Bandaids

13

There they are again. The sirens someone called out for. Wailing into the night diffused by nothing but the sky. They’re intertwined with the roar of the sirens that no one could mistake. An ambulance. Here to help you and take you to the nearest hospital where the staff will then take care of you. But how do they take care of us mental illness patients? I ask. What do I do if I have no where else to turn except for options on the outside for my own demise? How can I stop the mind metaphorically bleeding and literally bound with screams of terror? I imagine myself in a crowd looking up to the sky and screaming as loud as I can. No one can hear it but me, but it hurts so much you’d think everyone could have felt it. What am I going to do? I don’t want to have these thoughts. Morbid as could be, these don’t belong here. This wasn’t always my way of thinking, what happened? I scream to let it out, I beg in my head to get it to stop. I wail inside my mind. I imagine things I won’t even say, but the terrors ring true and through and through in each day. I’m going to break. No, I can’t, I’m strong enough to deal with this….right? I’ve dealt with bad things before only then I knew it would be ok. Now, suddenly like a light switch it flipped the other way. Omigod, my mind won’t stop thinking these thoughts. Thoughts of ways to try and make it better, and thoughts of ways I thought would make it better but see now it was just the opposite. *Scream*….always in my head I scream. People talk to me these days and don’t realize how deep in thought I always am. Screaming myself to sleep. I toss and I turn not knowing what to do, as my mind races with fantasies of how I could get it all to stop for once and for all. I’m going to do it, I have to. I need the release more than I can take in air at this point. But I can’t. It’s not healthy, it’s not smart and it’ll leave me with scars deeper than the wounds in my heart. I did it earlier though, that day I pulled off the road. I did it then because I’d heard of other people doing it and I wondered if it helped, not even to ease the pain, but to ease something. And it did for a moment. But alas, cutting is like the death of you and it’s will for your taking can be the strongest thing you’ve ever encountered. It just leaves me with another reason to feel ashamed. Another thing I’ve failed at, and didn’t take the healthy route. And for just a second everything on the inside is physically real and the same on the outside, which almost makes me feel more normal again. But it all comes back just as instantaneously, and I am wading around in the depression again, only now it’s worse. Because depression carries with it such significance of guilt and shame that you think it couldn’t grow any more. But then you do something that you know other people would look down on and realize your hole just dug a little deeper. But make my mind stop, please. Make the echoes into the night not sound like the sirens of tornadoes coming. Let the screams stop and the morbid visions take a break. I’m already in a mental hell that no one really believes, all I feel is alone and all I want is to feel whole again. But was I ever whole? I think back to the days in school where I’d have a bad one and just cry. Another thing I always do…..cry myself to sleep. And I hate it because my mom can always tell when my eyes are puffy so I never have a good enough excuse. Plus, my nose gets so red I turn into rudolph for a day. What do I tell her now? Oh, well. Just another day with a band-aid. A covering to the truth no one wants, no one cares to see, and no one dares to tell. The sirens have stopped. Tonight this car wasn’t for me. Someone else, is out there with the screams too true, that tonight I do not want to delve into.

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?

ESP or EPT?

16

“Can you come in here a minute?” I shouted to my brother eating dinner with my folks. I just stand in the bathroom in disbelief. I’d waited the three minutes it told me to wait and there was nothing. But, something inside told me to wait just like something inside knew I was pregnant.

The weeks following I’d just felt different in a way I can’t explain. And what they say is definitely correct. You’re breasts get tender. I didn’t know what “tender” would feel like until they finally were and I got it. I got nauseous one day after I’d had something to eat also. And man could I eat all of the sudden. I’d always had an appetite being I was a swimmer but I literally felt like I was eating for two people, and as it turned out, I was.

“I have to be,” I thought. And there it was, light pink at first and faint to both my brother and I as my pregnancy test deepened in color.”Wait, what?! What are you going to do Andrea?” He asked. “I have no idea,” I said. Suddenly my mind traveled back to when my best friend gave me a ride home. “Someone once told me that when you know you just know,” after I told her my period was late. “What do you honestly think, Andrea?” She asked. “I think that I am,” I said, terrified. I couldn’t believe that I just became a statistic. A number on a sheet like the census of fuck-ups or something.

“Do you want to keep it?” my brother asked, “It seems like you want to.” Of course I wanted to. I loved kids more than I loved myself even back then. At my last job I started babysitting for a family just because I got along so well with their son and they were regulars at work. I didn’t have any purpose in life after the depression started. But the one I had before was that I thought I was put on this Earth to have children. I really couldn’t see straight anymore and things were coming at me too fast. My fault or not, I had the biggest decision of my life to make and the saddest part was that it made me want to take my life even more in a way, and then gave me a reason to live in another way.

Barreling Through

17

I’m starting to feel bad for the people who hang out with me. They can’t be having any fun. My depression is what’s having fun….taking over every part of who I am. I feel like I’ve changed so much from the person I was. Usually really bubbly and friendly, I hardly talk to anyone anymore. This is where the isolation comes in. Within a full on war inside of your mind, depression will make sure you know who’s who when your around anybody. With this kind of low self worth, no one would probably even give me a penny if I asked for their two cents I’m so repulsive. Or they’d probably want change back.

The goal is always the same. Get happy. Go for the gold. And don’t bother anyone while you’re at it. This is all getting a little too old for me. It’s like everything around me screams depression, and I’m in a library constantly getting “shhshed,” because I’m not using my 6 inch voice. I don’t want this to be my legacy. That I suffer from depression or anything for that matter, or even that I suffer. But a sufferer’s will must be watched out for. Because when you endure such pain a sufferer does, automatic strength comes with it, plus a big dose of reality. I’ve really gotten to see different sides of people that I wouldn’t have seen had I not gone through this. The thing is though, looking back on it today I can’t say I learned a ton, except for the flaws everywhere I’d go. Because what happened in this dark place is reality, and gravity reminding you that nothing happens magically. I’ll tell the world of my suffering and they show me why it’s going to get worse. All of my fears of the world came true.  Depression will make the strongest of the strong barrel down to their knees, begging for forgiveness from torments that are blinding. And when they need help, they get people who are either out to take advantage, or who judge the wrong way and some that are not shy to show it. Empathy is at a loss during a time when you just want someone to get it, just let me be and make it through, and still being on the other side calling themselves a friend.

Rush Hour

18

I look back to the bridge that’s all lit up. The two people who swiftly passed us on their bicycles are long gone. Below me, I see cement tile laid out from the person’s back door. Red cement square blocks that lead to ivy bushes lining the cement walls down to the sidewalk. This would be it, I thought. This is where I need to land, as I set my sites on the cracked four reddish-brown tiles that are broken. Just like me. Everything seems to have different meaning these days. It’s all a somber metaphor for my frail, cheesy heart. Everything’s meaning has deepened. I used to love writing essays in school so I could really break things down in depth and get to know the meaning of what I was supposed to write about. It seems like I look at every single thing as a life lesson in an essay format. My mind just never shuts up. And I want it gone, I want it all to go away. My friend comes out for a second to the balcony I stand on. I ask her if I can be alone and she walks back inside after an, “Oh, sure!” I turn back around. It really is a beautiful night. It’s so quiet though, I wonder where everyone is. I start to wonder what would happen if I didn’t die. What if I jump and it just really fucks me up? Story of my life, I can’t get anything right. And, I’m already fucked up just not physically. That’s how badly this depression has taken over. My anxiety has increased, hell all of my symptoms have. Now I’m actually to the point I’d never even considered to be in my entire life. Then I think of my best friend whom I’m so close to it’s like we’re sisters. What would I tell her in my goodbye letter. What would I tell my mom? I hope she’ll be able to make it through this. My entire family even. Do I even have time for a letter to say a goodbye? This still doesn’t make me stop. It makes me hesitate but not stop as I lift my leg over the railing. Swiftly, I put it back down. What if this isn’t the right choice? I think to myself. What if I do this and life had something special planned for me, like maybe I’d get out of this illness. Maybe a life where I’d see all the blessings instead of looking into this horror. Yeah, right. That sounds highly unlikely but nevertheless, still sounds great. At least I’ll have something to dream about if I make it. Putting my leg back up, I hear, “What ARE you DOING?! It’s one of my best friends from the car earlier. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know anything anymore.” I started to cry as I sat down, her putting her arm around me. “Are you ok?” She asked. Finally, I was going to come out with it to someone other than my parents. “No,” I said. “I’m not ok anymore. I don’t know what to do.” I told her all about my Dr.s visit and how I get bad thoughts all the time. How my mind frame has changed and none of it’s noteworthy. I tell her about how I cry, almost every night before bed. And sometimes during the day, I get triggered. How I feel like such a failure. How I don’t know what to do, just that I want it to be over. It’s so awful to have such a thing. She comforts me and we sit outside for awhile. The wind hits me and suddenly everything seems so loud. So much so my mind feels a little dizzy. There’s too much going on in there. I just want some peace. I’ve been dealing with these illnesses long enough, I thought. When does this damn thing go away? What if I have to deal with it for life? Or better, how worse off would life be dealing with me in it this whole time? I want out of here.

Good Day

19

If I have a good day I would have a field day into the sun’s heat day and not a word for low pay. You say you want to be, but this is all I see and until you do as I please don’t mind if I sit and I weep. Because all I do is sob filling a water’s tide to bob and haven’t found my way home as all hearts I see have been dethroned. You want me to see the real you but the mirrors black and white and you are see through. Transparent in all of your ways making me swim until depths into days, and I want my life back without haze, please listen I’m here, that okay? Take the time to know what is mine, for my heart’s broken from the worst kind of pine, into the other I lined around the tracks for him to find, and now I get here to you, again and again I can’t be put through, this nightmarish of a movie times two. We’re not meant to be you and I so I tried and I tried and I cried, I even asked him up there and said what’s going on you big guy? But he didn’t have anything to say except the other one’s on his on way. And watch as he skips to the beat, you’ll be aghast to think something so neat. You may be crazed over him here for you and amazed it’s just going to be you two, but this life’s pain won’t live without gain so keep your mindset on things away from insane. Because when they says it’s insane it’s real, not mundane and a really big deal. But if you came up to him with eyes on aim and you walked and you talked quite a big game,  he might really want his heart’s steal and might take you up on the offer of meal. So have fun to you he said, and now I don’t have so much of that dread. Because when it comes from above it’s the head and I once didn’t believe what was said. but here I am fighting until dead, unbelievable you should mark these words read. And if they go small don’t fill up with dread. It’s apples and oranges gone simply to bed. Such is life that I learned with the fruit, i’ll bear what i can without any rebut. And I won’t let you go now or then, or refute anything marked of words sent, and well you really are looking so cute. Keep me in mind with those eyes on to you. It’s really me he said, just keep hanging  tight. So I did and I did and I did. But I see him now and feel like a kid. On earth there’s so many lonely parts under these lids, then you find the master of arts, coming to you to with not such a low bid. Reminding you that it’ll happen just from behind and when you meet you wont feel anything but time. So fun I had to explain things of mine. Don’t stop or ye won’t find, the beating heart that wants to solidify mine. It’s always going to just be you and just I, so don’t stop for anything except that one guy.

Flying Solo

21

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.