I am broken
Made to feel inferior by your constant provoking
Beaten by your words, defeated by your actions
Ruined myself confidence with your dissatisfaction
Overly critical of all that I do
Keen to berate and rip me in two
Every discussion, I’m wrong and you’re right
Never realizing you brought me so much pain, night after night
You make me feel small
Like I don’t matter at all
I try to speak up, to use my voice
But screaming is often your method of choice
I try to stand tall and hold my ground
But you tower over me and push me around
You get so close up and in my face
Invading all my personal space
To you, I’m simply dismissible
I don’t matter and am completely invisible
You make me feel small
And one day, that will be your biggest downfall
Doll in the window
The prettiest of everyone
She was desired by many
But only promised to one
Taken home and loved
For a while anyway
Then discarded without hesitation
One cold winter’s day
She’s broken now
Way beyond damaged
And far less pretty than before
Left tattered and bandaged
Doll in the window
Who someone no longer wanted
Will never again be loved
And left forever haunted
Ever do something for selfish reasons? What if doing something will bring nothing positive or constructive to your situation but might make you feel a smidge better? Should you still do it?
I keep dreaming about it, in different settings, but always the same scenario. And before there is any response or outcome – I wake up. It’s completely and utterly cruel. I think this is my subconscious trying to tell me to confront my demons.
But it’s for selfish reasons. No good will come of it, so why bother? It won’t change the past and it certainly will not improve my future. SO WHY? It might make me feel better for a minute; give me some sort of brief relief. But it’s entirely temporary. The demon still exists despite confrontation.
I could end up with more demons in the long run. *deep sigh*
To be selfish or not to be selfish, that is the question.
If you’re new to these parts – I like to confess shit. Just say things that the bloggy-verse that I probably should say in actual confession [or to no one at all]. But you know – relieve the burden of carrying it around in my head. And I’m aging so I only have so much head space to spare.
This is a special confessions edition, specific on mental health since May was Mental Health Awareness Month. Yeah I’m late – but shit happens. And no I am not going to lecture you but rather confess some [very hard] truths about my mental health in hopes you might confess or face some hard truths about your own or someone you know. Regardless, know that it’s real, it can be very scary and very lonely and it should always be taken seriously.
So lets confess some shit…
- I have chronic depression and anxiety disorder. And I am heavily medicated.
- I have good days and bad days. Peaks and valleys.
- My depression began in middle school (about 6th grade) and anxiety kicked into high gear in high school. I don’t recall anytime since then that I’ve not had either in my life.
- In my family – mental health anything was frowned upon. You were depressed? You were supposed to get over it. You had anxiety? You were told to stop being anxious. Period.
- I once went off my meds cold turkey. Serotonin withdrawal is awful. NOT RECOMMENDED.
- My depression has taken many forms over the years. From nights planning my death and calling the Suicide Lifeline (1-800-273-8255, just in case you need it) to cutting, pill taking, hiding my home or just not being able to fully function.
- My anxiety has also surfaced in many forms over the years. Panic attacks that would send me to the ER with a heart rate into the 180s+, blackouts where I’d wake up really disoriented and not know who/where/what the hell was going on for about 30 mins, dizziness, blurred vision, the shakes, and so on.
- When Mike and I started dating- my panic attacks slowed down dramatically.
- I have eczema and pick at it when I’m stressed or down or just want to hurt, to feel something. My arms are scared and most of the time I don’t care to show them.
- I have two main outlets to deal with life – writing and reading.
- I’ve kept a journal for as long as I can remember. Most of my childhood journals were destroyed by my mother (a post for another time). But I’ve always kept a journal and always will.
- I read to escape into new places, take new adventures, solve new mysteries. To get out of my own head for a while. This is part of the reason I needed a library in my home.
- Working out is starting to become a new outlet. SHOCKING FOR ME, I KNOW!!! But I think it’s because I pushing myself. I’m also in the renaissance!
- Sometimes I’m entirely nonfunctional. I feel like an awful human being. And I hate that my kid is now old enough know something is wrong.
- I’ve found some comfort in other people who understand. I often seek refuge in the words of Jenny Lawson, my favorite blogger and author. She gets that’s depression lies and darkness is real. She saves me.
These are my [mental health] confessions.
I have depression (who doesn’t, right?) and anxiety. Neither are anything I love to talk about but mental health is a real struggle that a lot of us face, often in silence. I’m medicated, so I function. Just like most, I have ups and downs, peaks and valleys of good mental health and bad.
Currently – I’m in a valley. A dark, desolate valley.
The valley is surrounded by enormous mountains, dark and ominous on all sides. Intimidating even at a distance, even at night. It’s dry here. Even the air is stale, as if all the moisture was sucked out of it. It’s hard to breathe. The ground around me is nothing but dirt and rocks. No grass grows. Nothing. Drought has seized this valley. It is brittle and sad. Hardly any life flourishes because the ground has barely anything left to give. What does survive is the most resilient of plants and animals. The outcasts. The things no one truly wants. Also the things that scare me the most. The ground is jagged with fallen boulders and rocks as obstacles almost in all directions.
The wind begins to pick up. It’s rough, almost like a storm. The kind of storm that you love in the comfort of your own bed but is terrifying in a valley of your depressive conscience. There is no where safe for me to take shelter. No trees to help cover me. I can barely see in front of me. The dust and dirt and pebbles are pelting my body. It hurts. Darkness consumes me. The wind envelopes me. All I want to do it lay down and let them take over. But I don’t. I walk. I’ve been here before. Maybe not this exact valley but one like it. This is familiar. I can feel blood start to run down the arm I am using to protect my face. It stings from all the dirt. I walk on in hopes that darkness will end. That there will be light.
There has to be light….somewhere.