I Struggle!

I found this article on depression that is absolutely…right on! I struggle with generalized anxiety disorder. I struggle with OCD. I struggle with severe arthritis. I struggle!

Plain and simple, we, 90 percent of us…struggle. And the more open and honest we are with our ‘recovery’ process…the better we are understood!

When I’m squinting because “my contacts are bothering me,” I’m truly holding back the tears that could burst out at any moment. If you’re going to invoke tears, please have your shoulder ready for me to cry on. I don’t cry in front of people – if I cry in front of you, I’m truly hurting and you are trusted beyond reason.

When I ask you to reassure me of the truth I already know, I am struggling to distinguish between the truth and the lies in my head – I just need another voice to interrupt the internal dialogue and confirm what is the truth. I’m not stupid or wanting reassurance out of attention-seeking motivations. Genuinely, I need another voice to confirm the rationales I typically hold as true. I struggle to maintain these during rough episodes.

When I say I’m always sad, that doesn’t mean I’m never happy – it just means there is always an underlying blanket of angst beneath everything. No matter what the circumstances. Life could be beautiful and I still struggle with that cloud of depression. There are happy moments. There are sad moments. There are exciting moments. But – at the end of the day, I have to fight the wave of hopelessness and turmoil that attempts to engulf me.

When I say “I’m trying,” I am saying I am doing all I can to get better. I am doing every single thing I can. It’s a painful process and chronic condition. It’s not perfect. I am working toward progress. Taking medicine is a scary step – side effects can be awful. Finding a medicine that works can be even scarier. Counseling can be awkward. Finding the right counselor can be even more awkward. Trying not to cause financial stress while seeking medical and psychological relief is near impossible. Trying to maintain relationships that last during all of this is difficult. I am wholeheartedly trying. Please don’t underestimate that.

I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. I don’t want to be this way. I want to be healed. I want my mind to be cleared. This thorn in my flesh is too much to handle most days. This thorn has me unappealing to many for friendship or romance. And that’s OK – just know I am not even slightly OK with not being OK. I recognize this is the state I am in and I have been fighting against it every day. I struggle daily – and it is not because I haven’t attempted to shine a light on this darkness.

Editor’s note: Please see a doctor before starting or stopping a medication.

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Unsplash photo via María Victoria Heredia Reyes.

Don’t Panic

To me…there is the possibility of

fear…

fear of what is known

fear of the unknown.

To me…there is the possibility of…

strange thoughts submerged in routine.

Always an angst devil looking over my shoulder…misinterpreting what I mean.

A heart so full it reaches into the throat.

Tranquility resides nearby…but never takes off her coat.

Panic, panic, say what?

Don’t panic, don’t panic…

the only words that I can breathe.

I look inward to a wild rose bush with thorns…

the beauty does not relieve.

Holding Hands with Madness

Tell me,

Would you understand if we did not hold hands today?

Loving would be simpler, if I did not stumble over the words…I am afraid to say.

You see, the madness pepper sprays the sanity.

The sanity…handcuffs honesty.

Honesty in the end, uses her nails, sharp as a coyote’s pointed tooth, to pull wallflowers off the wall.

You see, I am not feeling myself today.

Something, I am sure you already knew.

Madness is just something I go through.

Walking in Sharp Sand

An inter-sanctum where I live…
not for you
or
you
or
you
to forgive.
Platitudes and platitudes of discourse
I cringe, though not a one will know
The gifts you’ve given come with an interpreter’s silent force.

Hell’s yard sale from below.

One that marks another in brotherly love of those who remain…
with often a valedictorian refrain

I could hold your hands from outside the wired gate
When those above us reflect on human quakes.

To you,
to others,
I am but a precious mistake

Pageantry for Hate

You asked, ‘I do not understand…this pageantry for hate…’

And, more so, I heard the question…’really?’
As if, in disgust over how peace could be what I may have been feeling.

In an instant, the night raged on…doubt deep.

My fitful sleep…to keep.

Thus, I had lingered on your words today.
Watching as the roots, the limbs, the earth…felt the anger of our decay.
Avenging angels dressed up in their poetic make believe.
Babes with pacifiers, made of leather and recycled politically correct discussions.
Nibbling little infants feeding on store bought garden variety weeds.
Oh, the young, filling the void not the need.

Drifting back from the path in which I came.
The grove of 3 leaf clover, recoiled and fluttered
Nature blew about your sake, your self sanctimonious title…your fiery heart’s name.

My footing wavered over stone and ledge.
Focus, on good, focus, focus…
I began my pledge.

Death is spoiled on the old…or, so I am told.
Perhaps, I am just beyond bold.
Yet, I could not shake what might be easier if displayed.

Storms set deep inside the soul.
Rumbles of angst upon the horizon.
Wolves parading in opaque fur.
Screams in the night awaiting to be heard.

All of this and more, my dear.
As humiliating as stumbling down a wooden path.
Old and used…forgetting where you began at.
Wasted energy
Letting bad karma take the lead…
down a road of… nature’s way of showing off our misdeeds.