Today I am not serene. It has been about 3 days since I felt a genuine emotion around people other than the kids. The kids are happiness all the time. They are the embodiment of joy and light and sunshine and right now, I'm a bottomless pit. I am the abyss.
I can only hope they don't see my abyss when they look at me.
I don't want anyone to touch me. Or look at me. Or come near me. I can't. I just cannot.
I know that none of it is true. I know I'm not awful. I know I'm not a steaming pile of shit. But that doesn't stop my brain from telling me that and it doesn't stop me from listening.
I'm wandering through music. Have been for an hour now. Listening to music that is lyrics and no music -- like when people remove the music track and just leave the vocals.
It is making my heart a little lighter.
Tuesday, April 18, 2017
Saturday, April 1, 2017
Especially if it sucks.
writing when you're depressed is a battle. You do write but all you can think is, "well, this is crap."
or, "my handwriting is awful."
"no one would read that."
"pick a better word."
"no one would read that."
"pick a better word."
But really, it has nothing to do with your writing. That little voice is an asshole
- and a liar.
So you think, "let's try green ink" -- "maybe that will help." So you try.
Sometimes it works. Sometimes you get the beginning of a blog post that seems almost publishable.
Other times you get papers ripped out of notebooks or deleted letters off a notepad because BY GOD, THAT'S SHIT.
Sometimes you just wanna punch
yourself in the face.
yourself in the face.
But then you pick the pen up off the floor by the door where you threw it and sit back down, doing breathing those meditative breaths that sometimes help. You buckle down and you do it. You do the thing. Because you have to do the thing.
Even if it sucks.
Especially if it sucks.
Thursday, March 23, 2017
Peace
It's Thursday night. I've just watched the final 5 seconds of the AZ Wildcats game and am reminded that I just have no interest in basketball of any kind.
I got my nose pierced on the 21st. Cost $30. Husband told me he wasn't happy about me getting it and I told him that he'd get used to it like he had all my other metal. Less than an hour later and I had a needle shoved through my septum followed by a piece of metal.
That night, I videochatted with my mom who was none too happy beforehand about me getting the piercing. She either didn't notice or refused to comment.
3/22 was my birthday. I did nothing. I slept, I woke up. That was about it. At 6 PM, I had made reservations for 10 at BJ's Brewhouse. We all were there (which was nice) and though no one else commented on it, my little brother did. He'd been watching my Snapchat stories and little messages about wanting it done. He said it looked good. ^.^
I found myself being a little frustrated that, even if they didn't like it, they could at least acknowledge it. I recognize that this is part of me needing the validation of those around me and I also recognize that I love it. I think it looks damn adorable. And I need to understand that there are people in my life who will never support some of the things I do. That's not a reflection of me.
Today, I meditated because I couldn't sleep. I walked down a familiar cobblestone road, dressed in the yellow sundress of my dreams, feet in sandals. I walked and walked between the German-style architecture of the houses, until there were less houses and the people dwindled. I walked until I reached a curb, beyond which lay nothing but miles and miles and miles of field. I slipped my shoes off and stepped over the curb and began to walk, my feet comfortable in the green grass that always seems to grow there.
Off in the distance, I saw it -- the weeping willow that had been there for as long as I'd been meditating there, and I quickened my pace as it became closer. The warm and gentle breeze blew through my dress, my hair, against my legs, and I felt at home in this spring clearing. When I arrived at the tree, under the thick foliage of the tree rested my big floppy hat and my copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. That's where I'm most peaceful - under that tree. Reading Harry Potter.
Where are you most peaceful?
I got my nose pierced on the 21st. Cost $30. Husband told me he wasn't happy about me getting it and I told him that he'd get used to it like he had all my other metal. Less than an hour later and I had a needle shoved through my septum followed by a piece of metal.
That night, I videochatted with my mom who was none too happy beforehand about me getting the piercing. She either didn't notice or refused to comment.
3/22 was my birthday. I did nothing. I slept, I woke up. That was about it. At 6 PM, I had made reservations for 10 at BJ's Brewhouse. We all were there (which was nice) and though no one else commented on it, my little brother did. He'd been watching my Snapchat stories and little messages about wanting it done. He said it looked good. ^.^
I found myself being a little frustrated that, even if they didn't like it, they could at least acknowledge it. I recognize that this is part of me needing the validation of those around me and I also recognize that I love it. I think it looks damn adorable. And I need to understand that there are people in my life who will never support some of the things I do. That's not a reflection of me.
Today, I meditated because I couldn't sleep. I walked down a familiar cobblestone road, dressed in the yellow sundress of my dreams, feet in sandals. I walked and walked between the German-style architecture of the houses, until there were less houses and the people dwindled. I walked until I reached a curb, beyond which lay nothing but miles and miles and miles of field. I slipped my shoes off and stepped over the curb and began to walk, my feet comfortable in the green grass that always seems to grow there.
Off in the distance, I saw it -- the weeping willow that had been there for as long as I'd been meditating there, and I quickened my pace as it became closer. The warm and gentle breeze blew through my dress, my hair, against my legs, and I felt at home in this spring clearing. When I arrived at the tree, under the thick foliage of the tree rested my big floppy hat and my copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. That's where I'm most peaceful - under that tree. Reading Harry Potter.
Where are you most peaceful?
Sunday, March 19, 2017
Depression 2017
I was speaking with a close friend earlier this evening and the topic of mental disorders came up. [[I suffer from clinical depression.]] We discussed how many young girls (teenagers, young adults) romanticize the disorders we legitimately suffer from. In a (characteristic) rant, I said the following.
Imagine you've got an enemy. You hate this enemy more than anyone else on the face of the planet. You are told that you have to be with this enemy. You're not allowed to kill them and you have to take care of them -- hold them, clean them, make sure they're safe. But your hatred for them seethes every time you know you have to do something for them. Now imagine this enemy is yourself.
Some days, you don't care what happens to you. Some days, you know that, if something were to happen to take your life, you wouldn't stop it. You'd step into the way. Sometimes the hate is a welcome change from feeling nothing.
Tell me you want that. Tell me you want to walk out through your front door and feel the first legitimate warmth you've felt in days. You don't even feel like you are running at normal people temperature. You're practically dead.
I'm better than I've been the last couple of weeks. I didn't help myself by sitting here quietly, losing myself in the internet, losing myself in music. I don't have that luxury now. I have an almost 3 year old. I have an almost 3 month old. I have a husband who works graveyards and needs to sleep during the day. I don't have the luxury of wallowing. If there is such a thing as functional depression, that's what I've got.
I helped myself by communicating. I'm a little rusty at it, but I did well, I think. I talked to my husband. I told him what I was feeling. Some of the people in the #bloggesstribe helped me, asking how I was. Good looking out. I'm glad you guys were there. I know this post is sort of everywhere -- I'm working on making my brain go in order. Maybe, though, it's not supposed to. Things to think about.
Imagine you've got an enemy. You hate this enemy more than anyone else on the face of the planet. You are told that you have to be with this enemy. You're not allowed to kill them and you have to take care of them -- hold them, clean them, make sure they're safe. But your hatred for them seethes every time you know you have to do something for them. Now imagine this enemy is yourself.
Some days, you don't care what happens to you. Some days, you know that, if something were to happen to take your life, you wouldn't stop it. You'd step into the way. Sometimes the hate is a welcome change from feeling nothing.
Tell me you want that. Tell me you want to walk out through your front door and feel the first legitimate warmth you've felt in days. You don't even feel like you are running at normal people temperature. You're practically dead.
I'm better than I've been the last couple of weeks. I didn't help myself by sitting here quietly, losing myself in the internet, losing myself in music. I don't have that luxury now. I have an almost 3 year old. I have an almost 3 month old. I have a husband who works graveyards and needs to sleep during the day. I don't have the luxury of wallowing. If there is such a thing as functional depression, that's what I've got.
I helped myself by communicating. I'm a little rusty at it, but I did well, I think. I talked to my husband. I told him what I was feeling. Some of the people in the #bloggesstribe helped me, asking how I was. Good looking out. I'm glad you guys were there. I know this post is sort of everywhere -- I'm working on making my brain go in order. Maybe, though, it's not supposed to. Things to think about.
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