Source: firstchurchwisdom.wordpress.com
I’d rescue you if I could,
Pull you out of sorrow,
Depression so deep
I’ve understood it,
felt it,
battled it,
never quite succumb
never overcome the
war,
just battles fought
repeatedly,
restlessly,
my own.
Strangers in an unseen world,
we just met.
I can’t pull you out,
can’t form a bond with a drowning man,
not while I’m swimming and thrashing
alongside you.
Source: indulgy.com
Tonight I wandered,
Abandoned,
Slightly shamed for falling into traps:
Stuck, like sweet molasses
Dripping.
Steady steps always lead me here:
Shiny mirrors reflect
my only Saviour.
Today we talked careers,
You helped me plan.
A voice of reason
I need
But never seek
Afraid
to find a void.
Welcome advice,
Eagerly absorbed.
Guidance
I’ve been missing
For years.
Source: http://www.healthtap.com
Darkness pulls me in
Again
I’m overwhelmed.
A sharpened knife
Along my skin,
The boldness of my
Blood seeps through
The pain
The hatred
Sliced wide open
Watching life release me.
A slow retreat,
An eternal escape
In desperation
I cling to.
Source: adventuresofasinglelesbianmother.blogspot.com
I want you to promise that you’ll still care about me, prioritize me, love me no matter what. I want you to promise that no matter how your career takes off, your art takes off, whatever comes your way, there will still be some space in your heart, some room in your life, for me. I hate this feeling. Something comes along and like an unused toy you put me back on the shelf until the rest of your life is boring enough to pick me back up again.
I know, I’m supposed to be supportive. A supportive partner who is encouraging and stands behind you clapping and cheering all the way. It tears me up inside. I do support you, but what about me? How do I support you without killing my insides? Without extinguishing that little part of me that needs to feel loved, cared for, important?
Shall I don my pom poms and dance around you, a pat on the back, a kiss on the cheek, some applause? Shall I bury my needs and desires so far deep I forget that they’re there, until slowly they morph into Resentment and kill us both? Kill whatever it is we had, or thought we had?
Source: http://www.jucoolimages.com
I take my sadness and hold it to me like a blanket–the only thing I have to keep me warm. I cry at night. Alone, in the darkness of my room, a muffled sadness though I live alone. I can’t let go, not all the way. If I did I’d be hysterical. Instead, like a tiny valve releasing wisps of air, I let it out quietly. I feel my body heave and throb as the tears stream down my face. My eyes are swollen and sore from the stroke of my hand wiping away tears, rubbing at the pain.
I cry alone because I have to. I know now, there’s no one you can count on to stand by you. No one who really wants to be there, to see all the ugly sides that are a part of you. To see the raw reality of who you are and what you’ve been through. You have to tie it all up in a bow, with a dollop of whipped cream and a cherry on top. For them. For them to like you and want you and be able to think about being with you forever. There has to be a bow and a glistening cherry.
The truth though, you keep to yourself. You conceal it in your deepest parts, protect it, console it, comfort it. The pain that makes you who you are, this is a wound that will never heal, will never find solace through another being. It’s all your own–to cherish, to acknowledge, to accept.
Source: jootix.com
There’s really no sugar-coating it now. I’m depressed. There, I said it. The d-word. Depressed.
I can’t even say what it is anymore. Is it the weaning off the meds? Maybe, who knows. But I feel myself slipping further and further into that darkened hole I struggled so fiercely to crawl out of.
It amuses me how everyone has an opinion. Brothers, fathers, boyfriends–they all have opinions. Opinions about medications they have never taken, symptoms they have never felt, a sadness they have never experienced.
Medications are bad. That’s it. Big final period at the end. Well, you know, it’s like my doctor said–sometimes it’s better than the alternative. In an ideal world, I wouldn’t have had to start them, but it’s funny, people act as though it’s something I chose, like tasting a delicious candy and then not being able to stop eating. Well, it’s not candy. I take it for a reason. I actually agree, I’d rather not, but only I know how I feel.
My dad asked so I told him. I told him when I’m not on the meds I can’t stop crying. Even on the bus, I told him, I’ll just randomly start crying and I can’t stop. He seemed sort of baffled. Really? he’d said. Even though you know it’s not normal, you can’t stop?
Well, bless his soul he tries, but with that question I remembered why this is a struggle I have to face on my own.
Unlearning the Fear 