You need to know.

This is an excerpt from my online journal. I may regret posting this, but right now, it needs to happen.

Please don't think any less of me if you read it. 

1/26/12

SICK SICK SICK. I’m sick of it. My mind is being taken over by devils. 7 devils. Ignorance, pain, sensitivity, esteem, disbelief, anger and grief. 7 devils are poisoning my mind. I write this stuff down because I can’t say any of it. I can’t admit to the lowliness of my existence. Honestly, I hope no one finds this until I’m dead and gone. I’m tired of everyone telling me that I’m sick. Depression, anxiety…what are they? Why do they think they belong within my body? I didn’t invite them. They burrowed in my calmest places and poisoned my zen. You know why I’m sick of being sick? Because as much as people seem to care… they don’t do anything about it. They let me pop a couple pills and assume I’ll be fine as long as they keep their distance and let me be. I’ll be fine. I just gotta work through it. I need my space. Well I realized last night that I can’t be alone. I ran into my mom’s room in hysterics and collapsed. I honestly don’t remember exactly what happened. I think I said something about hurting myself, and then the breathing started. The short gasps. “I’m going under. I’m not giving up, I’m just giving in” I felt like I was in what Flo calls “the arms of the ocean.” I couldn’t breathe. The next thing I know, I begin blacking out because I wasn’t getting the oxygen I needed. My muscles started seizing up. They began to tighten and I could feel my whole face twitching as the muscles struggled to function without air. It was the oddest sensation. I felt like I was having some sort of seizure. Well I’m sick of it! As I lay there in my mom’s arms, I thought of how I got this way. I’ve grown up a strong and happy girl. I’ve done everything I’m supposed to. I read my scriptures every day. I pray constantly. I am humbled to my knees every day. And yet the one thing that I know would make me happier and anything in the world is no closer to being safe in my grasp than our economy fixing itself. And you know something’s wrong when you have to make comparisons between your mental wellbeing and the government.

I AM TIRED OF IT. I want to just grab all this crap in a bag and go dump it in the Willamette River where it will decompose and create a new sort of mutated fish. Why can’t I just be happy? And it isn’t for lack of trying. I’ve tried to find new hobbies, I got a job to keep myself busy, I get out of bed each day and tell myself to find something worthwhile. But before I even get out of the house the darkness descends. To describe it wouldn’t do the feeling justice, but it feels as if heavy led begins to fill your body and forces your legs down and moves you back toward that miserable spot on the couch where you want to lay for the rest of the day. And I feel responsible for my family’s unhappiness. I wish I could be the big sister that Nate and Robert want me to be. It’s what they deserve. I wish I could be the daughter my parents wish I was. I wish I was happy. I wish I could return an “I love you” without feeling unworthy to even speak to them. They are the most righteous people I know, and they deserve better than me. I make everything dismal and I often treat them with disobedience and impatience. And I can’t even tell them how sorry I am, because that would be admitting that they were right about me all along. I just hope they don’t feel like they failed.

And what makes me feel even sicker is how selfish I’ve been to Michael, the guy I want to spend eternity with. I’m surprised he still likes me, even after the hell I’ve put him through. When I should be supportive and loving, I can’t hide my own problems and find it in my heart to help him. I feel unqualified. He deserves someone beautiful and strong and I just haven’t been that for him. I’m a disaster and I wish I could be good enough for him. He probably feels like he’s trying to play on broken strings.

They say we are all children of a loving Father in Heaven. However, as much as I believe that, I can’t help thinking there was a mistake. Maybe I was adopted. I don’t know how it works in heaven, but there has to be some sort of mistake.

I wonder who will read this. I may just post this on my blog. Then those who actually care will read it and maybe learn a little more about what depression and anxiety can do and can help others. If I do nothing more than help one hurting person in my life, I can die in peace. Maybe they’ll read this and know how sorry I am if I have ever offended them or hurt them before.

I am trying to work through this. But I can’t do it alone. I pray that my thoughts are heard and I will find some solace. Some comfort or rest from this storm.

Please. Depression is a very real thing (Tom Cruise you jackass). It’s not a weakness. It’s a disease. And it affects millions. I am one of them. Please lend a helping hand if you can.

lemon 11: Poetry

I've found poetry to be very therapeutic. Even when writing for a class, I find writing poetry to be something that helps me clear my head a little. So.... here are some poems. Enjoy.

Free

The sand tickled the dancing feet

In a rush of air, they fly

Over and around with speed

Until, with promise, they leap

The shackles lie there, understanding

That everything has its place

The waves, the stars, the trees all know

Every scar has their time

Leaping on the crackled sand,

It turns hot and burns my feet

The coals sting and whisper

“don’t stop dancing, don’t stop”

But the tears you’ve cried will run dry

A wave pulls back and nods,

For I know, and I always will,

Being free is like feeling fire

Sometimes

Sometimes you can jump

They told me I couldn’t, but

 I think you can

This world you want to leave behind

 can wait one more day

And I will be here

 too, jumping with you

Sometimes you can dance

They told me

I’m a bad dancer,

 but I think you’re great

This room is your stage, and

 it will move with you

And I will be here

too, dancing with you

Sometimes you can cry

They told me not to, but I think you should

The blanket that covers you

will keep you warm

And I will be here

 too, crying with you

Sometimes you can win

They told me I never would, but

 I didn’t listen to them

This crowd that now cheers for you

knew all along

And I will be here

too, always winning with you

Sometimes the sun shines, and sometimes you do too

And I will be here, shining

with you

Who You Are

It was that moment when everything stood still,

You stood and listened while the wind played its harmony.

A net of lights perched on sagebrush, stinging your eyes,

And you felt the moon watch you from its throne of clouds.

You knew who you were that day.

That moment you listened as her eyes spoke,

And from her lips a wistful, girlish vanity cascaded.

Blood trickled from the tongue you kept,

As she slid from your duck feathered back.

You knew who you were that day.

The day you fell, and couldn’t get back up,

Tangled like a Laocoön on the pulsating ground.

It got the best of you and you left the struggle,

Defeated and alone,

You forgot who you were that day.

As you forgot, you lifted your head,

You remembered the sun and the sweet scent of grace.

Unfolding yourself, you reached up high,

You lifted yourself up, and brushed the orange leather sky.

You remembered who you were that day.

Triumph and Defeat

The force that kills you

Also

Gives you life.

It breathes in you but

Makes you gasp for air.

It matures you and makes you

More immature.

Like a circle, you find yourself in the same place

You started.

It gave that fly its wings and then

glued them to the ground.

It gave you

your first kiss, then gave you your last.

It’s the tattoo that beats

against your heart,

It was put there when you first took

a breath.

It gave color

to a tulip,

Then sapped juice

 from its lips.

A green fuse of life,

now wilted

on the ground, to become the sole a

 lover’s midnight stroll.

It’s the tree you hid

behind, which becomes your last napping place.

The first touch

from your mother,

And the last touch

from a lover.

It is the most valuable asset,

And the most terrifying

enemy.

It’s the first shooting star,

It lives in me, and

it dies

in me.

It is your triumph,

and your defeat.

Letters from No One

No One sends me a letter

every day,

Often he is my dearest friend.

He’ll write with soft

words that he has to say,

But unfortunately, those are the thoughts he forgets to send.

No One sends me a letter every week,

Birthday cards, greeting cards, and all words to

su primer amor.

None of these things are ever

superficial or bleak,

But unfortunately, he has misplaced my address, I am sure.

No One sends me a letter

every season,

With words of roses

and violets and poetry as well.

For his love, he gives me every reason,

And unfortunately, those reasons, even

I couldn’t tell.

No One sends me a letter every year,

I wait for the mailbox

on that day.

There is only one thing I fear,

Has he forgotten what to say?

Like a Towel

I feel like a towel sometimes, and I know that may not be a good thing.

People wipe off their dirt on me, and it soaks into my fabric.

I was once bright pink, and now I’m very pale. My tag was crisp

And freshly printed. Now it’s thin and weathered. People scratch

My skin and tear off strings of hair. If people knew how it felt,

To be dirty. This isn’t my dirt, it’s theirs. All of theirs. They drop me,

Swat flies with me, scrub floors with me. Then they stick me in a machine

And wash me. Tumble, tumble, tumble, squeezed, wrung. But do they know

I’m never the same? I get thinner, I lose color. I get rougher.

Rain- a Haiku

Powdered rain plummet

 On pavement piercing His hand

With sad tears from God

Knowing

He opened his mouth wide to blind me with fear,

Later I would fall to my knees among the floating rocks.

I would have to let my child go.

Let him leave me in a beam of light, with the

Illusion that something didn’t exist.

I would go back to a realization that everything

Has a place, and has a time. For the world would be

Destroyed in fire.

As my child runs, he carries with him the hope

Of something reborn.

A tree sways, it beckons him. Will it protect him?

Will he leave knowing I would somehow be there?

There is only one thing I can know for sure.

Poetry can even make a bad movie seem profound.