Fluffy Perception

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I numb it all down
Soften the edges and
Fluff the middle.
The entire world becomes an orb
Soft and glowing
Fuzzy and gentle.
It can’t hurt me this way.
I change it all,
The entire place
Becomes warm and inviting
Tender and sweet
Harmless and kind.
It’s all a bit blurry
It’s all a little hard to see
But when you slip into the numb
Gently falling into the
Caress of the earth
Wrapping yourself in the comfort
Of this shortsightedness
This inability to see
And differentiate
You gladly sacrifice wit
For the ability to relax
And finally sleep.

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The Frustration of This Side

Just wanna grab people

Grab them by the collar and shake them.

“Do you know what I’m going through

Do you know what I’m dealing with?

The weight of this and the pain of it all

Every day, alone!

No one cares!

Not even you!”

Even as you shout in their face

They don’t care.

They judge

They look at you with a sidways glance

And walk away.

They aren’t interested in your

Suffering.

They don’t care about the load

The immense mass

You struggle to support

Knees buckling

Every day.

They say things about you,

Being “unfit” or “abusive” or “unstable”.

They don’t want to know the truth.

The truth might make them hurt too.

Easier to stick on a label

A judgment

Like a stamp on an envelope or

Sticker on a package of meat.

“There you go, now that you’re

ONE OF THOSE

You’re much easier to digest.

I can ignore what you say because I’ve decided that

You are this thing.

You are not person

You are less.”

You who judge have no idea.

You don’t live my life

You don’t hear my words

You don’t feel my pain

You don’t carry my weight.

Your judgement means nothing.

You have made up a word for something you refuse to understand.

The Weight of Our Personal Wars

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I know there’s going to be a lot of exposure on depression over the next few weeks after such a public and unexpected suicide. I just wanted to have a chance to tell my story.

Most of what I post on this blog is about my battle with depression and anxiety. I suffer from chronic pain, and I can’t lie and tell you it’s easy. I can’t tell you that I don’t have fleeting thoughts of crashing my car because a stay in the hospital would be a welcome break. I can’t tell you that I don’t just about cry with the mere thought of having to get out of bed some mornings. I cry in the shower. I pray a lot. I try not to cry in the car anymore. And unfortunately, this is much better.

I spent years in abusive relationships, being abandoned by alcoholics, becoming an alcoholic. I was on cocaine, I slept with people I worked with, I did whatever I could to escape myself. I stayed high for just about my entire time in high school. I didn’t like being me. I didn’t like who I was. I was vulnerable and I was tired of people hurting me. I was tired of taking care of everyone else and feeling like no one gave a rip about me. I didn’t want to be around people because they just made me feel worse. They didn’t want to listen to my problems, but they sure wanted to tell me all about thiers.

And I did this. I lived in this pit for most of my life. I look back now and I realize I was depressed when I was about 8 and I just stayed there. I tried to hang myself with a belt from my bunk bed when I was 8. I would think about running away. I would think a lot about how to kill myself.

I began drinking when I was 12, and that was also when I started using relationships as a “high”. I would have a new boyfriend every few months. I was always flirting with guys. If they didn’t seem attracted to me, I was viscous and mean to them. I got in fights, I stayed drunk or high, I didn’t care if I lived.

Depression is a heavy weight. It will drag around with you and not even the best friend or most wonderful relationship in the world can get rid of it. It will stay with you until you get professional help.

2 years ago, I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want to get out of bed, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t stay awake, and I felt like I was just completely losing my mind. I thought a LOT about hurting myself and I didn’t know how I could go on. I couldn’t live like that anymore, something had to change. I was insanely desperate. I can’t tell you how distraught I was. I was just a total mess. I hated myself, I had put on weight, no one could talk to me. I was a twist of anger, sadness and just thorns of self preservation. I wasn’t ready for medication, but I was ready for therapy. I found someone close to my work, so I wouldn’t have an excuse (I could go on the way home). It was a slow process, it took weeks to see any difference, and it took months before anyone else could really say “you seem like you’re doing better”.

I worked hard in there. I would scream, yell, cry, disassociate, analyze myself with a fine tooth comb, and I took everything my therapist said to heart. I really liked her, she made sure I had a safe place to become whole again. It took a year of going every week before I really felt “together”. A solid year of transformation.

Depression is a serious disorder.  I never wanted to tell anyone about going to therapy because I didn’t want them to think I was crazy, or say the irritating and completely ignorant “what do you have to be depressed about”. I can’t tell you how much it pisses me off when people say that.

I don’t go to therapy anymore, but I’ve learned a lot about depression and how to deal with it. I have learned it’s a lifelong thing, just like addiction. You have to be very self aware, use the tools you were given in therapy and work at it. For the rest of your life. I find ways to deal with it, and I don’t give in to the things I want to do when it comes over me. I don’t isolate myself, I don’t shut down and I don’t keep it all inside. That just helps it all stew and become darker and heavier.

Just like any serious illness, it takes real professional help to fight this. And don’t think for a minute that this isn’t a fight. Every morning, I get up, I realize that if I’m still alive, God has a purpose for me, and I put on my gloves and do battle. Some days I’m victorious, and I can’t tell you the glory of the satisfaction of a fulfulling day. The feeling all is right with the world when you lay down to go to sleep at night. And if I get my butt kicked that day, I’m gentle with myself, I do something nice for myself, and pray for the strength to do it all again tomorrow.

But now that I know how to fight, I’m having a lot more victories. In that, there is hope.

Burn Yourself Down

Burn Yourself Down

Burn Yourself Down

This is addiction.

This is watching yourself in disbelief

In horror

Unable to stop

Unable to control.

Losing yourself

Your morals

Your beliefs

For one single moment

For one small exchange.

You lose who you are

So far you can’t remember.

Phantoms of the person you were drop tokens of

Guilt and memories.

Lies upon Lies

You don’t even know the truth

Or what it was.

So swept away in a meaningless moment of things

You can’t even stand!

You hate it and love it.

It’s all you think about

But could cost you everything.

Has cost you everything.

Scream in your head to just stop

Has no effect

Doesn’t even slow your hand

As you reach for the trigger

And blow yourself away.

Again.

The secret is the power

Tell your secret, and the power is lost.

Cut Loose

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This is disassociation.

The world vibrates and shakes

Turns itself upside down

Your brain cuts the cord and drifts away

Free balloon.

You become your own spectator

Watch yourself in horror,

Screaming inward to yourself to stop

There are no brakes.

Watch yourself do things

Break things

Yell at people with horrible shards of sharp shrapnel.

None of it will be remembered later.

Watch yourself

Be kind and polite

Courteous and wonderful

Watch yourself in amazement, “who is this?”

You will remember none of this later.

Not remember a few hours

Few days

Few weeks.

You will say things

Do things

Be places

You will never remember.

It’s hard to tell what really happened

And what has been dreamt.

This is a spectator sport

You never hold the controls

You just sit by, watch and

Wait for reality to resume.

When do my feet touch down again?

Battle of Black and Blue

Pain

I live with chronic pain.

It stirs waves of depression that crash over me.

It throws me under currents of anxiety that I cannot bear.

It tears me down with exhaustion and disappointment

feeling trapped inside my own body.

I cry

from the pain

from the frustration

from the exhaustion.

I am trapped and alone.

I try to tell others, and it seems I’m speaking

another language suddenly.

Strange looks

disbelief

“You’re so young…”

But I fight

I fight with knowledge

I fight with passion

I fight with LIFE.

It may hurt

but I’m still alive.

I may be slowed down

but I cannot be STOPPED.

Sunset on My Solitude

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This is isolation.

It’s feeling 200 miles away when you have people all around.

It’s the divide between you and who you’re talking to like you’re under water.

People go by and smile and wave

they are happy to see you

but they don’t really see you.

You stand there with your fists clenched

desperate to cry out

drowning in the frustration

swept away by the depression

overwhelmed by the anger and lonliness

and they never see.

They don’t feel

they don’t understand.

They

Don’t

Understand.

The pain

The emptiness

The hopelessness.

The deep deep dark of the endless time

of being stranded on your island of yourself.