Touch

51

Soft skin

taken in

with a breath

so thin

i’m always in

glory days

without haze

on the soft skin

of the body’s maze.

Inside out

outside in

is the perfect touch

on soft skin.

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Patience

45

Within each moment I walk, I wonder if the value is upon the people so blessed with the days that are good. Am I wondering such a far off sort that I could too walk with these people one day? Do you value your happiness just as I loathe the amount of self soothing I must constantly do? One day I’ve decided that there will be a big lesson in all of this, it’s the waiting I’ve grown so impatient. But that one day, I know will hopefully come when all of this questioning will make sense. Then I wonder if life makes sense to anyone anyhow. Maybe I am among the norm and I just don’t know it. Are you? Are you in the class of people where you feel singled out but really are the most fun at the party? I wonder if there’s others out there like me. Feeling the despairs within each day so prominently so, that all else falls by the wayside. I should find some value in all of this, but I can’t see well enough to the world I live because of all of the pain I trudge in the snowiest of days. I will get through this, I must. Otherwise, what’s the point of fighting? I’ve fought each and every day instead of living one that I cannot die out knowing there may be more in store for me. There just has to be. Has to be life beyond a horizon I fantasy because leaving my house doesn’t happen unless I am forced. I lie within these walls jailed beside of myself because I can’t live within myself anymore. I’ve stopped being my worst enemy but have yet to accept myself all the same. I stand to look in the mirror still to be unrecognizable. I am human, but I am transparent whereas once I was fluently in my own skin. I suffer from something everyone goes through. We all have periods of grief, sadness and loneliness. It’s just that mine is constant. Incessant with each day I’m alive but not living. It never goes away. That’s the best way I can explain to those that don’t understand. It’s like constant grief only the loss is myself, I don’t know where I went. I do know today is better than yesterday, which is more to be said for than most days I still conquer. I’m not dead. That’s the most positive thing I can think of, but is still better than most thoughts spilling into a bleaker mind. With no control of my thoughts, all of the ones that do come are mean. My demonized mind, out to control every fiber I walk, is out to see that I fail. But fail I cannot as I resume little strength, but strength nonetheless. It’s the patience that helps me avail each passing moment. I am patient I will suddenly begin to feel what once was. Patient that one day some of this will make even the most considerable amount of sense in an illogical mindset. One day….one day patience will rule all else out and I will be one.

Green Eyed Girl

43

Liking myself was never the plan. Hating myself wasn’t either. I actually have stopped looking at mirrors because I don’t recognize the person at it’s surface. Everything looks familiar, but it’s not home. It’s not what I have always known, not what I’ve been known to be and is surely the thing I’ve never prepared for. What would you do if you looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the person before you? It’s like meeting a friend’s twin for the first time. It’s like you can’t put your finger on it, but something’s just not quite right. I stand in my room looking forward to the reflection bestowed. I search within my  eyes to find some familiarity. “You’re green eyes,” I tell myself. “You’ve always loved your green eyes. Hold onto that.” I find I talk to myself much more these days. No one could ever understand the havoc breached within my mind frame, so I let my voice be the one that interrupts it. It’s like an intruder whose come inside to throw off my mind recounting each and everything I do, always to repeat the last failure, or the failure’s I looked to earn. In my mind I deserved each and every bad thing and that was what I was here to own, the faults.
/

Doses

42

I started out with seven diagnosis….MDD, ADD, OCD, Anxiety, PTSD, Insomnia, BPD. Im now down to two…MDD and PTSD. But going through seven made me think I was down for the count every singe day. Today I actually have energy. And today like all of my days are full of more life than I ever thought I could see from the dark ones. Today I was supposed to be dead. And looking back I realize I was. At least for all of my yesterdays I was. And all of my days were filled with animosity. Animosity from me, from all of the bad things and from all of the good that I saw, as the bad. It’s like I couldn’t live in the moments because living IN the moment meant living IN the pain. And they can’t prescribe a pill for this pain. Holy crap they tried. Alas, I’d have to wait it out in the timeliest fashion like watching paint dry. The days just got to be so long. I’m almost at the point where I might consider a day to go by fast but not quite yet.

“Well, they make a new medication now that could really help with your symptoms,” doctors would tell me. And I was always the first to know about new meds being tried, something new to prescribe in place of the one that didn’t work or a new one to add on to the other I was already taking because it was supposed to really “be effective.” You’d think they would’ve stopped around seven or so but doctors don’t keep track of how many medications you take. At least mine never did. Even when I’d say 13 was too many…it’s not like anyone was going to listen to the suicidal girl with tons of diagnosis. “Be proactive,” that’s what we get told. But be proactive to who? I’d take anyone that would listen. But no one did. Even after I’d stop taking them and then try to take my life. They just thought it was another reason to add another pill or replace one. I was on upwards of 15 at one point. I’d had about just as many suicide attempts.

Then we have my back. The meds I spoke of before where only my psych meds. I haven’t yet told you about the Percocet I was prescribed for my back problems. As far as I knew it was a herniated disc. That brought on the kind of pain that makes your back feel like it’s breaking in half every day. It was preventing me from doing everything. And I never knew herniations could hurt so badly. So when I took the Percocet too quickly and was quite harshly judged by the first doctor, who was filling in for my regular doctor too. But my regular doctor decided to prescribe me fentanyl. Which I had no idea about at the time. The opiod crisis wasn’t in survival mode quite yet. And it wasn’t that she prescribed me fentanyl, and the strongest dose that they made, it was the doctor after that who prescribed me Vicodin along with it. Even with the fentanyl I would get cramping in my back but it was hardly anjything to scoff at and I just thought the more pills would make it all go away. “That’s the point,” he said.

It’s Personal

2

I don’t wish out loud anymore but I’m always silently pleading for my secret desires to come true. Please sweep me away wind. Take me wherever it is you go just not into the eye of the tornado. I put my hand up in the wind and let the gusts push it into a curve going up and down. Where is everyone? It feels like the story, It, without the storm and no scary clowns.

Ah, but maybe I am the storm. The walking disaster you shouldn’t come close to unless you know what is is you are dealing with. Keeping company with the echoes in the street at night…reminding you that you are alive. For the people that do come close, know that I warned you. I sounded the alarm and instead of hiding, some of you danced. Something I wish I could do again. Dance in the street while taking a walk around the neighborhood. Letting the insides of myself fly out as music notes fill the streets, and suddenly I am lost. Who cares? No need to ask for directions being I didn’t like the place I’d come from to begin with. The dark streets have no more echoes.

There are still no cars as I try to enjoy the peace surrounding me but can’t. I’m so lonely. Depression makes sure you’ll find out that it’s suffering is a one way ticket and a one person ride for a one way kill to my genocide. The lights go out. I wonder whats in the woods I come across. I’m terrified a spider will walk in front of me and I wont know. Yuck. Luckily I’m wearing a necklace that lights up. Ok, I can faintly can see my house. I wish the wind would act like an escalator and escort me back. I also wish I could stop wishing things were different. That maybe if I hadn’t done this or that, then maybe I could seize the damn day instead of waiting for it to be over with. I stand alone, still in the night and waiting for the crisp air to bite and wake me up. I always want to sleep and make time go by faster but its turned me into some pile of nightmares with no safe house to run into, away from the tornado. And damnit it’s getting too close to home. It’s just getting too personal.

I Know

15

I know how it feels. Where you feel like you have no place to run anymore to get your emotions out without someone wanting you to talk about it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s so nice that people care, but I could see them getting tired of hearing it. And I guarantee I’m more tired of trying to explain things that I’ve yet to even grasp myself. I feel like all I do is complain, or feel sorry for myself. Either way I seem to feel like I’m not part of the daily things I do with people even though logically I know I am.  So, I wait. I wait for everybody to go to bed so I can cry. And if I cry during the daytime, I suck it up until I get in the shower. That’s where I collapse literally. I cry so hard that I just fall. And there I am kneeling down on the shower floor with my face buried in my hands. My whole body shakes. And I know I can be heard on the outside sometimes but I just wait for it to happen. “Annie, are you ok in there?” They’d ask. And what am I supposed to say? Being under this spell of mental illness. I can’t stand how much these disorders consume me. It’s despicable that I have to plan out times to cry like I’m planning nap time for a kid. So, there was me feeding off what I could out of life for a day. Off what the daily life would bring and then binge and purge in the shower of tears. I hate it because I had no choice. Living the medicated part of a day was making me gain weight as well. I called it my demon, something was in my mind that was constantly berating me, it has to be a demon….so that’s what I called it. So after all this talk, no, really guys, living sure sounds amazing still…right?

Smile

32

Letting someone down wasn’t supposed to be the plan today. And why does it feel like it’s happened everyday lately? I leave the room and if feels like sighs of relief behind me. Another discussion of my marathon man depressive disorder. I’ve lost so many that decided to walk toward the light of the sun in their escape from me and my doom. But, I can smile. I do smile. Especially when I greet people, “smile, so they won’t guess,” I tell myself. But a smile is different than the eyes and what shows from beneath them. I know your soul comes out of your eyes because all I see is judgement all of the time. And to think I thought I was getting better. That just wouldn’t be fair would it? If you have a bad day and say, “Story of my life,” then you think doom and dread would be your best friends right? No, best friends are for walking out on you because they’re tired of everything about you. Even the things they assume you to be like. I think in certain people’s minds I’ve developed into this terrible individual but in reality their mind is just looking for a way out of the friendship so they twist the reality a little to get out of having to commit to it. Really, people are just tired of the “Depression.” The thing I never talk about anymore, the frowns I never show, and the tears I don’t wipe off leaves them without a good enough reason to say, “I can’t handle it anymore.” Plus, they don’t want to look like the bad guy right? Who wants to say, oh well, she was depressed so I had to bail. No, but they CAN say, well, she really changed over the years and I don’t agree with certain things about her anymore. Cop out. I’m still the same girl. But I suppose I’m a worse friend now too. So, it can’t be all their fault. I heard that it’s a cop out to kill yourself. But a real cop out is what I see on a daily basis. People scurrying away for shelter in their depression free homes. I’m sorry, are you sick of hearing about my shit? Well, I’m sick of having it. Everyone’s looking for their reasons. I can see it in their soul. Maybe I don’t have one and that’s why it’s easy for people. Where would you be if someone close to you suffered? Would you be there? Are the words Best Friends Forever just broken promises? When you say you’d die for me, would you really, because you also said you were serious. I think I’m fending for myself on this life. And the worst part is that I feel more ashamed of myself and full of blame and guilt that I surpassed you even before the word depression. Ugh, that word! What it carries is unbelievable. In an unbelievable mind, from an unbelieving world, in an unbelievable girl, in an unbelieving heart to an unrelenting heart, we go on.