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I am crowded in an empty room. I guess it’s the silence, the emptiness, the nothingness. it pushes on me. it tells me you take up too much space. I reply, I know.
I have come to the conclusion that I am a walking paradox, a mismatched mix of innocence and experience, a bottle of oil and water constantly being shaken. I overthink the details. I miss the big picture. I am a perfectionist. I am a procrastinator. I have strong opinions. I am indecisive. I am stubborn. I apologize too much. it’s not physically possible to be like this. there is a reason oil and water separate no matter how many times you shake them back together. I am black and white dots in a body shaded gray, and I don’t know which part of myself is the truth anymore.
I feel this often
mercury: my mood changes too fast for my brain to keep up with. sometimes, I am okay. I really am. talking, working, laughing. then suddenly, day trades places with night and my neurons freeze. I stop talking. I stop working. I stop laughing. all I can do is pray the frostbite doesn’t reach my heart before the sun rises again.
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I am going stir-crazy inside my skull, peeling off the wallpaper with short, bitten nails. there are no emergency exits here: I am left to claw myself out.
earth: I burn and smoke to keep others warm, forgetting that I need to breathe. I carry a first-aid kit wherever I go, forgetting that I need to heal. I give out love to all who will take it, forgetting that I need some for myself. I am dying in order to keep everyone around me alive.
aphrodite and ares are playing their game, mixing their potions for fun. this love is a war and the battle is here: kiss the bullet and load the gun.
hypothesis: if my significant other sees all the symptoms of my mental illness, then they will leave. if my significant other sees all the symptoms of my mental illness, then they will decide it is not worth it. they will decide I am not worth it.
mars: I am tired of the fight, tired of combat. all it has done is leave red on my skin and make my own life feel alien to me. I have to decide: this is where I surrender, or this is where I finally make peace with myself.
some days I’m okay, while others pull me to the ground. I’ll dig through dirt searching for happiness I thought I’d found. the darkness scares me more now that I see a chance at light; that flare of hope is pushing me to not give up the fight.
I’ve always been intrigued by hands. how the same mesh of bone and blood and nail that caresses a face cooks a meal holds a child can also form a fist grip a neck pull a trigger. we all have hands. we all have the potential to protect and create and love. we all have hands. we all have the potential to hurt and steal and kill. we all have hands. but what we use them for is up to us.
find yourself in a page. look at where you are. find your past in the pages before. look at all that you have survived. find your future in the pages after. look at all that you have ahead. this is not the end of the book. you are right at the heart of it. keep reading.
a pillow is not a tissue or a shoulder or a therapy session. but you can cry into it. a journal is not a friend or a hotline or a therapy session. but you can vent into it. poetry is not an intervention or a prescription or a therapy session. but you can heal with it. first steps are always more important than they seem.
when it comes to suicide, we like to talk about how the person died: a gun to the head, an overdose, a rope hanging from the ceiling. but people do not die from a rope hanging from the ceiling. people die from depression. a person dies from suicide— from depression— every forty seconds. I am only one person with one life with one story. but everyone has their stack of stanzas. some people just don’t live long enough to publish them. while you were reading this, someone committed suicide. this page is for them.
don’t tell me my brokenness is beautiful. this is not beautiful. this nearly killed me. this is not something for you to romanticize. I am beautiful. this (depression) (anxiety) (pain) is not.
saturn: the wounds have healed and the scars are fading. my skin is pale and smooth. I’ve started to confide in my closest friends. they embrace me. support me. surround me. for the first time, it is scarier to think about going back than to think about moving forward.
that was not brave. that was survival. but it was brave to keep writing once people were listening. it is hard to admit something to yourself. it is harder to admit something to your friends family teachers future partners. it is hard, but I’m doing it. and that is bravery.
he tells me, you are a complicated person to love. I know, I reply. I struggle with it every day.
there are times that I am doing so well, I stop taking my meds. and suddenly I feel like the light switch has flipped off. and suddenly I feel like I am not better because of my hard work. and suddenly I feel like a fraud. I try to remind myself that the brain is an organ, that this is a disease, that diabetics need insulin and no one thinks of that as cheating. I try to remind myself that this is not a boost, this is a treatment. so I swallow my pride along with my pills and let myself get better.
uranus: sometimes people distance themselves when I mention my mental illness. they look at me like I am a box of matches ready to burn at any second. they look at me like my world is tipped on its side, revolving the wrong way. I think their heads are just tilted from so much skepticism.
sometimes my thoughts are so jagged they chip my teeth on their way out of my mouth. I used to swallow sandpaper, wear down my vocal cords, smooth over rough edges to make sure I did no damage. now, I leave my words sharp. I attach them to the nocking point at my larynx and pull back the string, so that when they hit the target, they pierce. watch as they fly through the air. ready. aim. fire.
neptune: I used to think that the opposite of darkness was sunlight, that the opposite of depression was happiness. now I know that during the day there are clouds and rain and snow. outside of depression there is pain and joy and anger. after years of flood and drought, what a relief it is to see the tide rise and fall again. to bask in blue without being consumed by it. to swim without wanting to drown. what a relief it is to live a life I am excited to wake up to.
this is not a journey from sad to happy, from bad to good, from total darkness to white light. there is no destination, no ending, no point where I cross the finish line and collect my blue ribbon. I’m learning to live again. I see passion and joy and love where there used to be nothing. but that doesn’t mean I untie my shoes. it just means I have another reason to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
I spent so long trying not to drown. coughing up saltwater feasting on adrenaline kicking my legs, even when my calves cramped even when my feet became numb even when I realized no lifeboat was on its way. I am still in the ocean. there is still no lifeboat. but I am not drowning. my head is tilted back. my legs are lifted up to the surface. I see pink clouds in the sky. if you think you are drowning, just remember: you float in water.
this year, I fell in love with myself. I told myself thank you. I’m sorry. it’s okay. thank you for fighting to survive even when I don’t want to. I’m sorry I blame you for things you can’t control. it’s okay that you’re not perfect I will love you anyway. now, I look at my face in the mirror instead of my body. you are the most important person in my life.
to my past self: night cannot last forever. the moon is only bright because it’s reflecting the sun. and there is a sun, and you will live to see it. to my future self: day cannot last forever. I know happiness is not a final destination or a resting place. that is okay. it is more than okay.
I am not your beautiful broken mess to clean up. my mental illness is not a riddle for you to solve, a decoded message for you to unscramble. I already know the answer: therapy. and medication. and pouring out my thoughts in ink instead of blood. you are not the answer. I am.
be grateful that time will heal the wounds but leave the scars. how else will you remember all that you’ve survived?
the most powerful word in the english language is no. it is refusal and control and aggression and authority. do you still love me? no. are you comfortable with this? no. do you want to live like this forever? no. I used to be scared of saying no being selfish making my own decisions. but there is strength in refusal. there is revolution in authority. there is freedom in control. so, savor your strength. revel in your revolution. follow your freedom. say no.
don’t ask for respect; demand it. don’t look for opportunity; grab it. don’t add to the world; change it.
