Side Effects

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Growing up I’d always thought that when you have a health problem, you go see the Dr. and they fix it……right? But I went to the Dr. and I took whatever medicines he wanted me to. Hell, I was taking upwards of ten to fifteen medications a day. I even went to therapy when I was uncomfortable talking about it. I TRIED to find a hobby, or keep myself busy. I did all the things the Dr.s want you to do in these situations. I got a psychiatrist. AND, not to mention, some of those people were a little kookier than I was at the time. But am I the problem as my mind tells me I am. Or am I a side effect among the problems we live with everyday, and it has nothing to do with medication?

“Well, I also have been drinking quite a bit and that’s not good,” I tell her. “Stop!” The Psychologist abruptly exclaims and literally puts her hand in the air and shoves it my way. “My specialty isn’t in drinking, so I’m not comfortable talking about that.” But the sign just said “Psychologist,” so I don’t get it. I just needed an ear to listen to me rant so I’d hopefully not take it out on my friends. “That’s just not a subject I’m ok with.” Ok lady, I just need you to therapitize me, alrighty? I think to myself. Her salt and pepper hair was so frizzy and she’d spit when she talked, it was gross. And, you can imagine what came out of her mouth when she was all amped up. It was like a loogie shot out. So far, I’ve been to five counselors, or therapists and have a psychiatrist as well. My psychiatrist is amazing but I’m having a terrible time finding a therapist. None of them talk. And the one that does, wants me to come to a sleepover where her office is for an entire weekend, with four other people and pay her $2,000 dollars to do it. She would talk nonstop about the husband she’d lost to cancer, which yes, is terrible, but I was paying to listen to her problems in the session and I really needed help. All of the sudden I was the counselor and just wanted to be the counselee. She even got upset with me when I left her, begged me to stay and then flipped it and got angry with me. She wore an orange tiger looking fur coat with tennis shoes, it was all just too weird. I didn’t realize how many of them would just sit and write notes and never talk except to say “mmm-hmmm.” And I know that’s part of the practice but I also know they’re there to give guidance as well. I’d feel stupid after awhile because with a few of them you could tell they weren’t even listening. They just knew when to nod and utter those, “mm-hmms,” to keep me going and get to their paycheck. The one positive however, was that I’d have a little time to think about the things I was saying and give myself a little advice about them. So I kind of got to counsel myself. It’s weird how you feel a certain way and you can’t quite figure it out until you really put it out there. All of the sudden new bells turn on and you have just a little more spark of a hope you’ve been missing.

Speaking of paycheck’s, that’s another thing I’m noticing slipping. I’m a really hard worker, like, I bust my ass when I’m on the clock. And lately, I just don’t see the point in it anymore. I can’t see the point in anything. It’s not that I’m looking for a reason to slack off either, I just feel like the world’s constantly in robot mode, working 9-5 and it’s the same thing everyday. How old. I remember one of my bosses coming up to me and saying, “Well, there’s my hard little worker, I don’t even know where the rest of the staff is.” Well, they were all hanging out on a bench chatting about what they’d done that weekend. I thought,”What the hell is this? He’s not even going to tell them to get back to work and I’m standing here sweating and cleaning, why do I take this so seriously? I’m feeling a constant disappointment all of the time. Maybe I really am just this side-effect of life where the world is the problem and there is no cure. We work a long day just so we can be too tired at home to give a damn. Go to college to fulfill our passion into a career only to have it wiped away because the hours only get longer and the pay is never enough. Our passion then turns into resentment and nobody gets along anymore. I wonder why we put so much energy into the things we’re “supposed” to do, like work, but then the reality of our lives come home and we’re too burnt out to be a part of it. Every day it’s the same thing, in and out, over and over. I just don’t understand. I’m feeling more and more like I don’t belong here because it feels like I’m the only one who doesn’t get it to this kind of Nth degree. Then, when I finally do figure things out, It feels like a disappointing answer and I’m so tired of disappointments. So tired of thinking “this is it.” This is what I’ve come to be, have to be and have to accept for the rest of my life. But I’ve tried accepting it before. I guess that was just another side effect.

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Angels and Devils

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Demons and devils plague the earth of a still heart in an angel slowly breathing. She waits as they walk around her, so tempestuous in their marks as they stand still now, eyeing her to be a part of it all. A devil unbeknownst to them, the angel sits in patience waiting for the demons to walk on by. She flirts with the one she cannot see just like she flirts with life and death. Hoping to make a friend in this rampant world she loathes but still must conquer.
I try to walk along in everyday as it may possibly be my last, but also may possibly be the first of my many, that I begin a new life. Where will I turn? I try to let fate decide as I cannot see beyond the devils throne.
Tempers flare as the angel tries to mark her territory amongst the demons hell they’ve happily created. Fires lit and flames held true, tonight is a battle for an angel inside the walls of death. Who will ring true? is the question for an angel impatient ready to squash the demonic road.

Fighting

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There was so much fighting in that house it was a lot to take. And then I’d start to notice patterns of the way my parents would talk about their parents and it was the first sign of the cycle beginning. And I could never figure out what it was over. It would just start and explode with stones at the glass house and no one realized it. But my brother and I were called unfortunate names and at least for me, I took them with me until a couple of years ago when I finally somehow let it go. I knew I resented them growing up for certain things. Like, she shouldn’t have come to me to ask whether or not I felt they should get a divorce. Huh? That’s your question? Shit. “I don’t know,” I told her. That’s not between my mom and dad, that’s between your husband and you. But I could never get that question out of my mind. What DO I think? The fighting really had gotten that bad. There was always name calling to each other and to my brother and I. “How could you be SO stupid?” was one. “You’re helpless,” and “hopeless,” another. It was to the point that I was convinced I was stupid. Then when I was in high school both of them told me they had something to tell me when I got older. I had a feeling I knew what it was but it wasn’t my place yet. And it shouldn’t have been my place to choose who I was going to live with. They shouldn’t have declared divorce on my birthday. It got to the point where on one hand things were a great time, in a great family. And there were times where I felt like I was around the drill sergeant. I always knew when to talk and when to shut the hell up. Suddenly, I became my mother’s shoulder to cry on. It was a time I was so thankful to have my brother, though. Then, right as the depression was hitting, him and I got close but then pulled apart. The apart world, is where we’ve been ever since. Sometimes you don’t realize how much you miss someone until you realize you need the chance you once had to miss them in the first place. But I just want to scream that I’m not myself. To wait for me and when I come back you’ll see how different I can be when I’m normal again. I’m always impulsive, I’m sleepy and I think things that are harsher than what they should be. There’s things about depression that doesn’t go in a handbook. No one talks about the fact that you’re so lost that even when you have everything, it can feel like nothing. And my nothing has become my everything.

Weight for It

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I’ve never had good self-confidence. Growing up I was always looked at as a little chubbier and was the tomboy, so I was always with the guys as well. Personally, I feel like I grew up like an ugly swan who simply came into her one at a certain point and now has lost that again. I mean, I had to have braces twice, luckily the headgear was at night, and was always watching my best girlfriends getting the boys attention, which I was fine with to a certain extent, but wasn’t overweight when some of the guys at school definitely noticed me more when I worked my ass off and lost 25lbs that was too much to lose. And I was too young at this point to realize that a lot of what your parent shows you, they endured as a child and a lot of what you endure, you may give off when you are a parent. Being asked to lose weight when you’re 11 and 12 years old can be confusing for the one being asked. I was too young to think about my weight then, even though I did anyways. But hearing that confirmed my idea that I must be ugly and I all of the sudden felt morbidly obese instead of with a few extra pounds. And later I’d come to realize how much pressure my mom’s mom put on her as a kid and how life really does come full circle. When I became 16 I grew tired of having extra weight so I decided to work out on top of my swim workout and looking back I see how unhealthy I was becoming. Weighing myself at least three times a day, if I were a pound up that day then I’d drink a ton of water to try and get it off. I felt like I was allergic to myself all of the sudden. But one guy made a comment that I was cute because I was losing weight and that was enough for me. So I put up with the allergies. Then one night I ate pie and regretted it so much I tried to get sick. It never happened but, the binge eating was there all the same and I didn’t see it like that at the time. Being a kid is hard enough, and I know everyone says that but it’s so true. If you start out your worst enemy it’s such a long tough walk over the bridge to being happy with what’s inside. Actually, that’s such a crock! Being happy with what’s inside, is huge but you really need acceptance of the whole self and that can be a lengthy process of understanding. Even as a little girl I was never happy with myself and just wanted to make everyone else feel good.

Watermark

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Running so I can tow the line,

always to say, “Hey I’m doing fine.”

It’s when you walk on by that water’s tide,

my only moment not to run and to hide,

away.

From all of the things I hoard inside,

with depression before me,

the loneliest guide.

But all to well,

it was you who’d tell,

that within water’s surfaces,

that air you couldn’t smell,

duplicitly found for all to tell.

Within I who ye shall find,

once alone and not in the right mind.

Today is all that I have,

all the walking with a talk so sad.

I am and always will be

the fighter inside of a queen little b,

and when you see and I go blind,

always remember to pay me some mind.

In the thoughts from a brain unkind

you hold healthy and true in this thing called time.

Morbidity and death was all that I knew,

It’s my dream only now it’s coming true,

a pain if only you knew,

and all I want to say is I Love You.

Walking Barefoot

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They say there’s a devil inside of you. A devil inside to hide the night away, and to get away with murder is the devil we seek to know. To understand all that is I, I need to understand the demon before me. Is it just my inside voice, am I going crazy, or is crazy all of the things inside of me and my normalcy has been triumphantly strong but ready to break all the same? Like a vase, I shatter of glass. All of these pieces needing to be put back together but by one so unbalanced. I can’t seem to stop it’s fearful shaking hands to superglue me whole again. I seem strong, but I am so torn.  So ready to break, so already broken and such a frail heart covered by the least amount of hope one could have. We walk around each day forcing ourselves to smile at each other but no one knows the truth of anything our steps make. So we keep walking only to hope again the next person we cross might give the necessary pleasantries. You look at my picture, I smile, and you can’t see what I see. Until you really look inside of the soul no one knows but the heart steadily gives away, will you see truth. Will you see it? Will it scare you? Does it already make you uncomfortable? My eyes that stare at you filled with the demon holding true. But I always used to be the happy one, how do I live within a shell of a shell of a shell of a shell of life. I ask myself, “Who am I supposed to tell about this?” Do I keep it as my secret? But I can’t. I don’t like lying and feel like I’m a walking liar to all truths people want to see in me. Also a walking failure….oh, wait there it is. My demon introduces itself. Do we all have one? I, to this day have no idea. Mine is incessant. Nonstop talking while every time I try and shut it up, it’s just egging it on to keep going. It makes me contemplate the worst of the worst. If I am the worst, then I should either live in the worst way, or go in the worst way. As long as I can find away to make it be the worst then I can have the authority to call it home. Then, I am allowed to be. Just let me be, that’s all I want. But that’s not good enough for the demon that breaks me. Nothing will be good enough to stop it. No place will ever be good enough. I, will never be good enough. Unless it is to shatter, then when something pierces my heart like glass will life seem fair. As long as I’m hurting, will everything seem even then.

Practicing Medications

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Do you ever feel like the second you give something up you want it back? It seems like every time I’m over something, that’s when it’s just beginning. Or when something was a problem with not much resolution, my generation had to be the guinea pig’s. Don’t get me wrong I’m glad I got my suffering when treatment was even an option but what’s it done for me? I’m forced to take all these medications that make me gain weight, and it seems like every time I have a problem I have to get a new diagnosis and a new pill to take. I was up beyond 13 at one point, and god forbid you go against what some of the dr.’s think. Because they’re the only ones that can do anything about it. They outrank everyone. But last I checked there were more mental health sufferers. 450 million to be exact. We’re learning to question all of these things in school and it’s quite infuriating looking back at what I’ve had to put up with and pay out of pocket for. So, after I was diagnosed all I wanted to do was hibernate and sleep but at the same time was battling insomnia all the same. It wasn’t my original doctor’s fault as he was doing what he’d been taught. He at least let me have a voice and would understand that I wasn’t stupid and if anyone is going to describe symptoms and know how it affects them, it’ll be the patients. I’ve been stereotyped because I’m a girl, because I’ve gained all this weight and because of what I suffer from. I’ve also been shut down because I was told to be proactive.  But how can you be proactive alongside the thing that’s fighting for your demise. Society wants us to go into the doctor’s offices and tell them what we need. You find me a doctor that can put their pride away for that long, then you’ve got a deal. But after all of the doctors who shut me down, especially being I’m a nice easy going person, and yes, a woman, they think take it offensively when you’ve actually been able to muster up any “proactive” discussions. Family physician’s want you to go see a psychiatrist if you have something like depression. Psychiatrists can’t deal with general pain and I have a really bad back, so their battle begins. The family physician swears my back pain is depression related and my psychiatrist is the opposite. Quite frankly, I don’t believe any of them. If they wouldn’t be SO pill happy sometimes and would ask how you’re doing once in awhile, you might be able to let them know patterns that you observe. But any doctor that I’ve tried to voice anything with realizes they’re power position and uses it to intimidate you into even more of the problem. I had no idea how those medicines made me feel when my depression was at it’s worst, but I did notice things over time and was forced to go with it because we couldn’t handle the “What if?” And the what if, could be really bad, but isn’t that what responsible medicating is all about, and being able to work with your dr together? I thought and was told I had a chemical imbalance in my brain. So that’s how some people treat me, especially doctors…..as imbalanced. They seem to mistake that for stupidity though, and people don’t realize that I’m not. But I do notice, the way they treat me, and I do notice that medicine is not what they’re practicing…..it’s power. And, no one knows all of my diagnosis…but me. I’ve been diagnosed with so many things I may as well be radioactive. And with each new doctor all of my diagnosis change, and the doctor that comes after the one before isn’t sure of what I suffer from because they wonder if I should really have that many diagnosis, so they have to diagnose me all over again. What a cycle. It’s just this roller-coaster ride that I didn’t pay to get on, am terrified of riding, and would give my life savings if they’d just stop it and let me go. You’d think that all my suffering is just practice for the next doctor to see if they’ll diagnose me correctly. Practice for them and practice for me if I can get this thing called life. Everyday, it’s everyday that we practice. Being who we are, being who we want to be and being far away from the things that terrify us. But here I am, riding in this circle of life that’s going to slow and too fast all the same and it never stops. Each day I wake up and I practice. More trials and tribulations about being someone, or simply just being me.