Crimson

Crimson, the Color of Peace
by Cal 

 When we hurt and we cry and the clear liquid tears cannot take away the pain.

The color of Crimson is inviting and it shows the life. When tears NO longer are enough, the color Crimson sometimes leaves a stain that shows the pain.

                     

                                         

Crimson, the color of blood

The slow drip, the next slash, the stream, and then the
smell.

Crimson, until it turns dark brown then black on the towel, on the chair, on the rug.

  

The puddle, and then the stain, grows as it seeps deeply into the material.

It's fascinating watching the life drip drip drip at first then spurt
then it flows steadily.

 

I care no more to stop it, it continues to drain the life force from
me and I feel faint.

I remember long ago when a bottle of crimson color wine made my head feel light and once or twice, or maybe a hundred times, it made the pain feel less,

 at least for a moment or an hour or a day. 

Once or twice or was it a thousand times it made the pain worse

and the razor............ more alluring.

  
I only want the nothingness now. The pain of it all is too much and
the color of crimson seems to fill my every sense. I feel the heart
pulsating crimson.

I feel the weakness, I smell the odor.

Crimson has it's own smell you know.

And I taste the crimson taste in my mouth as I lick my finger. I see the dark dark color of it all around.

I feel the life flowing out of me in a dark red hue. It has it's own feeling as my head lightens, and my thoughts dissolve. (I wonder if the last drop of life is a lighter shade of color, or is it still dark crimson?)

 I visualize a river of crimson.

I'm awake again now and the wounds cannot be seen.

The bandages cover them.

The white sheets feel soft to the touch and the sterile atmosphere of room makes me wonder where I am.

Underneath the bandages the woulds are no longer laid open. (Now the crimson has turned a boring pink as the gashes are sewn and the surrounding area is only a line with little dots of dark.)

Where am I? How did I get here?

She says I called to say good-bye
as the pain was too much but I don't remember. She says she was on
the phone with me when I passed out.

"Why? I asked, "did you call to save me? You knew of my pain, you knew of my ache."

"You called to say good-bye and I wasn't ready for you to leave me. I didn't want to go forward without you. I was selfish. I wanted you here with me to continue teaching and helping me to help myself."

"You loved me when others didn't. You believed in me when others didn't. You held the hope for me when I couldn't hold it for myself.

I want to do that for you now."

"But I don't want it back. I don't want the hope again only to have it stricken from me over and over. I cannot believe again as it hurts too much.

If it happens again, let me go. If I call, please say good-bye and simply hang up.

If it's selfish, I'm sorry, but the pain is too much. I cannot do enough to make the pain go away. I cannot heal enough not to feel the pain.

I want to go home where it's quiet
and tranquil and there is nothing. I want to leave this place for
it isn't a place for gentle spirits.

It has no hug coupons and I need those.

I cannot continue to fight, it's too much.

Please, let me go and plant a crimson rose

for me as my rainbow spirit flies away where a breeze blows and stars shine golden. Love me enough to let me go."

colorless no name..........

 Her name is Amber and I met her while working in the mental health field.

She was 22 when we met and she is the most incredibly beautiful young woman you can imagine.  She has the natural beauty that isn't found every day and she is totally unaware of it.

We became really close and I must admit I loved mothering her.  She loved it as well and we had fun once a week for 2 months.

I have to share this although I'm not sure why..... 

hee hee.......... maybe just a woman thingy, eh? 

When I arrived to Amber's apartment that first day, her hair was beautifully blonde and I was sure it was her natural color.  The next week, when I got there, her hair was black...... and whatever the reason for sharing this, THIS YOUNG WOMAN looked natural in both extremely different colors????????  (Now, go figure, I thought because of a person's skin tone that this was impossilbe........ but found that not to be so.) 

..........back on topic

Amber had joined the Army reserves a year and a half before our meeting as the economy was very bad and she had trouble finding a job and keeping an apartment. 

Amber had a daughter when she was very young and in order to join the reserves, Amber had to sign away her rights as a mother.  (I didn't know whether or not to believe that but after researching it after our last visit, I found it is very prevalent in today's world that young people do this.)  Don't get me wrong, I didn't think Amber would lie to me but I just thought it outrageous that it was a requirement. 

Amber shared that she was fine with the adoption of her daughter as the couple lived in Scottsdale AZ and could give her a wonderful life.

I noticed on my first visit that Amber had tattoos and I inquired about them.  She teared up and shared that she felt compelled to tattoo her young daughter's name every chance she got.  She had many tats with her daughter's name and one or two others, if I remember correctly, one was a rose. 

On my second visit Amber had on a pair of shorts.  There again was a tattoo of her daughter on her leg...........  Amber shared that her money had run out for tattoos and she felt compelled to carve her daughter's name into her leg.  (The really frightening part was that the baby's name was totally legible and very large.)

I had an extra journal in my car and I gave it to Amber.  Little did I know that she would decorate it so beautifully by the next visit.  It had wonderful photos of Amber and her daughter.  (I was stunned as the journal looked truly as if a professional had done it.)  The photos of her daughter and Amber made me totally sad as her child looked like a clone of Amber.  

I bought her some pens, glitter and glue and gave her another journal before we finished our sessions.  She made some incredible books and she was a genius at crafts.

Amber had been sent to me as a peer as she had been hospitilized in a coma from ODing.  She had done terrible damage to her organs and was not expected to live.  Upon coming out of the coma, she overheard her mother ask her doctor why he had revived Amber. 

I wrote this poem before meeting with Amber but felt it appropriate to dedicate it to her now. 

Oh, and BTW, before ODing, Amber had been discharged from the reserves after boot camp with a medical discharge........  she shared with me some of her experiences at boot camp and if I can bear to write about them at a later date, I'll try and share some of those with you all. 

When I hear all the horrible stories now that women in the reserves have had to endure I know they are true.