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.
If I could feel the coolest breeze on the warmest days i’d be sitting in the shade wondering how the two intersect on a day like today. If we take all of the problems and hardships of life out of the equation all we are left with are the simple things…which is all we need anyway, to be quite honest. If we focus on the simplicity, we lose sight of all the complexities which is where most of the problems started. People may look at simple as being feeble minded but I think it’s the most thought provoking of all. Thinking basic thoughts and living simple ways leaves our minds more open to the necessary breathing room life has to offer. I wish someone could take out the complexities of my mind and throw it right back up like puke in an attempt to detoxify myself. My mind needs to breathe in a way that’s suffocating all in it’s own right. Please take me away. Take me to the never ending time when the simplest things can be relished in the simplest ways all so we can walk with no despair. I found the home of a certain simplicity once and like the wheel, went bankrupt all the same. Does simplicity occur in despair? Or is despair the simplest form of misery in hiding? I just want answers. Answers to the questions and the right questions for unforseen answers before hand. I feel the warmest of the coolest breezes. Now in the night, I look for warm gusts within the cold. Waiting for life to once again intersect.
When I was little my mom always would ask me if I wanted english muffins. “Yes,” I’d always say. Then I’d hide them under the couch cushions for her to find later. I must’ve loved hide and go seek then. She’d find them in about a week and there was never just one in there. I’d ask for two every day so she’d find about a dozen in there. She still laughs about it. I love when kids do stuff that you can’t get mad at because you start laughing. I think that’s what I miss the doing the most, is laughing. I used to always be joking around and having fun and then everything got so damn serious. Do we turn a certain age where the world just seems different all of the sudden? Or are we following the world that is constantly teaching us to to be different towards them? I always promised myself I wouldn’t cave. That I’d keep my light heart and would laugh uncontrollably for ten minutes once more. It hasn’t happened yet but I have hope that it will. I hate things that are too serious! Why am I so serious now?! I sit with a blank stare trying to think of things in life that make me smile and it used to be just the simplest thing! I’m quite klutzy and am always tripping and falling, or like I mentioned in another post when I was taken on a blind date horseback riding. Not paying attention and getting hit in the face by a branch. “Whoopsie!” Was one of my favorite words. Looking back from today, I think my most popular saying is “I’m sorry” now. What?! That can’t be. It is though. I got married when I was 21 to an abusive guy and I think all I ever did was apologize just because. Then, I knew that when I apologized we could move on. That was his routine when we’d fight. He had to hear me say “I’m sorry” all of the time. Nothing else was routine about our fighting either except that it was all routine of domestic violence. And I paid a heavy price for it in the way he treated me, and I also grew distant from many of my friends. He was this secret I had to keep because it was my mistake and I couldn’t admit how mean he was to me and how he was one of the biggest regrets of my life. So I sucked it up and stayed.
I grew up in a close knit group of friends, I think in 7th grade was when I started to get to know many more of my classmates and would soon think of them as family growing up. I love my own family so damn much too but growing up was more stressful than it should’ve been. Shit, this whole life seems like that. As if this is my hell on Earth and I have to work my way back to Heaven. But like all of us, no one gave me directions. And while my family and friends were on one train I was too busy trying to stand in front of it too realize that it had already passed through. Without a horn they all went on to live their lives unsure about what I was doing in my own that nobody stopped to ask…”Are you doing ok?” Some did while others’ stare or silence showed judgement with each wake. Wake of a wave I unknowingly created. I thought I was just here to be me. And If I do anything it’s to stay genuine to who I am, I’d tell myself. But my actions would show a different sort. The kind of person I’d not know, the kind that would’ve been deaf to any horn to begin with. I wish I could go back. Back to the days of the muffins. The simple pleasures that make glee in a day. I want glee. Even a genuine smile would be nice. So I wouldn’t have fear in the night. For the nightmares would surely come.
The days are silents except for the screams of my heart. I lay here trying again to sleep and am tired of counting those sheep. I would spend many a night begging to go to sleep in my head. I lay down all of the time so I don’t even know why I’m tired. All of my energy is completely gone. Plus, I just want time to pass and sleep is the best way to do it. Sometimes I find peace in my dreams but it’s usually a literal war zone with body parts and everything. It’s all just so morbid now. I zone out thinking of all the things that come along with my disorders. People still look to me waiting for me to get over it. People still think that it’s just a sadness and it’s not. It’s a lifestyle in a rampant disorder we have no control over. Even if it weren’t a chemical imbalance I still don’t get why people haven’t accepted this yet. Google won’t even run ads on my page “because the content goes against their policies.” Well, depression goes against mine and I’ve come to accept it. Another way to feel shunned. My best friends family doesn’t understand depression and they’re the first ones to admit it. But they don’t treat me any different because of it so why do so many others? It’s a constant heart beating in your stomach because you see people and how they look at you. Sometimes I leave places because my anxiety gets so bad, I just have to go. But in reality who would want me there anyways.
One time while on a family vacation the airplane plummeted downward in a free fall for just about two seconds. It felt like an eternity as I had just enough time to tell myself…this is it. But it wasn’t. Who would’ve thought that ten years later, I’d be wishing that it was. Wishing that I could’ve ended it on a happy note on vacation and not this super obedient, always apologetic frail hearted girl. But I don’t know that I believe in wishes anymore, anyways. I miss being a kid and having so many things to fantasize about in life. I was always the kid who was clumsy. I live with my heard turned upward as I look into the sky and never seem to watch where I’m going. It’s like that date I went on horseback riding. The entire time I spent looking around not paying attention when, wham! a tree branch hit me in the face. I’m used to it by now, getting physically nailed. I mean shit, I grew up with an older brother. That’s where true anxiety’s heart can beat.
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.
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.
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.