I sat in that bus, on my way to work, on my way to make a living and I saw you. I have no idea who you are, your name or age; but I know you are someone’s son, someone’s friend, and yet there you are, dying on the street. One person, one out of the dozens all around you – including me – stopped to help you. I sometimes wish I was the type of person to bang on bus doors, to cause a scene, to act in impulse, but I’m not, and I’m sorry. I should have ran to help him, help you. I watched from that seat on the bus as he checked for your pulse, but your skin was so grey I doubt he found one. No one else even seemed to care, I looked around the bus to see if anyone else felt the way I did, and not one person looked phased by the idea that you were dying. There were 5 other people on the side walk where your body laid and they didn’t do anything but stare and walk away. I tried so hard to hold it together, to act the way everyone else did, but I couldn’t. I cried for you, I cried because I know something happened to bring you to where you were, I cried because no one wants to get involved, no one wants to help. No one sees that you are just a kid with serious demons, just a person who struggles with memories of the past. You are so much more then an addict, you are so much more than a junkie, you are a human; you are here for a reason, you matter. It’s not okay, none of it. It’s not okay that someone or something hurt you to the point where you had to find a way to escape your pain. It’s not okay that you ended up addicted to a drug that ruined your life, it’s not okay that you have to use to live. It’s not okay that a drug dealer is making money off your addiction, or that they are cutting drugs with poison. It’s not okay that society labels you, but doesn’t help you. It’s not okay that you died. It’s not okay that people didn’t stop. None of this okay, none of it is acceptable. We need to stop building giant shopping malls, and invest in mental health, in better schools, in affordable homes, in people’s lives. My only hope is that you are now feee of pain. God has you in his arms now, along with all the other human souls that died because of greedy drug dealers, and shitty people. Society, you disgust me.

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Old habits

Darkness engulfs me, I really can’t seem to find a way out; maybe I’m not really looking hard enough. I stand at the edge of a steep cliff centimeters away from falling to my death, it’s overwhelming and I take a step forward. I am thrown back into reality, fluorescent lights shine brightly above me, cooking my brain and making it feel as though my head is boiling over and about to explode. I am brought back to my feet planted firmly on hard floors, back to expectations, and standards I don’t think I’ll ever measure up to. Back to the feeling of being the size of a grain of sand, back to feeling insignificant, back to being replaceable; and with a single misspoken word, or action I am back in that dark place, blinded by the dark midnight black that surrounds me.

My chest tightens and it becomes almost unbearable to breath, to move, to think. Those typical nervous butterflies have turned into angry wasps and are fighting for a way out. I am shaking, I am clammy and cold, yet I am dripping sweat and I feel as though I just drank 50 espresso shots, 5 Red Bull’s, and washed it all down with speed. I am fidgety and I am hyper-vigilant to anything and anyone around me; I am attempting to force myself to focus on a single task so I do not fly away like a helium balloon. Nothing helps, my over stimulated heart is dancing with the angry wasps and I feel faint. I return to that I-must-have-been-hit-in-the-head feeling and slowly collapse into the darkness; hoping I’ll find a way out.

My past, visions of all the things I did wrong, all the times where I was made to feel inferior to those around me – to those who are suppose to be my family, suppose to be my friends – plays over and over again, reminding me of how worthless I am, how I have never been and never will be enough for anyone.

After what feels like a life time, the panic and anxiety hides its self away and I can feel “normal” for a few beautiful moments. But it never goes away, no drug or drink, no prescription for Antidepressants or Anti-anxiety medicine can take away this worthless feeling, this self distructive behavior, or the constant reminder that I have failed young me, I have failed her, my parents, and God so many times, and it breaks my heart; because 7 year old me had so many dreams.

.o2

Its Sunday, and It’s raining today, for the first time in who-knows how long, the tiny rain drops fall like wet kisses upon my head.

And I think of you.

I think of how, like tiny drops of rain, your tears fell from your eyes the last day I saw you. And how you planted wet kisses upon my head whenever you’d say goodbye.

I think about the day you left, and how the sky cried for you. How I tried, oh how I tried, to disguise the pain I felt and the gloomy cloud that somehow followed me wherever I went.

I think of your laugh, your infectious laugh that I can still hear in my dreams, and I think about how wonderful each moment spent with you was, how Sundays were filled with visits to your house, the best peanut butter cookies in the world, and spending time with you.

As each raindrop lands on me I smile, engulfed by the idea that each drop of rain is a kiss from you, and each time my tears mix with the rain I am restored with faith that you are all around us still.

Its Sunday, and it’s raining today, for the first time in who-knows how long, the tiny raindrops fall like wet kisses upon my head.

And I think of you, and how grateful I am to have known you.

you know that weird feeling you get when you are pushed under water and someone sits on you, the overwhelming sensation of panic that overwhelms you to the point that our heart begins to race and you begin to only see darkness. When you physically feel as though you are floating away and watching your body struggle to return to the land. You can see your friends laughing, unsure if they are actually laughing at the fact that they are hurting you, or if in their immaturity they don’t realize that you are actually suffering. Just as you begin to feel the light surround you, you feel your friend get off you and you are gasping for air above the surface. 

It feels like a life time when you’re in that moment, yet you know it was seconds. 

That’s what depression and anxiety feels like. In that moment you feel as though nothing you can do will help you escape that dark and terrifying place. Your heart rate elevates to the point where you can physically see your pulse under your skin and you begin to sweat and yet nothing is physically holding you down. 

Depression makes it so I cannot looking forward to the future, it makes me see the world in a very dull and grey tone. I am simply surviving – not living. Depression eats away at me, it makes the small stuff seem giant and the big things – like death and change – seem enormous. It causes my hair to fall out, and my stomach to turn.

Anxiety feels like everyone is staring at you, it feels like you are trapped in a glass box with no escape, with no where to go. It makes my lungs constrict and my heart to beat so fast it feels as though it might explode. Anxiety feels like getting hit in the head with a volley ball and passing out, it feels like you are hot and cold all at once. My body shakes and I am unable to look at anyone, talk to anyone, or feel comfortable in my own skin.

Together they sink me.

O1.

It was like you were the light; Bright, vibrant and attractive 

      And I was the unexpecting insect; curious and in awe of you and so, I risked my life just to be close to you. 

But I soon realized that, the closer I flew towards your glow, the more damaging you became. 

    Your touch sent fire to my veins and restricted my air. Your guiding glow became my home. No matter how much you hurt me, no matter how many times your power knocked me to the ground, I would collected myself, wipe off the dirt, and fly back to you hoping that this time would be the one time you wouldn’t scorch my wings. 

It’s been years since the first night I laid eyes on your light, I am all but a body now. My wings have been burnt to ash and my legs are broken. However, I’m still here, Im still clinging on to the unrealistic hope that you will lift me up with your powerful light and love me the way I love you. 

But all I am is a bug, and you, you are a radiant and powerful light. 

May 10th

It is in the minutes before I am fully awake that I think of you the most. I see you, and for just a moment in time, I feel as though your not so far away. It is in those first few moments of my day where I am able to feel whole again, where all the pieces that have been swept away somehow find their way back and I can breath. I am neither depressed nor anxious and I am able to enjoy the birds chirping and the smell of spring.

Those moments are but temporary; although, I wish they weren’t. I dread the milliseconds that pass and know that as soon as I move, as soon as my alarm goes off, I will be thrown back into the storm.

The storm that has become my life. The Dark thick clouds that seem to rest comfortably upon my soul ignite and spark, they drowned out the little bits of hope I managed to hang on to, they set fire to my heart with rods of lightening and cause fear with their loud thunderous screams. It feels as though I am in the middle of an empty field, with nothing but uprooted trees and fractured pieces of my heart around me.

And through those booming screams, I am overcome with the realization that I don’t even know who “you” are or why you seem to calm the storm.

Rambling…

My reason for starting this blog was to have a place to write everything down and know that it’d still be there in the rare occurrence that things may turn out for the better, but this blog just causes me stress. Knowing that anyone – especially people who try so desperately to squeeze into mine and my families’ personal lives – can read all the things that I’ve always kept so deep inside. How am I suppose to comfortably write, blog, share when I’m so concern with who or what is reading my thoughts? I use to find comfort in that thought, the fact that people around the world would read my blog posts and in their own ways connect with me, or perhaps find comfort in knowing that their pain wasn’t abnormal. Now, every time I begin to write my anxiety spikes. My mind shuts down and I am unable to write anything.

But really, what more can I say? What else can I blog about that I haven’t said before? My life is just so repetitive, so boring; its comparable to writing the same sentence over and over again, and yet I do nothing to make it better, nothing to make my life more exciting and more worthy of being called a “life”. I just exist, that is all. I do not live life, or embrace the unpredictable, yet beautiful chaos that life brings. I idle, neither going forward nor backwards, in a place of unhappiness and entrapments. I often feel as though I am living in a glass box, able to see the glorious life that lays just feet away from me and yet I am unable to break, or escape from my enclosure and so I run in circles. I continue to run in circles, day in and day out, to incompetent to see that my glass house has no roof, to” comfortable” in my routine to see what is literally just above me, just feet in the air. I fear that if I do not begin to climb, jump, or reach for a way out I will be in this place forever. Stuck in a life that I am not happy in, stuck re-living the same day repeatedly and calling it a life.

I’ve always had so many excuses, whether it be my dad or my nephews, it was an excuse. I barely visited my dad, and my nephews didn’t need me as much as I made it seem, but saying I couldn’t leave because of my dad or nephews was easier than accepting the fact that I was just too scared. But fear is normal. Being scared means your stepping out of your comfort zone and making progress in your life. What isn’t normal is how unhappy of a person I am, how I haven’t had a relationship sense tenth grade, that I haven’t been in love sense Brandon, and that I haven’t moved on from things that happened so many years ago.

Why haven’t I moved on?

Why can’t I find the strength to learn from my mistakes and move forward, why haven’t I been living like a typical 20 something? I can’t continue to blame other people and past mistakes for why my present is such a mess.

                      How easy is it for me to say what I know needs to be done yet I am here still, still in the same place I was a year ago; the same place I was in 3 years ago.

I need to stop caring so much for the wellbeing of other people, because lord knows no one cares about me as deeply as I care about them, and begin to focus on me, on what will make me feel better. No matter how hard its going to be. I’m tired of being the person who is always there for everyone else, and yet I am constantly lonely. I am tired of crying in the shower or late at night because I am lonely.

I’m so lonely.

I’ve been so lonely sense the death of my best friend. No one understands, and I don’t know how to explain to people, why her death has messed me up so much. I don’t know how to tell people that she was my comfort. I don’t know how I’m suppose to tell people that she was the 17498646_10158508230045381_4974498748359248487_nonly thing on the planet that could calm me down when my anxiety was beating me down, how she was the only reason my depression didn’t consume me – she always knew when I was depressed and she’d curl up in my arms and gently lick away the tears from my face. She was the one thing in this world that I couldn’t imagine losing; and then I lost her. It was so sudden, it was so painful, I didn’t even get to sit with her, tell her I loved her one last time, and comfort her while they ended her suffering. I’m still so angry that I didn’t get the chance to make the decision whether I saw her pass away or not, and I resent my mom because of it. I love my mom, so much, but I hate what she did. I hate that I had to be in the dark about my best friend, and that I was at work while my bug took her last breath. I wish my mom would have allowed me to make the decision, I wish she knew how angry I am at her for taking that away from me. Jayda was more mine to me than just a dog, and I thought my mom knew that; it hurts so much that she doesn’t get it. I wanted to be there, that’s why I stayed up for 3 days making sure she didn’t die alone – yet she still did.  She died in a place that was unfamiliar, with nothing and no one. That breaks my heart more than anything, knowing she was so alone, and I hate myself everyday for it.                    

I just wish I knew why I lost her… She was my baby…

That’s another thing…

I’m almost 27 and I’m no closer to having a baby than I was 5 years ago, actually I was closer 5 years ago, and yet it appears everyone around me are having babies – my sister included.

I love my sister, but she never wanted to be a mom and here she is a mom of almost 3 and I have nothing. I use to dream of being a mom, I use to play house – imagining that I was a house wife and my husband was working – and care for my dolls as though they were real. I took care of my parents friends son when I was 13, and dreamed of the day when I had one of my own – all the while my sister locked herself in her room and would stay far away from children. So why is she the one who gets to have babies, and I’m the one who has Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome? Life’s not fair I suppose…

Ugh, I guess I’ll end this here since I’m rambling..

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