Sometimes, it seems like only yesterday. Other times…

…it seems like he died a lifetime ago. What little faith and spirituality I possessed died when he did.

I remember standing next to his bed in hospice and praying for the leukemia to leave his body and come into me. At least once, every couple of weeks, I think to myself, “He should be here instead of me. I wish he was here instead of me. The family, esp Mom, need him more than they ever needed me.”

I know he could have helped my sisters and mother grieve over me. He would have seen them through it. Life would’ve gone on and been better with my absence. They all could have created a fantastic myth surrounding me the way they have done with him.

April 23 is my least favorite day of the year. I predict I will sleep through most of it. It may sound like a terrible thing, but considering I used to spend the day cradling a large bottle of whiskey or wine, it’s not that bad at all.

It’s all about extending the same patience and giving the same love to myself that I extend to those around me. It’s getting easier. Though, I still have many miles to travel.😌

the darkness is returning…

I feel it creeping up on me. My only solace is knowing I won’t try to end my life as my masochism has heightened since I survived the suicide attempt that should have killed me. Back then, I wanted to end the pain. Now, I prefer to sit with the negative emotions and attempt to become friends with the pain.

I envy people for which antidepressants work. They’ve never given me any reprieve. Docs throw out the term, “treatment resistant,” to describe my depression.

I miss my Cali mmj. Marijuana worked better for both my anxiety disorders and depression better than any prescription I’ve tried in the decade I have been living with mental illnesses. And yet…and yet, so much of America still has it outlawed. I can chain smoke cigarettes and binge drink, but roll a joint and lift from a depressive episode? Hmmm, not without a risk.

If my sister and her family had stayed in TX instead of moving to OH, I wouldn’t be here. My mom is getting older and she is sensing certain changes within herself. She’s becoming forgetful. Her mobility is becoming more limited. She has more pain. I don’t like thinking about her dying. It really fucks me up.

I hope she doesn’t die before I take the pain, trauma, etc, and do something great with it. I just want to do something…anything to make her proud. I’m the family black sheep…loser. They won’t call me that…my family. Try to end your life, wind up in a psych ward, and get diagnosed with mental illnesses and your straightlaced loved ones will handle you gently. They will applaud any and every minor achievement, not because they are impressed with you. No, they cheer out of fear that you’ll try again.

I don’t see myself doing that, suicide. At least, I don’t see myself doing that while my mom is alive. However, if I were to be without any close companions when she dies? I could see myself doing what Alexander McQueen did when his mother passed away. When I look at someone like McQueen- brilliant designer, wealthy, & with a romantic partner – and I just don’t get it…why he chose to hang himself. I have very little money…I am not destitute, but I am also not wealthy. I have no love to call my own. I just have a phone full of numbers of people that either fucked me or want to. Clearly, suicide is no respecter of persons. It can come for anyone…depression and other mental illnesses too.

Overall, I don’t fear death. I should have died ten years ago. I see the time I am in now as extra time.

I scribble all of this randomness here because I don’t have much of any kind of following within this space because the blog is new and I really don’t know what I am doing. I just know that writing things down always seems to help me feel a little better.

In any event, today will be one in which I crawl into my cocoon…my cave…and allow myself to come undone, breakdown, cry, and sleep. There’s more room out than in and some of the tears I shed should have been released awhile ago.

To anyone that has actually made this far into my haphazard drivel, thank you for indulging me. If you are going through rough shit understand that it will get better with time. Treat yourself gently and don’t be afraid. I am right there with you in the trenches. Power on, mental health warrior.

When depressed, I go numb…

“When depressed, I go numb and can’t stand it. Whenever tears finally come, I can breathe again. Salt water washes away the grime. Makes me clean again… or clean-ish at least… The depression never lifts before an adequate amount of tears have been shed.

It’s as if the tears are the fee to be paid before a sense of relative normalcy can return.” – IRD, 12/6/17

It’s a rainy, cold, & gloomy day. I’m sipping on tea and making sense of impossibly large stacks of my scribblings. I felt compelled to share this snippet on depression today.

For the longest time, I couldn’t talk or write about my experiences. It hurt too much. I would cry and shut down. The healing had just begun.

I’m grateful I am not where I used to be. I am grateful I can feel without shame. I spent most of my life suppressing emotions. I would fake it till I made it. However, whenever I suppressed emotions in the past, I set myself for a greater setback and explosion farther down the road, so to speak.

Resisting emotions and trying to deny the existence of them (emotions) isn’t unheard of. However, it is the worst thing that can be done if one ever hopes to be lifted or rather, rise up from the darkness & into the light. #realtalk