Had I known this would have been our last embrace. Would I have given more than I take. I summon up that specter steeple. As well as, that rare smile that graced your face. Even now, I ask the hereafter, with quiet reservation, who does not falter? ♥ Ominous choices of two forks in the road. ‘No, you did all you could. How were you to know. She always likened herself to beauty being bold.’ ♥ Those were the days of romantic sobriety. Young love in tarnished hands. A reckoning of waters, so still they moved. I moved. You moved. ♥ I am perpetually swayed back to that secular summer place… with the worshipers in the sun’s face. The only thing I knew to do was offer a way to leave. Proposing a week’s reprieve. ♥ Seven days. It moved me. It moved you. And, at the time,
that was the best that we could do.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
There’s nothing in all the world I want but you and your precious love. All the material things are nothing. I’d just hate to live a sordid, colorless existence because you’d soon love me less and less and I’d do anything — anything — to keep your heart for my own. I don’t want to live—I want to love first, and live incidentally… Don’t—don’t ever think of the things you can’t give me. You’ve trusted me with the dearest heart of all—and it’s so damn much more than anybody else in all the world has ever had. From Zelda Fitzgerald to F. Scott Fitzgerald
Perhaps, Zelda could be best understood as…misdiagnosed with schizophrenia. When it is obvious she suffered from neglect and abuse. Even further than the lackadaisical diagnosis…is the belief that F.Scott Fitzgerald stole much of Zelda’s writings to further his own career! Both intrusions only hindered what the world could have benefited from her talents.
Zelda Fitzgerald was an icon of the Roaring Twenties. A socialite, painter, novelist, and the wife of American author F. Scott Fitzgerald, Zelda Fitzgerald’s audacious spirit captivated those around her and she was a muse for much of her husband’s literary work. Their famously turbulent marriage was fraught with alcoholism, violence, financial ups and downs, and Zelda’s battle with mental health issues. Her own artistic endeavors include a semi-autobiographical novel, Save Me the Waltz, a play entitled Scandalabra, as well as numerous magazine articles, short stories and paintings. She died tragically on March 10, 1948 in a fire at Highland Hospital in Asheville, North Carolina.
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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