To smile at people. awkwardly

It took me 8-or-so years to finish undergrad.
I was in-and-out of university numerous times.

Over that period,
I experienced multiple:

  • bouts of depression —if it ever really let up—
  • a few suicide attempts
  • counselors (one of whom fell asleep as I was talking) Um.  #YESway
  • doctors, shrinks, medication (I couldn’t tell you what all of them were, off-hand)
  • quick starts-and-ends of relationships
  • friendships in limbo

…packing in and out of dorms, apartments, houses, Fairfax Hospital in-patient, a house on fire, stranger’s beds.

In that time, I cut my wrist with a Cutco knife while fighting with an ex.
My words didn’t feel like they were able to carry what I was feeling.
I was a #fRacturedGirl. living with a dizzying head on still shoulders.

I clawed through most days;   barely surviving,

just:

to open my eyes.

to get up.

to go outside.

to be normal.

to do work.

to smile at people.       awkwardly

to act unafraid.

It took me 8-or-so years to finish undergrad.
I was in-and-out of university numerous times.


And, now?

I’m trying to figure out where to hang my framed diploma from Antioch University Seattle for a master’s degree in Psychology. I couldn’t be more proud of me.


If you’re struggling and the future seems hopeless.
If you feel like there is no end to the excruciating battle.

I beg of you, please. DO NOT GIVE UP.

Reach out. You’re worth it. People love you. People care. I care!

All of those things that the trickster voice in your head tries to get you to believe – they’re lies.

You, my friend, are a fucking warrior.


This freewrite was inspired by a post that popped up in my Instagram feed:

Screen Shot 2018-02-24 at 1.41.25 PM
Image source: @Instagram screenshot of a repost by @mentalillnessquotesinfo

Note: Links to mental health resources are within text, i.e. “depression” hyperlinks to the 24-Hours Crisis Clinic site.


Bonus:  13 Mental Health Resources That Are Absolutely Free (Huffpost)

butonlyforalittlebit.

I had a dream

last night.

You were in it;

I was there.

We were together

by an open window –

the stars were out

in your eyes.

The smell of bougainvillea

whispered kisses

on our noses;

you said I could

lay my head on your shoulder,

butonlyforalittlebit

you said,

“I don’t want to fall in love.”

A salvo of magic into the world.

I’ve been sleeping terribly the last few days.
(or do I feel that way every day?)

I just realized why.
(and it’s a good reason why)

🙂

There are so many creative project ideas in my head.
(thatIwanttothrust a salvo of magic into the world!)

I want to do it all.  (I feel good)
and that makes me happy.

{that’s not a hyperlink, #beeteedubz.
#bluetext
#iwonderhowmanypeopleclickedon”good?”}         anyway

That’s why
I’ve been getting
terrible
sleep.

[HASHTAG]nightynight

Image128

Inside and inside out.

I fucked up. I made mistakes. I regret them. I am learning from them. I am losing from them. I am dying inside from them. Inside and inside out.

I thought I had figured out more about myself than I have. I thought I had figured out more about you than I have. All of you. But mostly you.

I look for the silver lining without getting carried away. There are shiny things to reach for and hold onto. Forgivenesses wrapped in all the things you don’t want done to you, all the things you don’t want to do to others.

I wade in the sludge of the black inside the silver lines. Before any changes can be made.

Triskaidekaphobia.

Coaster poetry for Michael Van Horn, who provided the inspirational word:

Triskaidekaphobia.

10, 11. They’re OK. What’s your name again? Your plastic limbs don’t fit in here. You’re cold and calculating. 9+3 = twelve. Twelve times I said I was done. with you. You and your 20 fingers. You and your 15 ‘little white lies’ to put me aside, and 13 ways to pretend you don’t love me. You said your favorite color was red. I should’ve known then. I should’ve known that our heads wouldn’t mend. Together.

Persipacious.

Coaster poetry for Christi, who provided the inspirational word:

Perspicacious.

You say blue, I say gray. You see the sun, I see turbulence, vitriol, and mangled decay. You always wanted to live then. French Revolution. In your sodded petticoat and shaved matted hair, swept down cobblestone streets in this week’s ferment. Will you regret that you pushed me out the window? or do you just like the sound of “defenestration”, the way it rolls off your forked tongue? You use to scrub your eyeballs clean.