the (not so) pretty truth

* This post was written by me in 2013, but the original host site it was posted on does not exist anymore, so I am re-posting it here.

Fun fact, this post is how my husband found me, by reading these exact words and connecting to everything I had to say. 6 years married now, because of such a random twist of fate.

A lot has happened since writing this, including clarity that I was still very very mentally unwell. I was still living with and surrounded by my toxic family. I wasn’t in therapy. And I wasn’t being completely honest with myself yet. Nevertheless, I still want this to be out there as part of the beginning of my healing.

I am also disabling likes & comments. This just needs to be here, left alone.

Continue reading

one day, maybe i will fly

Sometimes its so hard for me to see beauty. I feel so blackened, so burnt. Pieces of my skin fall off, and I leave my ashy mark on every path I step foot on. The public bathrooms are my sanctuary; I lift my feet up above the door, and I curl up, and I wait to be alone. I don’t want this world to spin anymore. Why won’t it slow down? Why is everyone out to hurt me? I want to look around and see good people; to allow myself to believe that their smiles aren’t fake. I want to breathe in kindness, authenticity, loyalty. I want to see beauty in the eyes of these ugly people, whose shadows give their burdened hearts away. Continue reading

i cannot save her, only myself

Why aren’t things different? Better? Fixed? Why is it that when the rain starts, I am still falling down into the dark pits of past trauma? I don’t understand it, why I am still tormented so. I can still remember, physically, the touches that I did not agree to; the fear of making a sound; the emptiness. Continue reading

hi phil

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My skin still burns. The pain feels current, even though the waves of the abuse have long since washed away. Why do I still feel you? Why do I still see you? Your touch leaves a residue; a grime that I cannot scrub off. Your prescence is hiding in my closest, under my bed, next to me while I sleep. I feel your eyes on me when I stand naked in the shower, when I cry alone on the floor.

You are not gone yet. Continue reading

win or lose, mom?

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Look at me. Look me in the fucking eyes. I am here. I am human. I am equal to you.
Look at me.

Listen to the words coming out of my mouth. Or the silent thoughts. The grudges. The venom. The lies. The truths.
Listen to me, hear me. Continue reading

broken, healing

There are pieces of me strewn along the office floor. There are parts of me hiding in the drawers of the guest room. Pieces of me hiding under my bed, thrown into the closets, sleeping under my pillow. Each pile of things represents a different part of me, of my life. They are unorganized and unmindful. They are sad and mean. They are kind and empathetic. They are reaching out to be held. Continue reading

beauty

i have dirt under my fingernails

and cracks and ridges where soft skin should be
my hair is pulled up into a messy rats nest
with brittle ends and greasy roots Continue reading

please, don’t leave me

had a bad dream again last night.

i wake up to the back of his neck. i nuzzle my face into his skin and i repeat
i need you
i need you
i need you Continue reading

a different kind of person

I used to be a different kind of person. I was broke and tired, I was running on pure desperation. My conscience was hidden underneath layers of cold; under layers of sadness that were stale and hard. I didn’t know how to articulate my feelings into words, and besides, no one was there to listen anyway. Continue reading

thankful

I will not deny it, things haven’t been so easy as of late. I seem to have slipped into some kind of comfortable sadness; some form of loving loneliness. This is how things used to be, not how they should be now. But I suppose that is the artistry of depression, it cares not for circumstance. Continue reading

panic attack

It starts with a tingle, a slight burn in my stomach, and twinge of confusion in my head. And I know that the panic is going to surface, and I know that I am going to lose all fucking control, and I know that I cannot stop it. So I brace myself. I hold on for dear life and hope that this time I won’t cut myself or try to kill myself or hit or throw things or yell or scream. I hope that this time, I will just curl into a ball and take the beating silently. Continue reading

abnormal depression in a normal world

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The lights, all the lights. The flashing cameras, the voices of strangers. It is happening again. Another celebrity has died, and mental illness gets the spotlight for a few minutes. It gets to be paraded around in front of your television screens; it gets to be talked about in such a way, you’d think it wasn’t really that bad at all. Continue reading

fix me, dr.

I started counseling again yesterday. I don’t know what I expect to gain here, but I knew that I needed to try. She told me that she wanted me to write down some goals that I have for this counseling thing, and to bring them next week. Goals? Continue reading

an old journal entry

A journal entry from late 2012. Continue reading

what i wish i had known, then

  Then, I was covered in darkness. I had allowed my hopes and dreams to fall from my fingertips, onto the cold floor, and to shatter. After a while, I had forgotten about them completely. I could no longer recognize … Continue reading

the crazy

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I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t it. Maybe I thought that growing up would solve all of my problems, or perhaps I just believed that I would figure out how to fix everything by the time I grew up. Truth is, nothing has happened. I’m still crazy.

I think the worst part is that explaining this crazy is so damn difficult. It won’t fit into paragraphs. It won’t follow the rules of grammar. It’s messy and gritty and the kind of thing that most of us try to avoid.

But what if I tried to explain it anyway? What would it look like?

It would look like this: Continue reading

why i write

There was a time when I had given up hope; a time when I had the exact plans set on how to end my life.
There was even a time or two when I tried my hardest to carry out those plans.
Times I tried,
and times I failed. Continue reading

midnight musings of lonliness

When I was a little girl I was stuck; always at the mercy of others. It was then that I developed my claustrophobia, my fear of having no escape. I remember being bound so tightly I could not breathe I … Continue reading

one year of loony

Well it’s come! My one year anniversary with WordPress. *clinks glass*
I’m having a hell of a time trying to figure out what kind of grand gesture is appropriate for such an occasion, but since I am very anti-climactic, I thought I would just take a brief drive down memory lane and perhaps end with what lies ahead. Continue reading

what is depression?

my depression is lethal,
it is a terminal disease
you do not survive this
i can play ball with the dog,
i can get out of bed,
i can keep myself from crying,
i can wash my hair,
i can eat and laugh and be,
but I will not survive this.

i am a breathing paradox
so happy, feeling on top of the world
//
i am in shambles, floored, ripped to shreds
the happiness is gone in an instant

and this goes on
the euphoria and the severe
depression
dancing together forever, never a medium
never a middle ground
i am up high, and a second later, I am below the ground

what is depression?
feeling blue?
cured by pills?
those commercials that show a woman not able to play ball with her dog,
a man that cries in his office?
if that is depression, I want it
i would take that willingly
because that is not my depression

my depression is lethal,
it is a terminal disease
you do not survive this
i can play ball with the dog,
i can get out of bed,
i can keep myself from crying,
i can wash my hair,
i can eat and laugh and be,
but I will not survive this.

that is the difference between the depression society likes to flirt with,
and real, deep, in-your-soul darkness.
it likes to let you feel alive,
just enough so that you crumble when the high has passed
it likes to toy with you, play with you, turn you into its puppet.
it likes to give you moments where you feel that everything will be okay,
because it likes to see your soul bleed when you realize that it never will be

every second of every day there is a razor slicing your brain into pieces,
every person you meet has an ulterior motive,
every mouth tells lies,
every crack on the sidewalk is a sign,
every touch is a symbol,
every fuck is meaningless,
every laugh is dry,
every man is a fraud,
every woman is a nemesis,
every mirror tells the truth.

You cannot ever truly let yourself love another,
because they will hurt you in the end.
Or you will hurt them,
no,
you will destroy them in the end.
And there is no one person that could change that,
no special set of words that could change that,
it simply is.
You are not allowed to ever fully love or be loved.
And no one, despite what they say, could ever truly love you anyway.

You float most days,
losing track of the days weeks months
years
Disassociate until you are standing next to a calendar,
three years later,
not able to recall anything.
The only thing you know for sure is that you spent the last three years drifting.
You accomplished nothing.
You hid in your bedroom for most of it,
afraid of the world.

The fear is another thing.
At all times, you are barely breathing.
At all times, you are struggling for air.
Everything scares you,
everything is unknown and dangerous.
Leaving the house to check the mail,
being in a crowded mall,
driving on the freeway,
going to the doctor,
going to the store,
answering your phone,
the fear overpowers you,
until it is all that is left.

And the anti-anxiety meds helped for a while,
until they didn’t.
And because you look so put together on the outside,
no one believes you when you speak of this fear.
That is another difference, you see,
on the commercials,
depression and bipolar and ptsd and all the others
are so visual.
You see their depression
You see their sadness
You see their crazy.
But that is a fable
that is the soft-padded room that people like to crawl into.
That is not this.

It stays hidden.
It doesn’t not show its face very often.
People think you are okay now,
that you’ve grown,
that because you are not crying all the time or punching walls or drowning in alcohol
you are better now.
And that is the most dangerous place of all.

When you are dying from a terminal disease
and no one knows it
no one sees it
and you are too far gone to be able to express it
you cannot explain it
you cannot define it
you just stand there,
dying,
rotting,
alone.

The pills do not work for this
therapy does not work for this
man cannot fix this
because man cannot define this
It is a curse beyond the human race
a galactic flaw
that cannot be ailed.
There is no label
call me whatever you’d like
but they will fall short
and I will still be here
hanging by this noose
while you are busy searching up definitions.

You quit seeking help
because you are so exhausted of being disappointed
by the lack of results
There is no help for you

Inside my mind
there is nothing
there is everything
and I am chained

i’m the black sheep that moo’s

One thing I want to do this year is shed some metaphorical weight; get rid of some of that baggage that I carry around with me on my shoulders. What is it there for? What purpose it is serving, other … Continue reading

‘i didn’t get thin’, and other 2012 fails

   It’s almost the end of the world year, and that can only mean one thing: lists. We make lists to commemorate the end of a crappy year, and then we make new ones to overload ourselves with selfish hopes for a … Continue reading