You know what I would love?
If, as a
society – as HUMAN BEINGS – we stopped putting “versus” in between different kinds of people.
I’m about to go to my therapy appointment.
Feeling a bit… shall we say… internal, today.
Self-analyzing, philosophical. Quiet.
I’m also truly there again.
Not completely, it’s only a minor slope. But it’s a definite downward lull.
But then again, I do.
Why else would I feel on edge?
Depression and anxiety feed off of one another, trapping me between a rock and a hard place. An immovable object against an unstoppable force.
I’m find joy in multiple things today.
I feel joy in the lesson I’m about to prepare.
Joy in the donut I’m going to eat after I get back from therapy.
Joy in the book I have to read.
The dog staring up at me with big brown, curious, loving eyes.
The options, choices to be made.
The possibility that I could work on my writing today.
Even though I probably won’t.
I don’t have any energy. It’s not just physical. Emotional energy. I’m out of it. I’m not certain if its depression, anxiety, or ME/CFS. Perhaps all of them at once. But I’m drained of the ability to move, motivation, energy in general. The strength to lift my limbs. The world is a murky pool of molasses, my body a thick, awkward figure of solid iron and cotton balls.
Not of desire. I’m not robbed of that. I want to create. To work on my writing. To piece together my lesson. I feel inspired.
What’s the point of all this blogging stuff going on here?
Is this post relevant?
Is it pointless?
Am I complaining, yammering, going on and on about myself?
Or am I connecting?
I’m not entirely certain.
I have these moments.
Where I’m outside of myself.
Wondering, what am I doing?
So are people.
I know I am.
I don’t really understand how I can be really low, totally depressed or suffering AND really optimistic and hopeful, feeling kinda pretty good.
But I can. Doesn’t make a lick of sense.
Humans are a lot more complicated than I think we give ourselves credit for.
If we feel more than one thing – we *must* be crazy, with multiple personality disorder or something. Did you know they changed the name of that disorder quite a while ago, to “dissociative identity disorder” or DID? I wonder why they change the names of things so freaking often and no one seems to know.
Anywho, we can feel a huge range of emotions at once. We can be more than one thing at a time. I don’t know about anyone else, but that’s been a foreign ideal to me before now.
I get so tired of people telling me that if I were emotionally unstable, I wouldn’t be able to hide it.
Don’t tell me that.
I am a walking act.
All my painful secrets stay inside.
I haven’t known how I could be anything but ‘happy’ and still feel what I feel, hiding it all the while.
I’m optimistic, I’m hopeful.
But that is not all that I am.
Don’t tell me that if I’m bubbly, smiling, or kind, that I can’t possibly be in pain, physically and emotionally. Don’t tell me, when I open up to you, that this isn’t possible.
Why are people so willing to take everyone at face value and so unwilling to believe that there’s ANYTHING, something, beneath the surface???
I thought I was working on all of this stuff but I found I haven’t even made a dent. I guess getting really sick is good. Health failing obviously equals that something is wrong. It just takes a lot of pain to wake me up.
Then again, I am human. I guess human beings have to realize something over and over again until something pings in just the right way that we’ll believe, too.
The holidays ran me over and have been dragging me down lollipop infested roads. So perhaps I’ll have something more to say next month. 😉
On that note, HAPPY HOLIDAYS! Try not to eat yourself to death. Or children. Don’t eat children either.
It’s quite simple, really.
I don’t mean to die.
I mean stop living.
Close your eyes and pretend.
And then there’s nothing.
Urgency to breathe only comes now and again.
Subsides when your soul flutters to a standstill.
Though your heart still pumps blood.
Your eyes still see.
Simply not the truth.
You’re breathing fine anyway, physically.
But you know.
You know it’s not all.
You know you’re not breathing.
It’s in your bones.
Starts to hurt.
Inch by inch.
Step by step.
Lie by lie.
Begins somewhere deep.
You don’t even understand.
Words don’t fit it.
This is your choice.
The one you have to make.
And deciding not to make it, is a choice as well.
But it is yours.
You own it.
Can you feel it?
Burning, twisting, twining.
Can you hear it?
Clawing into your gut.
Beating at the wisps of deception.
Bleeding into your soul.
Ripping at the bindings you’ve solidified around it.
Or do I close my eyes again.
Let it fall to the side.
Ignore the tears.
The shrieking fears battering inside my skull.
Trying so hard to free me.
This will pass.
But not if I let the truth die.
Speak the automated lines.
Define the silence with everything but my own sorrow.
Anything but the sorrow, the anger.
Do I chose to disappear over anything.
Even the possibility of living.
The possibility of joy.
Aren’t things supposed to make more sense.
As time passes.
Isn’t it a rule somewhere that I’ll know.
Wake up and know.
I guess not.
It just gets harder.
Black and white is long gone.
I guess the problem is,
I don’t know.
How to breathe.
How to choose.
How to see.
Is quite simple, really.
But is it worth it?
Emptiness has brought me here.
I guess I couldn’t see it.
I only saw through the eyes of others.
While right for each soul who spoke from their own mouths,
Their eyes, their hearts, can’t see what my own need to see.
I am terrified.
I do not fit in the perfect.
Smiles and light-hearted glossy words and dreams, every moment.
I do not fit in the image.
And it breaks me as I try.
I let it.
Beat me, break me, try me, convince me I am not enough.
Convince me that to feel is the end. Done.
Put on that beautiful mask.
The world says.
I guess the truth is, the last hit is hovering.
Alone and suffocating,
I’m the only one who can save me.
And I’m choking the life out of my own lungs.
One heart beat to the next.
I guess the truth is,
I thought I had to see what was wrong,
Pick up the pieces,
And be perfect.
Or I was once again, still, forever; something unspeakable.
The truth is,
I have no idea what the truth is.
I cannot fix this tonight.
I am lost.
Teeter tottering back and forth.
I suppose I’m not dealing with it.
I’m pushing it away.
Is quite simple, really.
But at what cost?
by Daphne Shadows
Do you ever just start questioning everything in your life?
Why do I do this?
Why did I think that?
Why do I waste my time on that?
How dare I take time to do that – and anyway, why do I?
What’s the point in this?
Yada, yada, yada.
You get the point.
Recently- okay that’s a lie.
For a while now, I’ve been questioning myself on why on earth I think it’s okay for me to take time out of my day to read a book – something I enjoy – *gasp*!
How dare I!
Self hate is a pretty strong accusation so for the sake of you guys not living inside my head and knowing everything that goes on there, we’re just going to go with, I’ve been depriving myself of pretty much everything I enjoy.
Because I’d feel guilty, bad, wrong, selfish, like a horrible person, if I spent any time taking care of myself.
It’s like I’m depriving myself of love.
Not allowing myself to be happy or do anything simply because I’d like to.
But I’m only skimming the surface just yet, so let’s keep it to what I’ve discovered so far.
Last week, I was in a lot of pain (medical issues, don’t worry, I’m not missing any limbs), and it hurt to lie down in bed, even though I was exhausted.
I’m lying there, praying for sleep, wishing against wish that I could wink out of consciousness and fall onto the pillow of being unaware.
And the thought pops into my head –
Why not grab my book, go in the kitchen and read?
At this point, even my “hate and deprive yourself” programming couldn’t break into my pain induced thoughts, and so I got up quietly, grabbed the book I’d been sipping (because I hadn’t really sat down and read in quite a while) and went into the living room/kitchen, turned on the light, sat against the wall, and read.
For a few hours.
At about one in the morning, I broke my awareness away from my book and looked at the clock. Deciding to go to bed, I realized I felt better. Happier. Calmer.
For a few hours I’d ignored the pain, hadn’t even been aware of it.
For a few hours I’d not felt like an emotional wreck. I’d felt kinda good, actually.
And then it clicked.
All the questioning I’d been doing – why do I allow myself to selfishly waste time and read a book when I could be working on something I need to get done? Never mind that I couldn’t sleep. Never mind that I wasn’t being productive lying in bed and becoming more and more miserable as sleep evaded me. Why did I think it was okay to take time to do something that would simply make me happy?
Because it makes me happy.
It gives me some peace.
Reading allows me to escape reality for a little while. It takes me somewhere else.
I read for the love of stories. For the amazing thing that happens when I disappear into another world.
And it made me realize that even on small levels like this, I’ve been punishing myself for doing anything that makes me happy.
Now, I’m sure I’ve said that before. But I’ve blurred the lines of boundaries and my rights as a human being so badly that saying that hasn’t really sunk in, made any sense.
Last week, it made sense. I went from, “uh, yeah, sure, I’m aware that I do that” to “oh, I accept that I’ve been doing this, it’s bad, and I need and want to stop if I want to be happy and healthy”.
Did this magically make my bad habit of feeling guilty and hating on myself if I wanted to/did read for a little while?
No, of course not.
I’m a human. Humans are stubborn and it’s hard to break habits, good or bad.
But at least I’m working on it now.
And anytime that not so little voice tells me that I’m horrible for taking time to read – I smother it!
Here’s for continued vigilance to that end…
(***A note to my readers. If I haven’t responded to your comments yet, rest assured – I will. I have read and I love your comments!)
I have no idea what to blog on this week.
I don’t even know what’s going on inside my own head.
Do you ever get that way?
Kind of blank inside….
I think maybe I’m just on overload, if that makes any sense.
So what’s on my mind?
Yeah…. this is going nowhere.
Do you ever feel stuck? Like you’re walking around in circles, retracing the same steps that led you nowhere in particular?
That’s me right now.
I could use some divine intervention.
And even once you realize you’re walking in circles, you then have to figure out WHAT it is that you’re doing wrong, WHAT it is that you need to do to change, and HOW you’re going to accomplish that.
I think right now I’m in between those two. The circle walking and the planning/changing.
I’m in the exhausted category. Sitting there, blinking at everything going on, and wondering why the kitchen is so far away from my chair.
Humans are so strange. Why does it take us forever to realize something isn’t right? I mean, how many times do you have to club yourself over the head before you realize you’re holding a club???
Anywho – I’m a zombie.
Except I don’t have the energy to eat brains. Or even chase my food in the first place.
So I’m going to die of starvation.
Maybe I’m a vegetarian zombie – just apply chocolate.
Do you ever realize you’re walking in circles? Figure out the needed change and simultaneously feel like you got run over?