White Wings and Things #StolenMoments #Poetry

From time to time you’ll see Stolen Moments show up on the blog. Words forgotten and misplaced, poetry, anticipatory memories, prose, joy and sorrow, pensive emotion, random and not so random thoughts scribbled in tattered notebooks. To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time. I’m a writer trying recapture on paper how it feels to be alive. White Wings and Things  Happy Birthday to Me March

Liquid Angst ~ Jacqueline Cioffa #StolenMoments #Poetry

Liquid Angst By Jacqueline Cioffa Jan. 2005 You are the one Constant My forever Miami man My moon, my sun, my tsunami Amongst devastating destruction you are the storm in my soul My liquid angst But at least I love you To know that I really love you Quietly with a certain steadfastness 20 years full and counting That’s really something …hold up, that ain’t right the year is 2015  the

Purple Felt Tip Pens and Mystic Winds #StolenMoments

From time to time you’ll see Stolen Moments show up on the blog. Words forgotten and misplaced, poetry, anticipatory memories, prose, joy and sorrow, pensive emotion, random and not so random thoughts scribbled in tattered notebooks. To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time. I’m a writer trying recapture on paper how it feels to be alive. Purple Felt Tip Pens and Mystic Winds Jacqueline Cioffa

Training Wheels and Little Blond Curls #StolenMoments

From time to time you’ll see Stolen Moments show up on the blog. Words forgotten and misplaced, poetry, anticipatory memories, prose, joy and sorrow, pensive emotion, random and not so random thoughts scribbled in tattered notebooks. To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time. I’m a writer trying recapture on paper how it feels to be alive. Training Wheels and Little Blond Curls Jacqueline Cioffa 1998

Don’t quit five minutes before the miracle.

I’m tired. Wiped, discouraged, caput, worn down, exhausted. I am not winning this mammoth battle with the mind. I can no longer distinguish between mania and anxiety, thoughts race ahead anyway without definition. Oxygen depleted and unrelenting physical pain does not let up. No, no, no, no way. There’s no way I can keep up with this living thing. I am not strong enough. Am I? Just when I think I have used and abused

"To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time." 'funny girl'

From time to time you’ll see Stolen Moments show up on the blog. Words forgotten and misplaced, poetry, anticipatory memories, prose, joy and sorrow, pensive emotion, random and not so random thoughts scribbled in tattered notebooks. To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time. I’m a writer trying recapture on paper how it feels to be alive. funny girl by Jacqueline Cioffa Dec. 2006 I would like to

"This first Friday in June, all I know is I am doing my best. My very damnedest. And it looks like this…"

I felt like this today. You don’t need to hear about the numbness, excruciating pain, overwhelming anxiety, residual anxiety, paranoia, dizziness  or that I prayed to whomever was listening to just end it. Fucking end the ridiculous, relentless, ad nauseam, non-sensical hours that consume my days. Frankly it’s wearing me down, ripping me to shreds and fucking exhausting fighting invisible monsters. Yes, I know I’m sick. Yes, I understand tapering off benzos is

I am somebody’s child, you know. Jacqueline Cioffa #mentalillness  

I never cared much about looking back when I was young. I could not wait to leave this house, this town get out and experience stuff. You know the obstinate dreamer looking for bold adventure. It worked. I ran. I ran fast and far, and kept running. That’s the funny thing about developing a serious illness, you are forced to re-prioritize. Becoming insane in the middle of Manhattan did not bode well for me