The stress that is enveloping me is the fear of not knowing when these stress attackers will come to visit me again. They can surprise you at any moment - uninvited guests that have no boundaries and have unlimited brazenness. Their name is widespread amongst those who have been stricken in the past by this enemy, a gang known as'The Stressors.' They usually attack without any warning and take no heed of your pleadings to "go away, not now." They are a powerful gang and have complete control over their victims. They barge in unannounced and spread paralyzing fear to those who are most susceptible to their war- like attacks. They can break the strongest of men and take no heed of your status in life - whether you're rich or poor, strong or weak, young or old, male or female, college-educated, or a high school dropout. They can visit you for several seconds, countless hours, or remain for years and years. The damage they impart can be temporary or permanent.

You may receive some subtle warning that they are on their way to get you. Your breathing accelerates, your palms feel moist and you try to utilize resources that have helped you in the past. Some people have the strength and the luck to be successful and the enemy is forced to go into hiding/remission. But others, like me, have failed in the past and know that this time, 'The Stressors,' will win this war and that I will be powerless to confront or stop them. The full-fledged panic attack begins. My heart rate increases and rapidly goes out of control. I have tried counting the beats of my heart but I become so stressed out that I cannot concentrate and am unable to count past one hundred. Next, they climb into my chest and turn the volume of my beating heart up so loud that I can't hear myself think. Can you hear it from across the room?

The gang makes my now fragile heart pound so strongly that it pushes against the fabric of my shirt and I am positive that at any second it will rip apart, exposing my bare skin to the chilliness that has suddenly swept through the room and that all eyes will be upon me. I am now so cold that I can't stop shaking; my knees are knocking together and my teeth are chattering. What magic have they used to make my palms so wet? Palms so slicked with sweat that the papers I was holding have disintegrated into a messy mass of pulp. My limbs start to quiver and I am afraid that I will fall down and you will laugh at me.

The worst is the breathlessness - I know I am dying, but if I call 911 again they will most likely bring that psychologist in to talk with me and pretend that I am not nuts, but only need 'to rest a bit' in that brick structure down the road. My stomach is wound up so tight that it feels like a spring that is ready to release itself and tear my insides apart. I wrap my arms around myself and try not to cry. I feel a little sense of relief when I realize that my mouth is so dry that I couldn't cry or speak a word if I wanted to. My teeth ache from clenching them so tightly together and my nails have dug into my palms and have caused drops of blood to fall. Help! Am I going to bleed to death?

This mess of stress is trying to control my life and the nasty gang of Stressors is attacking me more frequently. I've spoken to doctors and have taken their pills. I've attended those 'mindfulness' and 'meditation' classes and have read hundreds of self-help books. I've tried so many breathing techniques that I've lost my breath. Nothing has worked to beat this relentless gang.

I want to go online and look up 'Stress-Busters' but I get so stressed that I might tap the wrong key that I can't make myself do it. But, I will somehow find the strength to click on the 'send' button and send this to you. Please let me know if you receive this - if not, I will be awake all night, wondering if you received this.

Thank You.

Hilary's hopes were suspended above her keyboard, ready to take on any challenge she chose to place on the blank screen above it. Her head was choked with thoughts, saturated like a sponge, overflowing with unwritten words. Her mind was drowning in a sea of letters that she couldn't unscramble fast enough to form into coherent sentences; sentences that were impatiently waiting for Hilary to create. The computer monitor in front of her was staring at her, demanding that she wait no longer to display her unspoken creations on its empty surface.

Hilary had been at the mall yesterday and had stood before a window display at a popular bookstore. Stacks of books from the 'New York Times Best Sellers List' crowded the space and were doing their best to stay upright. Notices of upcoming events, where 'you could get a signed copy' were randomly taped to the window. Hilary had been disappointed to discover that the authors' main purpose in choosing the title for his or her book was one that would attract the most customers in order to make the most profit - books about: 'How To Succeed In The Business World', Secrets From an Ex-Government Official', 'Hidden Affair of Local celebrity Exposed', 'How To Improve Your Sex Life'. Readers were waiting for the next bestseller to be published so they could have something to talk about with their friends and their colleagues over the dinner table; something to be displayed on their glass-topped coffee tables.

Whatever happened to the great American novel? Whatever happened to novelists like Faulkner, Steinbeck, Galsworthy? Lee Harper, Charles Dickens, or Joseph Conrad? Authors who wrote with such passion and in such intricate detail that you believed you had just passed one of their characters on the street, or perhaps he was a neighbor who lived at the end of the road you lived on. Perhaps you entered a building or someone's home for the first time and you knew what you would find further down the hall because you had previously visited it as a guest of the author.

The screen before her remained empty. And to think for a minute that she was capable of writing the world's, or at the least, the next great American novel! Well, that was just crazy, right? That was just hilarious. Hilary began to laugh uncontrollably, and then she began to cry.

Burnie was born in the depths of hell

Inside a fire pit that he knew quite well

His buddies were devils, evil and mad

Their boss was called Satin, a demon and bad.

The boy was immune from the heat and the fumes

Surrounded by smoke and sizzling hot dunes.

Flames were his neighbors, fire his friend

A place stained with ashes from end to end.

He was charged with keeping the fires lit

By tossing in bodies that hissed and spit.

He was hypnotized by the red hot flames

And the corpses that no longer had a name.

The sinners kept coming, no end in sight

They grew in numbers, morning and night.

Burnie was a hero, 'cuz the world was now cleansed

By the fires that forever, he was charged to attend.

Working on the pipeline

Having such a great time

All work and no play

Never know the time of day.

Toiling seven days a week

Never finding time to sleep

Work in mud up to our necks

Have no time to cash our checks.

Sleep in beds that aren’t our own

We’re so far away from home

Hungry, cold, hot, and wet

How much harder can it get?

Back at home, our lovers wait

Separated from their mates

Wonder how it would feel

To have a real home-cooked meal.

Feet are sore, muscles ache

Please God, when’s our break?

Dirt and dust and insect bites

What’s that sound?...it’s dynamite!

Welder’s torches shooting flames

Connecting pipes with perfect aim

Backhoes move the earth around

Digging trenches in the ground.

Laborer’s shovels lifting dirt

How much more can this body hurt

My fellow workers help me through

What we wouldn’t do for one cold brew.

Pride and strength and pain and time

Goes into the making of a pipeline.

They tell me that I’m crazy

That I’m ’losing it,' that I lost my marbles

But I know that isn’t true

They are in a jar on my bookcase

In my room, at home.

I’ve always been afraid

Of not remembering

Names, memories, and places where I have been

Or going to; or where I am right now.

Where did my dreams go? My hopes?

I’m afraid to go outside

Afraid that a raindrop might wash me away

That the wind will set me adrift

And any ideas that may exist in my consciousness

Will be purged from me.

I am no longer able to differentiate

Between moonlight and sunlight

Clouds appear as ghosts that haunt my saneness

I tremble when I see the stars

Believing that they are eyes in the sky.

Buried in my grey fissures

Thoughts are spinning, swirling, meandering

Winding through gates of scattered concepts

Burying paths that lead to awareness.

Fragments of memories are wispy

They grab at me but do not linger

Ideas go dormant

Erased as quick as a breath.

Lapses in memories are my companions

That I cannot escape from.

I am a victim of memory loss

One who lingers in a limbo of forgetfulness

Trapped in a mind without any direction

Whirling around like a pinwheel

In gale-force winds.

Dear Reader,

Will you help me find my lost mind?

For if it is found

I won’t be crazy anymore.

Please?

His look was nondescript and if one viewed him up close, you’d be hard pressed to give a verbal account to describe his complexion by any known crayon or paint color or any shade in between - he appeared colorless. His face was expressionless as he stepped off the cracked curb at the corner of an intersection. At first he was unaware that the roaring truck, which had appeared out of nowhere, had brushed against his rumbled and indistinct clothing.

“Hey, you God-damned fool, watch where you’re going,” the driver of the truck yelled as he sped away. A lack of conscience prevented him from caring whether or not the ‘God-damned fool’ was injured or not.

Mumbling to no one in particular, the old man picked himself up from the deserted street and heard words coming out of his mouth that he had no control over. “Well, I ain’t no damn fool so I must be God.” A still noise filled his head and in his peripheral vision he observed a black hole that sucked the world down into it in less than a millisecond. There was no ground beneath him and he was puzzled by the fact that he was still standing; the world must have ended and he determined that he was most likely dead. Several yards away he noticed an old church (must be a vision) and next found himself enveloped within its illusionary walls. He stumbled into the nearest pew and picked up a bible, only to find that its pages were blank. He heard a voice above him and knew he was suffering from shock and auditory hallucinations as he heard (or thought he heard) the voice of God. “You have been chosen to rewrite the creation of the world. I’ll lend you a pen and you can use the blank pages of that old bible there to write it down. You only have seven days so don’t waste any time.” The former God vanished.

“So, now I am the new God and can create anything I want,” he said out loud. But, he had a major problem. He couldn’t write and could barely read. But then he realized that since he was God there was no need for those skills. He could dream up anything he wanted and all of his dreams would come true.

He fell into a deep sleep and immediately began to dream. He dreamed of his baby’s first smile; of playing in snow drifts amid whirlpools of falling snow; of listening to the laughter and songs of the wind that only birds could hear and understand; of looking at the poor and the rich and the beautiful and not-so-beautiful and believing that they were all the same. He dreamed of the filtering sun hiding amongst leaves and of stillborn grass; of places where wealth is measured by the melody of a songbird whose gentle tune asks us to respect the earth; of stars that beckon one to the woods where you could plant the seeds of hope where children and generations to follow would have a place to play; of days at the seashore where one could find peace and harmony from the tides of life that tempt to create storms within one’s soul. (page 1.)

COSMIC ASHES

Yesterday I was dead and today I’m alive. My ashes were trapped, locked within an earthly urn, unable to escape the walls of fear and despair of my confinement; unable to escape the phantoms of my past lives. But when I awoke this morning, some omnipotent power from the soul of my ashes had freed me from those confining walls and now I am free. So, what next?

I now find that the wind is carrying my ashes through skies of freedom that blow over land and sea, traveling to lands that are both known and unknown to the minds of man. Perhaps my ashes will land on the wings of an eagle and I will spend my rebirth as a wanderlust. As a time traveler, I will be resurrected again and again on the whispers of the wind, and seeds of repeated conceptions will take flight and be beholden only to the winds of time.

Past reincarnations can now be born again since my ashes are no longer hidden from sunlight and breezes and the songs of the birds. My spirit is now free and is liberated from the forces that constrain the physical presence of the human body and its spirit on earth.

I am now released from my tomb of imprisonment. My journey through the terrestrial world has ended and the winds have dispersed my cremated remains to the ashes of time.

Dear Mom,

Me and my brother are writing this letter because we are desperate. We love you so much and this is why we are risking your anger and hate towards us for writing this letter to you. We are hoping that this letter will make you look at yourself and change your behavior before it is too late. We know you are hurting inside but we are just little children and we just can’t take it anymore. We feel like we are going crazy and that we are the ones to be blamed for everything. We are under so much stress and you make us feel guilty. But we did not do anything to deserve this. You tell us you hate us and to get out of the house and to go live with our father. That you are moving away and leaving us. That everything is our fault and not yours. But you are the parent. Whenever we are with you, you just sleep. You don’t feed us and lately, you don’t even wash our clothes. I have been doing the laundry and trying my best. My brother hides in his room and doesn’t eat and you make us feel we are in the way and the cause of all of your problems. He is falling apart and you don’t even care. All you do is yell and swear and scream at us. The house smells and is a mess. We can’t have any friends over because the house is so dirty and there is so much stuff all around that we can’t walk without stepping on something.

You sleep and sleep all day and make us feel we are worthless and unwanted. You pick us up from school and then go back to bed. There are empty wine bottles all over the house. Other families laugh and eat meals together. We haven’t sat down at our table for a meal together or been happy for five years. During the divorce, instead of spending time with us, all you did was to sit in front of your computer all day doing ‘divorce’ things and blamed us for the divorce. All you do is complain about money and we cannot enjoy anything because we feel so guilty. You told us that our aunt and cousin said, “I was just like my father,” over and over again. This hurt me so badly until I spoke with my grandmother and she told me that it wasn’t true. All of our memories are sad and bad. All of our childhood has been stolen from us - we didn’t have one like other kids. Ours has been full of stress and worry. That is all we do - worry all of the time. We can’t do our school work because we always have so much on our minds. Even our dog has been sad. You act like you hate us but Grammy says you don’t hate us - that you hate yourself and that is one reason why you act like you do. One moment you are nice to us and then the next moment you treat us like you hate us - this is what gets us so mixed us. We are not crazy - we didn’t do anything to deserve this and it is not our fault. You tell us we are bad and that it is our fault for all the bad things happening. We can’t go on like this, we can’t take it anymore. You don’t care for us, you only care about yourself. You only think about how you feel and never think about how we feel. You don’t care that we are hurting or about our schoolwork or about how we feel. When you go into one of your rages we are so afraid and terrified and want to run away - it scares us so much; your eyes get so full of hate that we get so scared of what you might do to us. When we were little we would cover our heads with pillows but that doesn’t work anymore. You always want us to agree with you and if we don’t you get mad at us. My brother wouldn’t need pills if he didn’t get so worried and depressed and scared and living in all of this mess - he has given up on hope or having a normal or happy life because of all of the bad things that are happening around him. You make fun of us and never ‘listen’ to what we’re saying. You have no clue as to what we are feeling. Every morning before school it is so stressful and we are afraid when we wake up that we will be late for school again because you run around like a mad person and all we remember when we run in the door of the school is your yelling and swearing at us and telling us that it is our fault that ‘we are running late’. Then our day is already ruined and instead of concentrating on our school work all we can do is remember your angry face and your screams. We are so afraid when we see you sleeping on the couch all day with those empty bottles on the floor, that you will die. When we are at school we worry that you won’t pick us up and that you have died. It takes us so long to wake you up every morning and we lay in bed the night before thinking that tomorrow morning we won’t be able to wake you up. If you loved us you would stop drinking. You are never happy so we are never happy. We don’t want all of those gifts you get us for Christmas or on our birthdays. The only gift we want is for you to change and to get better. You think we want to live with our dad because he has a nice house. That is not true. We would be happy with you if we lived in a shack as long as it was neat and maybe, just maybe, for once we could come home and have a snack and a meal ready for us and we could all sit together and laugh together and not be afraid that the next minute you would start screaming and yelling at us and tell us to get out of the house. We don’t feel safe anymore and are so afraid when you go into one of your rages.

So, mom, please don’t drink anymore and please take care of yourself. We just can’t take it anymore. You make us feel that we are a burden to you and that you want to get rid of us. We are so afraid when your blood sugar is low and the ambulance has to come. Other people have diabetes but they take care of themselves - you don’t - you eat too much candy. We are so afraid you will die. If you loved us you would take care of your diabetes. What will happen to us if you die? We want to stop feeling so sad and scared and not cry all of the time.

The worst is the unknown - not knowing what your mood is going to be or how you are going to treat us from one moment to the next - that is why we are nervous all of the time. We deserve to be loved and we did not do anything to make you feel this way about us. I can’t take it anymore how you yell and scream and the times you kicked my little brother out of the house. It breaks my heart so much.

We love you but we don’t think our hearts can stand to be broken one more time. Please love us and get better. We miss how you used to smile and laugh and love us. We want to believe that we are worthy of your love. The only way we will know that you love us is for you to take care of yourself. So, please, please, change right now.

Your sons.

Dear Mom,

Me and my brother are writing this letter because we are desperate. We love you so much and this is why we are risking your anger and hate towards us for writing this letter to you. We are hoping that this letter will make you look at yourself and change your behavior before it is too late. We know you are hurting inside but we are just little children and we just can’t take it anymore. We feel like we are going crazy and that we are the ones to be blamed for everything. We are under so much stress and you make us feel guilty. But we did not do anything to deserve this. You tell us you hate us and to get out of the house and to go live with our father. That you are moving away and leaving us. That everything is our fault and not yours. But you are the parent. Whenever we are with you, you just sleep. You don’t feed us and lately, you don’t even wash our clothes. I have been doing the laundry and trying my best. My brother hides in his room and doesn’t eat and you make us feel we are in the way and the cause of all of your problems. He is falling apart and you don’t even care. All you do is yell and swear and scream at us. The house smells and is a mess. We can’t have any friends over because the house is so dirty and there is so much stuff all around that we can’t walk without stepping on something.

You sleep and sleep all day and make us feel we are worthless and unwanted. You pick us up from school and then go back to bed. There are empty wine bottles all over the house. Other families laugh and eat meals together. We haven’t sat down at our table for a meal together or been happy for five years. During the divorce, instead of spending time with us, all you did was to sit in front of your computer all day doing ‘divorce’ things and blamed us for the divorce. All you do is complain about money and we cannot enjoy anything because we feel so guilty. You told us that our aunt and cousin said, “I was just like my father,” over and over again. This hurt me so badly until I spoke with my grandmother and she told me that it wasn’t true. All of our memories are sad and bad. All of our childhood has been stolen from us - we didn’t have one like other kids. Ours has been full of stress and worry. That is all we do - worry all of the time. We can’t do our school work because we always have so much on our minds. Even our dog has been sad. You act like you hate us but Grammy says you don’t hate us - that you hate yourself and that is one reason why you act like you do. One moment you are nice to us and then the next moment you treat us like you hate us - this is what gets us so mixed us. We are not crazy - we didn’t do anything to deserve this and it is not our fault. You tell us we are bad and that it is our fault for all the bad things happening. We can’t go on like this, we can’t take it anymore. You don’t care for us, you only care about yourself. You only think about how you feel and never think about how we feel. You don’t care that we are hurting or about our schoolwork or about how we feel. When you go into one of your rages we are so afraid and terrified and want to run away - it scares us so much; your eyes get so full of hate that we get so scared of what you might do to us. When we were little we would cover our heads with pillows but that doesn’t work anymore. You always want us to agree with you and if we don’t you get mad at us. My brother wouldn’t need pills if he didn’t get so worried and depressed and scared and living in all of this mess - he has given up on hope or having a normal or happy life because of all of the bad things that are happening around him. You make fun of us and never ‘listen’ to what we’re saying. You have no clue as to what we are feeling. Every morning before school it is so stressful and we are afraid when we wake up that we will be late for school again because you run around like a mad person and all we remember when we run in the door of the school is your yelling and swearing at us and telling us that it is our fault that ‘we are running late’. Then our day is already ruined and instead of concentrating on our school work all we can do is remember your angry face and your screams. We are so afraid when we see you sleeping on the couch all day with those empty bottles on the floor, that you will die. When we are at school we worry that you won’t pick us up and that you have died. It takes us so long to wake you up every morning and we lay in bed the night before thinking that tomorrow morning we won’t be able to wake you up. If you loved us you would stop drinking. You are never happy so we are never happy. We don’t want all of those gifts you get us for Christmas or on our birthdays. The only gift we want is for you to change and to get better. You think we want to live with our dad because he has a nice house. That is not true. We would be happy with you if we lived in a shack as long as it was neat and maybe, just maybe, for once we could come home and have a snack and a meal ready for us and we could all sit together and laugh together and not be afraid that the next minute you would start screaming and yelling at us and tell us to get out of the house. We don’t feel safe anymore and are so afraid when you go into one of your rages.

So, mom, please don’t drink anymore and please take care of yourself. We just can’t take it anymore. You make us feel that we are a burden to you and that you want to get rid of us. We are so afraid when your blood sugar is low and the ambulance has to come. Other people have diabetes but they take care of themselves - you don’t - you eat too much candy. We are so afraid you will die. If you loved us you would take care of your diabetes. What will happen to us if you die? We want to stop feeling so sad and scared and not cry all of the time.

The worst is the unknown - not knowing what your mood is going to be or how you are going to treat us from one moment to the next - that is why we are nervous all of the time. We deserve to be loved and we did not do anything to make you feel this way about us. I can’t take it anymore how you yell and scream and the times you kicked my little brother out of the house. It breaks my heart so much.

We love you but we don’t think our hearts can stand to be broken one more time. Please love us and get better. We miss how you used to smile and laugh and love us. We want to believe that we are worthy of your love. The only way we will know that you love us is for you to take care of yourself. So, please, please, change right now.

Your sons.

I’m stuck inside for fourteen days

Isolated from love, from sunshine’s rays

Removed from my job without any pay

I watch from my window a lone bluejay.

The virus had caught me and trapped me inside

Alone with a fantasy that has crept into my mind

On this Valentine’s Day when I’ll be left behind

From flowers and candy and all mankind.

My fantasy for this Valentine's Day

Is that we all self-quarrantine so Covid will go away

Maybe take the hint and decide not to stay

Won't find a host to kill and betray.

It would show the virus that love can't be beat

And that will be the Covid's defeat

Roses are red, violets are blue, and sugar is sweet

But you, Covid - time to take a back seat!