Perhaps your love will make me forget all that I do not wish to remember –

gA%OXV2lQuedAb0%McFvmQKnoxville, TN 

Perhaps your love will – 

free me from myself

make me feel beautiful

take away some of life’s stress

show me happiness

encourage me to be the best version of myself

support me when no one else does

listen when no one else will

be the rock to keep me stable

hold me up when I am falling down

support my addiction to iced coffee

make our house feel like home

be patient with my mental illness

always listen to my political rants

(try to) understand my radical viewpoints

help me with homework that I don’t understand

care for me when I am sick

hold me accountable

make me feel worthy

make me feel strong

Perhaps your love will always make sure that I feel appreciated, adored, & loved.

Advertisements

Fondness for Silence

I have a fondness for silence 

No matter where I am, it gives me a sense of home

My mind constantly competes with the noise around me

In silence, it stops fighting 

I wander in the calmness, often with eyes closed

To the land I escape to that know one else goes

A Caramel Latté Downtown

She sat by herself at the familiar coffee shop downtown, gazing out the window, sipping an iced caramel latte. Her favorite part was the drizzle of caramel that swirled over the top. The sun occasionally peaked through the clouds and made it’s way to her tattooed skin. Her dark, wavy hair, with tints of red, glistened in the light. She had an array of sticker-filled Apple products she couldn’t really afford spilled out on the table in front of her and a to-do list a mile long; but she couldn’t steal her gaze from the world outside. Nothing in particularly interesting was happening, but she found herself wondering about the passerby. Where were they going? Were they happy? Do you think they struggle with mental illness too? Are they stressed, worried, or anxious? Are they in love? Are they a genuine, kind person? A young lady passing by with a well-loved and curious mutt made her shyly smile. She sighed, thought of all the things that needed to be done, and checked her phone to see how much of the day had escaped her. 3:26pm. A text on the screen read, “I love you and hope you’re having a good day. What are you doing?” She was doing a million things and also nothing. She was restless and wanted to go. She didn’t know where she was going, but she was bound and determined to get there.

Before I die I want to..

cropped-fullsizeoutput_12c6.jpeg
     (in no specific order)

  1. Earn my Bachelor’s & Master’s Degrees, then maybe a doctorate
  2. Rescue many more animals
  3. Adopt a child (maybe 2)
  4. Travel
  5. Start a nonprofit
  6. Fix America’s healthcare system (or at least start)
  7. Reform America’s for-profit prison system
  8. Advocate for decriminalizing drug use/possession
  9. Advocate to release all non-violent drug offenders from prison
  10. Advocate, advocate, advocate!
  11. Build my dream home
  12. Improve education
  13. Publish a book
  14. See my art in a museum
  15. Have my photography published in a magazine
  16. Finish getting all of the tattoos I want
  17. Have bright colored hair
  18. Meet Bernie Sanders and thank him
  19. Learn sign language
  20. Read all the books I own
  21. Own a business with my life partner, Tanner
  22. Learn yoga
  23. Learn a foreign language
  24. Scuba dive
  25. Wear a black wedding dress
  26. Meet with a psychic
  27. Have a garden
  28. Learn to love myself
  29. Advocate for the use of all renewable energy sources
  30. Make wine
  31. Visit the Murder House from AHS (it’s an Airbnb, ya know)
  32. Figure out my religious beliefs
  33. End racism
  34. Be a barista
  35. Make the world a better place

I could go on and on with this list until I actually die. This will be interesting to look at in years to come.

What do you hope to accomplish?

It’s been a while.

I haven’t felt the need to write lately, mainly because I feel like no one cares what I have to say. But tonight, I have that heavy, anxious feeling in my chest as if words are slowly filling up my veins, and if I don’t let them bleed out, then I will undoubtedly explode.

There are so many topics, sentences, and questions flowing through me – how do I pick out what to write down? After months upon months of nothing, why is this happening now? Words often flow through easier through my veins when I am in a state of depression, so my mental stability comes into question. I know I have been feeling more down and emotional lately, but surely my body realizes that I don’t have time to fall into a state of depression. Right?

Time has made a habit out of making the loss of a loved one easier. Time, this time, has failed me. It has been two years, three months, and six days since I lost my father. The longer he’s gone, the more of my life he’s missing, and the more it hurts like no pain I have ever experienced before. I can feel the emptiness swell through my body like a disease that eats every ounce of energy and happiness that I have left. Mannequins enjoy life more than I do sometimes.

I earned my Associate’s Degree (although useless, it’s still somewhat of an accomplishment), graduated with honors, on the Dean’s List, and a member of two National Honor Societies. You weren’t there, and honestly, I didn’t really want to be there either. I transferred to the university that I swore I’d never go to. I got into the Social Work program, and I’m a member of a couple of organizations. But I haven’t been able to tell you that. You haven’t been able to tell me that you’re proud and that you love me.

That’s what hurts so deeply, Dad. My life is moving forward without you in it. Some days, I want to just stand still. I want to quit, go back to bed, and never wake up. I want to be where ever you are. You are supposed to be here, at least until I’m done with school and get married. No twenty-four year old should have to lose their father. I’ve thought I was an adult since I was a teenager, but losing you was a harsh slap in the face. I still need my daddy, so come back. Come back and guide me, love me, and show me all of the things that I still need to know.

I live in two different realities:

  1. Depression, anxiety, sadness, irritability, anger, swollen eyes, exhaustion, migraines, aches, and pains. Nothing is worse than the sound of my alarm. I dread the thoughts of simply existing. I lack motivation. What is the point in all of this? Why do I stretch myself so thin all of the time? Why do I try so hard and care so much? We are all going to die anyway.
  2. My passions overwhelm me and I have too many things I want to get done. I am ready to start my day with a shower and an iced latte. The weather is beautiful and I want to sit outside, feel the sunshine, and listen to the birds sing. I feel my depression awakening, but I’m able to put her back to sleep. I put my anxiety back to bed as well. I’m able to overcome my negative emotions and everything is okay. I am going to change the world for the better.

To those who don’t struggle with mental illness, I may seem like a manic mess. To those who can relate, they know that this is a normal part of life. To outsiders unaware of my internal struggle, they would never assume anything was wrong. I seem like a ‘normal’ person. Some days, I even feel sort of normal.

My veins no longer feel like they are going to explode from the accumulation of unsaid words. Self-care is important, necessary even. Writing is self-care for me. I am still learning to love and respect myself.

Time. Everything takes time.

Before She Found Herself

Sometime before she fully reached adulthood, she traded in her Dr. Pepper for a whiskey and Coke and sweet tea for a shot of whatever was being offered. She was lost in a whirlwind of emotions and the alcohol made her feel numb- a pleasant state of laughter and what she thought was happiness. The happiness later turned into numerous one night stands (well, sometimes she would go back to the same person), drunk driving, and breakdowns in bathrooms where she vomited and cried by the bathtub of a stranger. None of her questions about life were answered the way she wanted, so she drank more and more until she eventually did not know who she was. She went through the motions, either drunk, hungover, or trying to get through work until she could start the cycle all over again. The panic attacks were getting worse and more frequent, and she could say the same about her depression. The alcohol numbed these and the numerous boys made her feel wanted and beautiful. She felt whole. The problem was that when she woke at 4:36am, she was naked, dehydrated, had a migraine, and was next to someone that did not care about her deeper than what he saw- anxiety and negative emotions flooded her as she gathered her things, got in her car still a little drunk, and drove away.