Thank you

Thank You

I am writing this as a “Thank You” to all of you who have touched my life, or in return, have been touched by mine.

It is easy to get caught up in ourselves; our world is very ego centric. It is easy to take things and people for granted; to forget that we are all in a symbiotic relationship.

I want to spend this post, thanking those who have imparted some influence on my course in life… which is nothing at all like I thought it would be: once upon a time ago.

Many times, I have told myself, that “I feel too much.” And it is overwhelming. However, as an empath, I just feel all the time, on such an acute scale… it is hard to describe it in detail.

For me, it has come as depressions. Luckly, I know I am strong enough to ride the storm, but, admittidly, they are annoying. No one wants to be unhappy and stifled for weeks on end.

This letter of appreciation, is for all of you who have believed in me, and supported me through my doldrums. It is for those of you, who showed up to read a post, because you needed it in the moment.

My life has been one of servatude to humanity. My work, on such a small scale, is an act of prevention and inspiration.

I know that it is realistically insane to be happy or upbeat, all of the time. Not only that… but it is hard to do. I know that we are all sorts of sensative about things, people and situations, due to our past experiences. I know that certain things can act as triggers to deeper feelings, often catalyzed in an unintentional way. I know that sometimes a stranger says the perfect thing, at the perfect time.

I write for that part of a human. I write to that part of the human. I don’t reach millions of people per day… maybe five on a really productive day. I don’t do what I do for fame or following… I do it because I have been there. Once upon a time, I needed my own medicine and there was no one to administer the remedy. Mostly because I didn’t believe in myself.

I say THANK YOU, because I know whole heartidly that there is no way we would end up connected, if we didn’t have something to connect over.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for sharing. Thank you for feeling and using resources to reach connection. Thank you.

Thank you for having the strength to try and figure yourself out and do better for yourself.

I am blessed to be reaching you, who are only miles or oceans away. I am blessed to have your input and opinion based off your own personal experience.

Thank you for showing up. Thank you for allowing me space to be vulnerable. I appreciate the ability to be heard by you; my wish, is to always leave something worth thinking about; in hopes that when we leave ourselves, we leave them better than when we found ourselves.

Thank You.

If there are topics you would like to discuss, please leave a comment, and I will work on that.  I want to bring you content that inspires you to come back for more.  I would love a deeper dialog on here, and it is YOU, I am talking to.


When Words Signal the End

When suffering from depression, or mental illness; it can be very hard to live in domestic partnerships.  This is especially true, when the partner of the sufferer, has no interest in gaining coping skills to off set some of the dramatic emotional upheavals that are bound to occur.

We don’t plan our depressions; it can take years and years of self awareness to pin point all the potential triggers, as often times they tend to be more subconscious programs.  Dates, places, and phrases can, and often times, will set off a new bout of despair.

When the despair hits, it leads to an overwhelming feeling of being misunderstood, and alienated.  These feelings amplify self criticism; making the already annoying self critical response clock in off the charts.  A pervasive weight of ” I can do nothing right.” and “It’s all my fault.”

The thoughts and feelings that you may have had on “good days” now are second guessed and reduced to illusion.  That voice of illusion, says “No one really loves you.  No one ever will.”

It’s hard not to feel crazy when logic and emotion collide in the confusion of depression.

This is a piece I wrote while in a domestic partnership, that led me to spending a night in jail for domestic violence.  I started attending drug, alcohol, and domestic abuse classes for court.

Many times through the 7 months that I attended, I asked my partner to come with me; as I felt they were sharing a lot of useful information.  I also thought it would put  us on the same page, so that we could move forward, together.

However, he was not interested in those classes; which said to me, he didn’t really care about Us.  It broke my heart, and inevitably we split up.  For years, I wondered, “what if?  What if he was invested in my desire to get better? ”

I have since had to move on from that, and accept where I am, and who I am today.  I know that not just any one can handle the unforeseen upsets of the future.  It will require strength, patience, and cooperation.

When Words Signal the End.

This frustration builds. This love, a lie. And I am burning for more than this disappointment.

I am yearning for more than this fear of abandonment.

Alone with these thoughts and feeling, despite the activity around me; this soul is closed. All the doors are closed.

We can’t communicate. You say my reality isn’t valid.

It really isn’t yours to judge, but you do; constantly.

You blame me for being some fucked up artist.

It isn’t that, at all.

Can’t you see, sometimes we are both wrong.

No. You control. You blame. Nothing changes.

You bribe the master, waiving possibilities in my face. Nothing is ever manifest; it finds itself as watered down truths, dripping lies from your lips.

I am down, because you keep me there.

I am mad, because you show you care, in the most fucked up ways.

Days later, you apologize; so we keep riding the storm.

Love borne Hate. Emancipation is evident. All of this too late.

I am debating my hate; trying to hold my love, but I am drowning.

It’s astounding to watch from the wings, as I take swings at your face.

Wasting time, like it’s easy to buy; when really it’s hard to replace.

I want for you to show me something real; but the wheel of life turns and this heart burns with heartache.

Love is a dish best served cold, old and mouldy upon a paper plate. Swarming with fly larvae,

It isn’t tangible; it causes vertigo as my brain starts to go south.

My mouth a cesspool of verbs and curving words; they slice like a knife, through this paper flesh.

Should I regret this venture?

It’s too late, this path paved with good intentions, gone awry.

The repetitive question; Why, why, why me?

Why this mess? Why?

I confess; I am the mess. I am the beast with talon feet. I am the rage and the endless sadness. The builder of madness and tears that never seem to dry.

I try, but you call me the catalyst… The baddest bitch, you know.

Blow by blow your words knock me down, and add to the scowling.

Sweet inner child caught in the frowning, forgetting recollections; the brief reflections of innocence.

I am just an artist, with nothing to show; but a hole in my head where I’ve let these words go.

My Angle of Depression

How we feel, isn’t just “how we feel.” There are certain programs in place that advocate continuing the feeling of displacement. Those who are sensitive, and are proactive in working through old trauma, see examples of mental oppression in sources which we wouldn’t readily attach isolation. Check it. The world is changing, and so are we… Curriculum may not represent us….however we represent the byproduct of Academia and it’s “little lessons.” just as we are a byproduct of so many other influences… the best you can hope for when seeking education… is a fair education. This is not the case in reality…

The Abyss of the Mind

I started writing this for Mental Health day in May, however in the depths of my doldrums, words were hard to capture.  Recently I have had some conversations with friends of mine, who are also in the midst of depressive episodes in their lives, for various reasons.  And in knowing that, I feel less alone; their vulnerability and willingness  to talk about it has strengthened our friendships while broadening my perceptions of what it is that we are experiencing.

If you or someone you know is suffering from depression, please feel free to reach out to me.  I would like to create a public dialog about these experiences and offer emotional support.  Many people going through  depression have a hard time talking about it, and often expend much of their energy trying to pretend that they are okay.  Some of us are very good at hiding how much internal turmoil we are actually facing.  Please feel free to comment and share your story and if you have found any healthy coping mechanisms that have given you some relief.  If you are feeling suicidal please find help, or  call The National Suicide Prevention Line at 1-800-273-8255, which can connect you to local resources.

It’s lonely on the inside looking out at all the smiling faces, lingering in places of joy. And in this solemn slumber I am left to wonder why it seems so easy for others to get on emotionally in positivity. Wonder what it is about me that feels so lost and out of love, despite the deep set knowing that my life is nothing but good.

See, I am not struggling from hunger, or left out in the cold to wonder where I will sleep; in fact my life feels pretty safe and secure, but this obscure stranger lurks there. This shadow that doesn’t seem to care much for my better welfare. It clouds my good ideas, and glosses over memories, twisting how I perceive the past, present and future. And that is no way to live.

In my darkest hours I have sat in contemplation at the meaningless anticipation that slowly burns inside me, for a day I have yet to see, one where I will be free of this depressive malady. Melancholy has been my mantra for too long, it’s the silently sung anthem of my attitude as of late.

And it doesn’t suit me very well. Some days it’s hell trying to smile and pretend that this mental pressure isn’t there, and that I have no cares in the world. It’s been the discussion at the tip of my tongue for too long, and suppression has started swelling, and it’s going to bust through it’s shell of deception.

Deniable, the Debbie Downer, no one wants to invite her to the party where she will largely bring others down. And despite it all I know my own ability to raise the vibration but lately it’s hard to rise to the occasion as I sit in this procrasterbationary cycle.

There is a roadblock in my view, and it skews my ability to see where my path leads, and what it means to me. I feel that at 34 I should have made more progress instead of this arrested development. There is massive pressure in the potential, and I level myself by staying away from making too many decisions. Each task of the day leaves me in wanting, each choice to make more over baring than the last.

In this depression, I want to be taken care of . I don’t want to care for others, and yet that is an unavoidable reality. There is no one to swaddle me, and hold me silently, for a moment of peace and feeling connection.

And isn’t that exactly what depression is? A feeling of isolation so pervasive that it effects one down to their core. It feels incredibly unreliable. I try to put words to it, but I find it unexplainable. I know it’s a type of depression that drugs will not fix, and therapy is no match for; realizing I just want more connection, but I can’t seem to move forward and make that happen. Feet bound in concrete, frozen from make a move toward any one direction. My synapsis on some sort of delay. Thinking today is the day, still nothing happens and I find myself waiting on tomorrow.

Education is my distraction. Information is my drug. And the more I learn about the world, the more I feel torn between throwing myself headlong into humanity; and hiding out away from reality. The push-me-pull-you of a person with sensitive strength, confused on how to assert her existence within this existence. Missed opportunities because nothing seems to light my fire. The foundation of excuses.

The fuel of my youth; a desire to be seen as acceptably intelligent, bound for successes undreamed of yet,  if only I could leave the small perimeter of my home. When I finally left, I felt I was on some sort of path, but with each pursuit I would follow, there was still a hollow in my heart; a dissonance with my purpose.

Materialism didn’t suit me, so some may see me as living life like a vagabond. The only purpose I’ve held onto, is the service of humanity… but where is the service to me? I swim in a sea of information, I drown on all the options, cast out into the depths of indecision.

I can’t seem to find a conclusion, on what actually TO DO. And in this place, I miss experiences of love, laughter and adventure. Three things I adore. Somehow I always answer “no.”

“Yes” is it’s own foreign language, I can’t wrap my mouth around it.

My heart wants to know this foreign language, but my mind won’t record it.

No regrets, but I bet if I knew then, what I know now, maybe I wouldn’t feel this depression like an extremity. An extension of me I can’t seem to detach. Feeling like I know too much; I see too much, I feel too much. Overwhelmed and shut down.  Emotionally paralyzed; my body can’t metabolize all this stimulation that bombards me in silence. A personal crisis, I tell myself will not last forever. Nothing lasts forever.