Remember in elementary school how they would ask everyone what the wanted to be when they grew up, and we’d whole heartily exclaim that we wanted to be astronauts, lawyers, doctors, ballerinas, cowboys, and Princess’. We’d draw pictures of our future lives and proudly hang them up for the rest of the world to see, we’d dream of the day when we would be grown ups and have careers, and homes, and families.

I remember being a child and thinking that I could not wait for the day that I was an adult, when I could do what I want and do it whenever I chose. Little me never understood that you needed money to do things, and that for you to make money, you must work. I use to think as an adult I would have the ability to stand up for myself, that no one could tell me what I could or could not do, I would not have to listen to other people’s rules, or cower in fear that I would be punished. I never feared adults as a child, I respected my elders and worried about disappointing them, but I never feared adults the way I fear them now. I fear the “women” I work with because their catty remarks and unkind gossip is enough to leave me broken and crying by the end of a week, I fear the repercussion of speaking out against the way things are being taken care of at work, I fear that by speaking “out of turn” I will, without questioning, be out of a job. I fear that I will never be enough for the people that are ranked above me.

As a child, I use to dream of being a mother; of taking care of my home and children, while my husband was working hard for us. I dreamed about being a housewife. Its less disheartening to learn that your childhood career isn’t your right fit, for who do we know that grew up to be an astronaut or a Princess? But, a dream to be a mom and a wife is something that comes so easily to others, and for that dream to be crushed, to surpass your own ‘time line” you conducted in your head, is something that can easily destroy you.

I sit here trying to rack my brain, trying to figure out what I want to go in debt to be. People keep asking me if what I’m going to go to college for because being a sales associate is not what I ever wanted or dreamed to be – would you like a gift receipt feels like my own “would you like fries with that” and its equally demeaning. I usually shrug my shoulders when someone asks what I “want to be”, not because I’m trying to be rude, but because I don’t know. Because what I want to do with my life doesn’t come from a university or college, although it almost should, I would rather stay up all night with a sick baby, than stay up all night cramming for a midterm, and I would rather be exhausted from cleaning my house, and caring for my children than be emotionally drained from work. But without the ability to trust anyone, including myself, how do I expect to fall in love and be a wife and a mom?

***

My life is at a point, a low point, where it feels like nothing will ever get better, I’m angry, hurt, and ready to throw in the towel. I’m angry at the world, at the fact that I tried so hard to be a good person, to help others, and believed that maybe people would do the same to and for me. I’m angry because for years I asked God for strength and healing, only to come to the sobering realization that there isn’t a man above the clouds that somehow hears our silent prayers. He did not heal me when my grandma passed away, or walked beside me the night I was sexually assualted. He didn’t cure my dad, or help us cope, and he stole my best friend. If he’s the one who created life and death, why didn’t he help Jayda, why didn’t he listen to my cries and healed her? Where are these so called miracles? I went to church and Sunday school as a kid, because I wanted to. I talk to god, read the Bible, I believed. I changed my life, all in hopes that this imaginary person would heal me and yet all I’ve received is pain. I’m hurting, between the deafening loneliness that seems to surround me, the realization that I have no true friends, and the fact that I seem to only be enough for my family when I’m doing things for them. Im hurting because no matter what I do it never seems to be enough; Enough for me, enough for anyone. 

And I know none of this is new, but nothing can change if nothing changes, and I don’t even know where or how to change. 

I wish I knew what drove these people who rise up from the flames, what lies in them that allows them to take large leaps of faith, or courage and keep going. Maybe its something they’ve found, maybe they had to hit their lowest point in order to find a way to reach their highs; maybe the universe thinks I haven’t hit my bottom; or maybe subconsciously I don’t think I’ve hit my bottom. I don’t even know what my bottom is.. I feel like I’ve hit bottom so many times already.

I think, or rather maybe I’ve always know, it’s because I still hold on to the possibility that he might one day decide to love me.

Although I know that will never happen

***

I know that by holding on to this made up fairy tale I’m sabotaging a love that could be waiting for me out there. I compare everyone to him, I punish other people because of his words, I assume that everyone feels, thinks, and acts like him; I’m smarter than that though, smart enough to know that not all men are the same, not all men are him. Its difficult for me not to, though, after years of telling myself that he was right and that I was not enough for anyone, it kinda sticks with you, you know? I don’t know why I can’t just cut him out of my life like I have so many people, but I’m tired of hearing about other girls, I’m tired of always being the friend, i’m tired of being reminded that I can’t have the only guy I ever held on to for so long, I’m tired of doing this, 10 years is to long..  I’m just so tired of it all.. 

I need to reevaluate my priorities, my needs, my own happiness and maybe reach within myself and find a way to rise from this sorrow I’ve been wallowing in for far to long.

“From the end of the earth I will cry to You, When my heart is overwhelmed; Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”

– ‭‭Psalms‬ ‭61:2‬ ‭NKJV‬‬

(even though I’m having a hard time believing in God.)

 Until Next time xoxox

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FEB 25TH

Perhaps one day, I’ll wake up and know what it feels like to embrace the day. I’ll know where I’m suppose to be and what I’m suppose to do and my heart will be full.

That’s not today though, I wish it was but it’s not.

Today I woke up angry and sad, feeling belittled and taken advantage of from my work and the people around me. Jealous of the people who are able to put a smile on their faces and img_0710allow love into their hearts. Jealous of the women that are pregnant and in love, jealous of the little families that make their way through the door of my job everyday. Envious of the sweet soul my co-worker has, and the fact that without even trying has landed herself a man who loves her for her. Today I woke up and begged the universe to “not make me” do today. Today I woke up with the feeling of stomach acid and pent up emotions rising up from my stomach. Right now I am unsure of where I am suppose to be, who I’m suppose to be, and where I fit in to this crazy world we live in. My fight or flight instincts are in high alert today and all I want to do is run; run and hide like a small animal trying to escape a hungry lion that wants nothing more than to eat me up in one bite. The world is that lion, my anxiety and depression is that lion, and right now, it’s winning. My head pounds and my eyes hurt from holding back tears, my throat burns with the pain I’m afraid to show because no one understands.

So, I guess once again today won’t be the day that I wake up and embrace the day.

I wish I could explain to everyone how I actually feel and how the emptiness is almost unbearable. I need something or someone who’ll help me get over my past. The things that happened to me, happened so long ago and it’s time for me to move on.

The worst part is that no matter how hard I try to cope with the things I’ve been through, no matter how much I talk about it or how much “power” I take from the situations that haunt me I can’t seem to move on. I can’t seem to look forward into the future, I can’t help but remember the situations and memories that fill every street in this city. I hate that places, smells, and features remind me of the moments I so strongly wish to forget. One day, hopefully, I’ll escape from the hell this place keeps me in. 

Maybe One day…

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Perspective

If you change the way YOU look at things, The things you look at change.

– Unknown

I have written about this before, how I have never really been the type of person who was overly social or keen on meeting people. I was always happy – er, content, with my small group of “friends”. I perceived the people outside of my group as people who wanted to hurt me, or to belittle me; only to find out along the way that the people in “my corner” were the ones who were truly out to hurt, embarrass and belittle me.

I wish I had known earlier the beauty in the world. The beauty that each and every person can bring into it and into my life. I was always so concerned with being a certain way, or not socializing with other people because my “friends” didn’t like them, or thought they were lame, or because the year that we were born weren’t the same. I was naïve in the ways of the world, the real world, and I am grateful for everything and every being that got me this far in life because without them, without the little things that helped me seek help  or face up to the demons that still hide in the corners of my soul and scream at me to be weary of strangers, I wouldn’t of been able to meet the people I know now. Working in retail has taught me a lot, mostly that we cant always judge a person by what we think we know about them. I use to look at someone and judge them based on what they looked like and write them off as weird, or snobby, or some other adjective that didn’t describe their true selves. From co-workers, like one of my most treasured of friends Stephanie, to regulars I can talk to for hours I have been reminded of the beauty and goodness in the world that my pain and past blinded me from. I have had the opportunity to work with people who have opened my eyes in ways I never knew possible. Who changed my opinions of people, who’ve shown me that no matter their nationality or religion there are good and bad people. That we all have something that changed us, some of us have gone through unspeakable things and still see the beauty in the world; those people are my heros.

But that’s not the point I’m trying to get at.

I have looked at men and judged them based on the few unsavory characters I have allowed into my life and head. I judge people I don’t know based on the people I know, and the things men have said to me in regards to women. I allow the things that others have done blind me from realizing that just because I have been hurt in the arms of many men not all men are the same. I fail to recognize effort, I allow my assumptions to cause problems, and I throw away good things before they even get the chance to become anything. My perspective of men are that they are all the same, all liars and cheaters who drink to much and proclaim their love to girls who take it too seriously. That they make bets and joke about women, that men aren’t concerned with building anything real anymore. I fear men, I fear their touch, I fear allowing them into my life because trusting men has caused me more anxiety and emotional distress then I’d like to admit. But this is also hurting me. The loneliness that comes hand in hand with trust issues is enough to make anyone go crazy. Its human nature to want to be close to someone, it has been scientifically proven that hugging or being close to someone you love and trust can lower anxiety and increase oxytocin, and because I am fearful of being close to anyone my mental well being is being significantly impacted. But I still, after 12 years, have no idea how to move on from my past.

There’s this girl I work with, she’s a refugee of two different wars. She was born in Iraq to a family who are Christian and from the tiny amount of information she’s told me life was far from easy. She told me that because her family was Christian her father received death threats from people who followed the other religion almost daily. I wanted to cry for her, for all the pain that she must have went through. She told me they fled to Syria in hopes that they would be able to live a safer life; but it wasn’t. She told me that she wasn’t aloud to go to school because her parents feared that she would get hurt, that she would be somewhere and it would be bombed. They waited for 5 years before north America would accept their family as refugees and on the day they were suppose to leave the air port was bombed. She’s only 22 and she has witnessed so much death and trauma and yet she is still happy, and smiling and still believes in god and the goodness in the world. I wish I had her will to live and her disposition.

I think I really need to buckle down and work on myself, and the things insecurities I have so I can move on with life.

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That night..

Living through a traumatic or stressful experience hits people in different ways, we may suppress our feelings, we may deal with them and heal properly, or we may break.

[Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault]

I’ve talked about it a lot, wrote endless posts about ryan and what he did to me; but I’ve never really addressed the toll it took on me emotionally, physically and psychologically. When I was sexually assaulted I was thrown into a whirlwind of emotions. Not just because of what happened either.

I was 16, its been ten years and I haven’t been able to form a meaningful relationship since the night I lost sight of who I was. Beyond the crippling feeling associated with being assaulted, I hurled myself into the dark hole that has become my life. I thought that because my “friends” didn’t believe me, including the one person who was lying in that bed with me, no one would. My mom would say I was just drunk and because he was native people would assume that I asked for it, or perhaps that I lead him on. Those thoughts often run through my mind, maybe I did lead him on, but whether I lead him on or not I said no. I pushed his hands away and I said no. I wanted to sleep, that’s all and so I was the only one who convinced him to get out of the bed my “friend” and I were sleeping in, while two grown men watched on. I was the one who got him to the couch and then ran to the bedroom to lock the door. I was alone from that night on.

I suppressed myself, I suppressed the memories of that night as much as I could. I tried with all my energy to ignore the pounding in my head and the triggers and memories that enclosed around me. Until I couldn’t take it anymore, until the walls around me began to close in and I avoided people and places that he knew and went to. I avoided the world. I lived in a make believe world on the internet, where I could pretend I was happy, full of life and unharmed. I flirted and engaged with men on the internet, I took pictures that showed a side of me that wasn’t really there. I did not feel sexual, I did not feel like a normal 17 year old, or 18, or frankly today an almost 26 year old. I lost all need for intimacy and for sex, I began feeling as though I was broken, that he had turned off a switch most humans (and dolphins) have. It was hard enough when I was just living with the fact that my ex boyfriend came out after I lost my virginity to him but now I was broken goods, I was used and abused and afraid to tell anyone. I couldn’t tell my friends that the reason I dropped out of school and couldn’t come back was because being in that school, the school his picture hung on the wall of, was more difficult then I imagined. And I couldn’t explain to them why, at times, I was unreachable. Why I went months and years before I would work up the courage to see them again. They did not know me, this me, and I didn’t give them the chance to. I hid away so much that even my mom, dad and sister rarely saw me for more than 10 minutes. I stayed in my dark room for days, with my laptop and my fake smile photos and slept all day. I often thought about ending it all, it would be easier, it would be peaceful and I would be free. I would be free. Over the span of 6 years I watched as the world turned and aged around me and I felt as though I was trapped in the same place and time I was shortly after that night. I lived in a constant state of fear, fearful of being touched, being within two feet of a male. I was fearful of someone seeing it in my eyes that my world had gone black. I began to lash out in anger, I banged on doors trying to break them down, I told my pregnant sister I was gonna kick her in the stomach, I resented the world. I sat alone in my room and saw pictures and videos of other people living life, having babies, falling in love and I hated them all. I hated the fact that because I didn’t know how to heal, I didn’t have the courage to face what had happened that night, I wasn’t able to move on. I wasn’t able to fall in love, or trust someone. I felt stripped of the one thing all these girls were taking advantage of – being a mother. I can’t proclaim that it was only his touch made me this way, because there are girls and guys out there that have been sexually assaulted who have sex more, have kids from different dads, but my own self hatred over what I allowed to happen that night, the fact that I didn’t trust anyone to talk about it, I allowed his memories and his touch eat me alive and change the person I was suppose to become.

I realise now that the sexual assault was the first of many things I couldn’t heal from.

I didn’t know how to be happy, or how to move on from things, I still don’t. I didn’t know how to put my anger and pain aside to be happy for my sister and my friends when they had their first bundle of joys. I wasn’t able to put aside my selfish emotions long enough to be genuinely happy for anyone. I lost sight of my own health and I gained weight I still can’t lose. I hated myself more with everyday that passed, every pound I gained, every night I laid in bed and visions of that night circled in my mind. I just assumed I was depressed. I assumed a lot of things, okay I assume a lot of things. It hasn’t changed. Nothing has changed. I am still that 16 year old girl who was to scared to do anything about the night I was ruined. I speak about it, but I’ve never confronted the people that were involved, I suppressed my voice on subjects that needed to be expressed in a hopes that I would never be put in the position where I wouldn’t be believed – because I never told people my thoughts, my opinions, I never expressed my voice. I allowed the boy who molested me add me on facebook, and while he had no idea how broken I had become with every message he sent me asking me to hang out, I marinated in the pain. With every asd.pngmessage the pain sunk deeper into me, with every “wanna grab a coffee” the memories and smells and feelings rushed back to me. I couldn’t move, I cried, I froze, I wanted to scream but had no way of explaining it to my mom had she heard. I cut myself hoping it would stop, but he still continued to message me. I finally blocked him from ever messaging me again, in hopes that if I was not readily available he could not make his way into my life. But I was wrong I was wrong to think that just because I was able to block him on social media I was blocking him from my life. He started messaging me on any form of social media or dating sites (which I made in hopes of finding a person who would help me heal) reopening a healing wound. He referred to that night as a little mistake or something he didn’t remember and my entire body shook in anger, in fear, in realizing that he will never admit to being or doing wrong. And I know that I must forgive someone who will never apologize and I must grow from this experience but with every minute that goes by, and every memory that resurfaces I lose hope and manifest in this anger and pain.

People have often asked and wondered why losing Jayda was so much more traumatic for me than losing my dad, and I tell them because she was always here. I tend to leave out that she was my comfort, she calmed me down and kissed(licked) away my tears. I would snuggle up with her and stroke her soft fur and it felt safe. I felt like no one and nothing could hurt me in that moment. That’s why it hurts so much. I am now without the only thing that kept me alive in the darkest days. I stayed alive because I didn’t want Jayda to be alone, I am still here because of her; and I failed to keep her here. But that’s a whole other story. I guess it was the fact that she would lay with me and I had someone who always wanted to be next to me, even to the point that she would sleep inside a sweater or zip up jacket. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I miss having someone close to me, and I think that is the worst part of all of this. The fact that being physically and emotionally close to someone scares me beyond belief now. I use to love to be close to people, to hug my friends, to interlock arms while we walked anywhere, hug people, be near people; and now the only person I get that close to are my nephews and sometimes my mom. I miss the feeling of a strong, steady arm holding me, that sense of security and love. Now if an arm goes near me I flinch in remembrance of that night. I forget what its like to look into the eyes of a man and feel love, and the gentle touch of a hand while watching a movie or driving. I miss being able to feel calm in the presence of a man. I miss being kissed, I miss the rush that goes with new love, and those feelings that could almost make you sick. I miss love.

I know I need to face the people and things that hurt me, I know I need to stop living in the past and suppressing who I am, but knowing and doing are two drastically different things and I don’t know how to fix the way my brain has adapted to my trauma. I don’t know how to fix the scar the molestation left on my soul, or how to love another man when I’ve always been hurt.

***

Creator,

I pray to you in hopes that you can lead me towards the path of healing. That one day I will be free of the pain that started in the hands of a boy who was lost. I pray for the strength to forgive him for his wrong doings, to move on from the darkness of my past, and to grow into someone who perceivers through the pain.

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Days like today..

Its days like today that make me wonder why I still try to be or do anything, why I am still alive. Its days like today where I am unable to see the good in the world, to see the light at
14358759_557978631058165_4162404389811629166_n the end of the dark tunnel that has become my life. I know its such a drastic statement to make – “why I’m still alive” but I have accomplished nothing, I have done nothing and I feel like nothing. I am 26 years old in less then 2 weeks and the idea of being so old with nothing to show for it depresses me more than I ever thought possible.

I’m not suppose to still be like this, I went to the doctor, I got help. But it hasn’t helped.. nothing seems to “fix” me.

I’m told I should learn to forgive the people who hurt me in the past.. to move on from it. I hold a lot in, so many grudges, hatred for people who probably aren’t even aware that they matter that much in my life. People who have hurt me in ways I didn’t know was possible and in a way took away my ability to move on from the things that are holding me back. But its hard to forgive people and situations when you have had no closure, no opportunity to change who or what you are. Its hard to forgive people when you cant forgive yourself.

I am my own worst enemy.

I have done so many things in the past that I find unforgivable, so many things that I proclaim to hate are things I do or have done as well. I allow myself to become stuck in places and situations that are not helpful to anyone. I avoid things I should confess to or face. My entire life is a series of unfortunate events I put myself in. And maybe that’s it.. Maybe I am unable to move on not because of the things people did to me, but what I did to myself. I’ve allowed myself to be the victim of peoples torment, the quiet friend who does what you say, the push over, the one that’s afraid. I allowed situations that weren’t that significant to my life impact my life severely. I’ve allowed insignificant people to have the power to control my moods, my actions and I’ve allowed a certain person’s actions strip me of everything I’ve always wanted. I’ve allowed people to treat me the way they have because I hated myself so much that they’re actions and words proved what I already felt. 

I have no problem forgiving other people, I’ve even gone as far as accepting the guy who molested me’s friend request on social media – but that was before the weight of my self hatred crashed down around me and I felt the need to blame anyone else but me. I have forgiven and remained friends with the only guy I truly ever loved and imagined having a family with after B. I have forgiven old friends, time and time again, for things no one else would put up with. I have dug this hole around me, I have buried myself so deep that the only way I can move on from anything is to forgive myself for all the things I did, or didn’t, do.

But I haven’t learnt how to forgive myself, how to move on from the things that I regret and wish I could change. I don’t know how to make peace with my past decisions because through it all it has brought me no where, and nothing. I can’t proclaim that my past was just a lesson learnt, or that if it wasn’t for this or that I wouldn’t be where I am; because I know if it wasn’t for the things that haunt me at night I probably would be further into living, more alive then I am now. I know that without the things that are haunting me, the things that are eating me alive I could be happy. My past has done nothing but tear me apart, shown me who I’m not, what I’m not. My past made me untrusting and unwilling to let down my guard for anyone. My past lead me down the road of depression, of self loathing, of being 26 still living with my mom and working a shitty part time retail job, with no boyfriend and no kids and nothing of any substance.

There are days, like today, where I wish I could forgive myself and move on.

 

 


 

 

 

If, you were secure with yourself you would know your worth; you would know what you stood for.

I just wish that angels and fairy godmothers were real, i wish someone would tell me what to do and where to do it and how to be the person i was born to be. I want someone who will tell me to stop living in the past, who will show me that life has so much to offer and I am wasting a luxury many people were stripped of.

And yes I know that my life is mine to make the mistakes and choices for, and that sadlyimg_7881 its a dog eat dog world- or perhaps i should say an insect eat insect world because we are nothing more then tiny insects fighting over that crumb of cake – or promotion and hours at work. But I just wish i had someone to bounce ideas off of, someone who will help me understand who i am suppose to be, someone to guide me in the right path. Someone to show me where i am meant to be, because i know that this can’t be where I am meant to stay. I am not meant to live in a city that has the highest overdose rate of drugs laced with Fentanyl or a city where theres more and more addicts living on the street and the age in which they are injects, snorting and smoking drugs is dropping to an alarmingly low one. I cant see how my future could be tied to the walls of this prison of underaged drug addicts, drug dealing migrants and white trash people. I am not that person, i have not fought my entire life to be grouped into this disgusting cluster of human waste my city has turned into.

And yes, I know I am single and only 25 and I could leave this place but when you barely make enough money to pay bills, saving money to leave is almost impossible.

Having said that, however, I know i need to stop making excuses. I need to start living for myself and not worry as much about my family, as hard as that may be. I think about img_7838killing myself almost daily because of the bad memories and sorrow this house, city, place is surrounded in and living this way isn’t productive or healthy for anyone. I know that if i dont get out of this city soon, my sorrow and pain will only be felt by the people in my life, because I will end up ending mine. That I will turn into the kind of person I hate just to escape the feeling of failure I wake up to everyday; to numb the hate in my soul. I need to stop living in the city I lost my ability to trust in. I know running away isn’t the answer, that my memories will always be with me but I can’t help but think that leaving will help quiet the demons inside me.

And yes I know I’ve been singing the same tune – talking about leaving – for.. Well forever it seems. But I’m at the point in my life where I am not able to find any real reason to stay. After loosing Jayda I felt like my entire world was crumbling around me and I realized that when push comes to shove no one is 100% here for me, so why should I always make myself readily available to people who may share the same blood as me but cares very little about my well being. Who may claim they love me but their actions show otherwise, and who calls me a friend but never acts like one. I have always been there for people, to listen to their troubles, to provide comfort. I would stay up all night for people, bend backwards for people only to be belittled and I would allow people to treat me like I was stupid or wrong, even when I knew I wasn’t. I was denied the opportunity to graduate high school because my parents, who I love deeply, decided that moving to a house rather then a basement suite was more important then keeping me in my school for the last two years. While I understand why they made this decision, they didn’t put my needs before their wants. It sometimes feels like my needs and wants don’t matter.

So I need to make me matter, I need to be selfish and make myself a priority.

But why does that seem so hard?

The funny thing about depression…

The funny thing – not funny in the humorous way, but in the ironic I-have-to-laugh-to-keep-from-crying kind of way – about depression and anxiety is that no one really understands how you feel.

“But so many people have depression, there’s a lot of people who can empathize with how you feel”. Ah yes imaginary internet person, but empathizing and experiencing it is completely different. You see, I can empathize with the African American communities that are experiencing extreme discrimination in the United States, but I can’t relate because I live in Canada and I am mostly Caucasian. Or I can relate to how annoying allergies but I don’t know how badly your body reacts to things because we are different. That’s the thing. Each cell, each strand of hair and pore on our bodies are different then someone elses. Our entire body has unique dna, the chemicals our brain produces to regulate our mood is also extremely unique and selective to only you, or me. Our “triggers” are also different. Summer may bring one depressed person relief from the cloudy and miserable weather, but summer reminds me of my dads death, of being sexually assaulted & now of losing my dog.

Dairy Queen, Mr. O’donnell, the phantom of the opera, crisp winter air and the taste of tears remind me that I will never feel worthy, that I am disposable and that the boy I “loved” came out and that is was because of me, irrational I know but when he tells you in anger that he will kill himself or ‘go’ gay if I leave him I can’t help but blame myself.

The smell of beer reminds me of the time I was sexually assaulted, cold hands remind me of how much he took away from me. I am no longer mine, I am a body trapped forever in that bed trying so hard to get him to stop.

Candle smoke, single wrapped hotdogs, Tim Horton coffee reminds me of my dad, stale air, hand sanitizer and kind strangers reminds me of the last time I saw him before he went to heaven.

And hot days like today, Sunday mornings, little black and brown dogs, the world reminds me of my itty bitty Jayda who passed away way to soon.

So, the not so funny thing about depression is that your fears of being alone is true. You are alone in how you feel. Your alone in the way your triggers haunt you. You are alone in the way your body processes chemicals. The not so funny thing about it is that you are fighting your own battle that no one can see and you alone are the only one who can change what and who you are. You cannot find happiness or a sense of “home” in a person, you cannot base your happiness on what other people think is right, or normal, or the proper way of doing things. You have to fight this alone. That’s the only way you can beat it; the only way you can assure that the darkness doesn’t take you is to make yourself happy first, no matter how much it hurts.

“How does putting yourself first hurt?” Again with the questions, but in my case because of my need to please, my intense sense of self dread, of not feeling worthy, I believe the feelings of the people around me are more important then my own. I blame this a lot on my sister and the way she bullied me as a child but I can’t place blame on other people for the way that I have turned out no matter how much their actions or words hurt or affected me in anyway. Anyways, putting my needs first, voicing my opinion and any basic self care has always been hard for me to do. I don’t take the time to heal from things, I sweep things under the rug until I’m tripping over it and falling face first into the mountain I created. I hold on to the words people say to me until I am being eaten alive by parasitic self doubt and overly analyzed words. I fear that I won’t be believed, because my words have never been. But I know that has to stop if I ever want to begin to live again, if I ever want to go to sleep without crying myself there.

So I guess the not so funny thing about depression is that it either eats you alive or you grow from it and that’s the choice you have to make.