a blog about depression, anxiety, and writing
Everyday is this battle. And I'm tired. All the time. I wake up exhausted. Sometimes, because I can't seem to escape my demons even in my dreams; other times, because as soon as I start to wake up I am all too aware of the fact that I have yet another day ahead of me. You see, it's hard for me to have hope that today is going to be a good day when I haven't had a good day in such a long time - I can't even remember the last "good" day I had. Hell, I can't even remember the last time I was truly (or even sort of, kind of) "happy".
And so, I wake up already tired, but knowing that I have to fight through this day; knowing that I need to function as much as I possibly can, knowing I need to try my hardest not to give in to the urges, the desires, the wants, the needs, the lies that depression and anxiety implanted in my head over 10 years ago. I am exhausted from fighting to stay alive everyday; from surviving, enduring, breathing, socializing, functioning... I am tired. I am tired when I go to bed at night, and yet that doesn't always mean I'll be able to fall asleep easily or sleep soundly.
But I have to keep fighting. And I will. I'll put on my "happy mask" when I walk out the door in the morning and, as much as that sucks, I'll do it anyway.
Everyday is a battle. And, as the years go by, it gets harder to fight; but I will, and I have to. I'll endure. I'll survive. I'll fight. But it's hard, there's no doubt about it.
But we have to keep fighting, even when fighting is waking up each morning; even when our biggest accomplishment that day is taking a shower and eating some food. Because, for me, those things can be really difficult.
Depression, anxiety, mental illness - they make us fighters, survivors, strugglers, warriors. Even though it doesn't usually feel that way.
Depression is hard (and that's an understatement). And, for me, sometimes it's made harder when the physical outside world looks the exact opposite of how I feel. Sometimes, I actually feel worse when the sky has zero fucking clouds in it. That crystal blue untarnished canvas can be infuriating, confusing, painful, alienating, dark, invalidating, and so much more.
I dislike when people point out to me how gorgeous the day is, or how pretty a landscape or a view is. I feel so much pain and loneliness when the people who know (and the people who don’t know) I suffer from sever depression ask me: “How could you not be happy or feel good on a day like this?” or “How could this weather or that view not make you feel just a little bit better?”
But they don’t want an answer.
So I just smile, look down at my feet, and nod.
I hold my breath, catch the words inching up my throat just before they find their way to my padlocked voice box, and I clench my jaw.
Each time this happens (and trust me, it happens quite often) I find that I get this throbbing ache inside me, wishing I could say something in response to their pointed question. I hope that someday I do say something. And if or when that day comes, I know what I’ll say.
It's simple: that’s not how depression works.
9/21/2016 1 Comment
September 21, 2016
9/20/2016 0 Comments
What effect could two seemingly unrelated photos have when placed next to each other?
What meaning could they each have on their own? How do their individual meanings change when they are placed next to each other?
9/19/2016 1 Comment
I have been experimenting with photography and how it relates to and influences my poetry. I have also been playing with photography and self-expression. I'm interested in how light effects experience and how abstract images are perceived. I've been using it as a new way to escape the world while still interacting with it, just from a distance.
My poetry tends to discuss my struggles with mental illness (but they are always open to any interpretations); however, I haven't been able to figure out how to use photography to represent my mental illnesses. Some of the pictures I take definitely show my emotions and struggles, but I'm still trying to figure it all out.
I guess we all are.
I am a poet. A writer. A student. A fighter. A survivor. I use writing as a means to understand my world, my experiences, my struggles. I use writing to cope, to escape, to help myself and others, and to relive.