary Traveler

Your weary shoes trudge ever on

Slowly, lowly creatures call

Though mount and river cross your path

Though crass be long and tree be tall

Continue with a valiant heart

Doubt not the trail ahead

For it may take you to a place

Where you may rest your head

O traveler, brave traveler

Come ease your mind a while

Fill your heart with courage

For the road goes many a mile

I admit that this was inspired by The Lord of the Rings. Heavily. But I still like it. All those traveling poems have a theme. To continue on until you reach your destination. Faltering not. A good theme that meshes well with the principles of the gospel.

Last one for now.

Entry Three:

I close my eyes and...for a moment all that is real is covered in a blanket of darkness, A peace fills my breast. But then truth is revealed. We. We cannot turn a blind eye to reality. We cannot wish away that which we want not to be. I close my eyes and all that brings pain and fear is gone...for a moment. But that is not desirable. For only when we see the truth can we take steps to improve it. My eyes snap open...darkness...

Yeah. This is one of the darker ones. I liked using ellipses then. Even though they didn't really make sense in their placement. My syntax could use a little work as well. But this is raw honest me. Back when I was angst-filled.

I hope you enjoyed. There will be more later.

Thank you, Elise, for the inspiration.