Posted in My Daily Adventures, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

World Mental Health Awareness Day: What Depression feels like (for me).

Depression sinks into your very soul, and you stop knowing how to love yourself; the thought just isn’t fucking there, and to even hear it, write it, be surrounded by the constant reminders of “Love yourself” does nothing when you feel as if you need that self love to EARN the love of others. People with depression put much more stock into what others say and think about them versus what they think of themselves. That concept of self love? Do you realize how completely IMPOSSIBLE it SEEMS to someone with depression? Of course self-love is real, and so very important, but seems like utter BULLSHIT to someone with depression. “Why the fuck should I love myself? What have I done to deserve any love?” Those are the thoughts that LIVE inside the mind. Everybody feels those thoughts once in awhile, everybody feels down and useless and yes, we all bend and break and regret and wish for change and a chance to do it over, but people with depression LIVE that. EVERY. SINGLE. SECOND. And sure, in moments they can feel brave, strong, and as if the fight is worth it, but those moments are so, so hard.

As a friend to someone with depression, do not ever say “This shit is getting old.” You’ve only seen the surface, and yes it isn’t fair for a friend to have to ALWAYS deal with someone who is constantly down in the dumps, but if you say that line you are pretty much ensuring some major self-hatred in the future. People with depression understand how much of a burden they can be, how much they place onto others, and how unfair that is.

THAT ALSO ADDS TO THE NEGATIVE/DEPRESSING FEELINGS.

And asking “Well why are you depressed” is an oxymoron; there is no real answer, and thinking about it makes the person feel even worse; they have no “real” reason to feel bad, and that makes the guilt even worse. So what can you do for someone who seems to be suffering from depression? Exist to them. Do not try to take them out of there comfort zone in an attempt to make them “change”. By saying they need change, you enforce the idea that they are broken, which they ARE NOT. They aren’t depressed because they stay in, watch movies, don’t want to go out, don’t want to drink, etc etc. By forcing a change in habit you are forcing a person to believe that to be happy, they HAVE to conform to a new way of life. They just want to FEEL NORMAL DOING EVERYTHING. That is it. Plain and simple. The depressed want to be able to listen music, write a song, go for a walk without feeling so damn, fucking morbid about it. They want to feel what others feel, to feel as if they aren’t wasting time, wasting space, wasting away for nothing. The problem is they never can accept that they need to just do what fulfills them; that whole “do whatever makes you happy” line. Depression means when you find something that makes you happy, you feel GUILTY about it, like why do you deserve something like this? Why do you deserve to smile? To laugh?

THAT IS THE CONSTANT THOUGHT PROCESS FOLKS.

Everything becomes a big question of why why why and o me me me. And to top it all off, they realize how selfish that sounds, to only think about themselves, how this process of constantly feeling as if you deserve nothing is actually dragging down those closest to you, and makes depression a self-fulfilling prophecy. So, to recap all of that: People with depression feel hopeless, and because of that they feel guilty. The guilt is what really kills; guilt of not DESERVING LOVE, guilt of not BEING NORMAL, and also the guilt of not having a REAL REASON to feel depressed. How should you help alleviate this guilt? Try doing something for them that THEY want to do. Go see that movie they mentioned, just because. Grab a bite to eat somewhere they like. Try to bend a little to what they want, what they feel comfortable with, and ease them into new situations. Let them see that what THEY want to do has merit, isn’t weird or strange, and that they can smile without feeling like they aren’t deserving of it. Start small, don’t expect big changes, and don’t expect this whole new person. Put value into what they love, even if they won’t admit they love it, which they won’t because they won’t feel as if they deserve to, but they need to know that it’s all OKAY. Depression takes away the feeling that who we are matters, and breaks us down until we believe we did nothing but waste the time of others, and we need to end that wastefulness ASAP.

Be patient, be kind, remind people how much they matter, how much they mean to the world. Sure, they may not believe you at first (and they won’t) but just hearing it gives pause, gets the gears turning, and for a few precious  moments someone can escape from depression and feel as if the world isn’t crashing down around them. A few more moments like that, and suddenly your head is above water more often than under, and you realize that sure, maybe I can’t breathe underwater like the rest of the fish, but holy shit I can swim!

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“I am the Ocean, and you are my sandy shore, so are my tides trying to run away, or simply something lost returning home?”

Her scent is reminiscent

Of warm autumn draft,

And as her late October

Finds purchase under dead bark,

Every leaf left to me

Can do nothing else

But shrivel up into kindling

And obediently burn.  

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“Nothing can compare to the feeling of your kiss, the friction of our lips slowly burning the red out of my blood, leaving me drunk on your love.”

I like shy, cherry boys,

Who act sour, but really they’re sweet.

They slowly creep around the corner

And go speeding down the street

 

I like those shy, cherry guys

Who’s faces all turn red

The second that they see a naked lady

And never try to rush them to bed

 

I’m a sucker for those cherry dudes,

Because I really like the spring

They blossom into beautiful petals

And aren’t ashamed of being pretty things

 

I’m a fan of any cherry man

Who at his core isn’t a bad seed

Yes, he comes off self-centered

But he’s not afraid to admit his needs

 

I like shy, cherry boys,

Because they are prettier than me

They taste good, and look so tasty

I want to teach them about the birds and the bees.

 

I like those shy, cherry guys,

Even though they act like they can’t see

So I keep away and hope that someday

Those cherry boys will come to also like me.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“I miss you, but that doesn’t mean I need you. I’m still worth something, even without you.”

You did not take anything

That I did not willingly give,

So I cannot, will not,

Place the blame on you.

I thought I was empty,

That nothing remained

Outside of tattered love

Where my heart used to be.

 

But I was wrong.

 

When nothing remains,

When all I can claim

Is the rocky sediment

Along the riverbeds

And sandy shores

We once called home,

I want you to know

That I walked away

Out of my own desires,

On my own two feet.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“I am empty, but oddly enough, this emptiness feels heavy…it feels so damn heavy.”

I can’t cry anymore. I used to cry driving home every day. I used to cry in the shower, and when I laid down for bed. I turned to drugs and alcohol to numb my mind, so I wouldn’t have a free thought left to drift towards my unpleasant past, or at least the unpleasant past my depression had formed in my head. I cried for a myriad of reasons. I was sad about where I was in my career, feeling like a failure compared to my friends and family. I was angry at my body, because I couldn’t force it to do anything I wanted, yet it forced bite after bite down my throat until I ballooned into a 200lb ball of blubber and despair. I was anxious around anybody, even people I had known all my life; I felt everyone judging me, even though they only wanted to help, and I couldn’t stand feeling so pathetic. I raged on the weekends, wrecking my apartment and getting reprimanded by my landlord. I became a hermit after leaving work, ignoring my phone and burying my guilt in layers of unwashed hoodies, empty pill bottles and half-eaten pizzas. I was disgusted with myself for even trying to find happiness, giving into my desires and finding random partners for hollow sex. None of those were “good” feelings, but they weren’t nothing. I wasn’t happy, but I wasn’t empty. I told myself I was empty, but I wasn’t empty.

Today I woke up early. It was warm outside for an Ohio October day, so I took a walk. During my walk, I watched the sun break through the trees lining my street, and I saw kids standing on the corner, waiting for the bus, and at least 3 joggers passed me over the course of 10 minutes, and 2 dogs were being walked, and lawn care providers were beginning their days, and when I made it back to my apartment I realized I wasn’t a part of anything. Things were happening all around me; life was happening, but I wasn’t a participant. I saw everything from the outside, because none of it meant anything to me. I should have been upset about this, but I didn’t feel anything. I thought I’d be mad at myself, but I didn’t care. I thought I’d be sad, realizing I had no place in this world, but I didn’t care. I thought I’d swallow a bottle of pills, drown myself in a cold shower, and text my boss an excuse as to why I wouldn’t make it into work this week. But I didn’t care.

I couldn’t feel anything. I could see all the same things, draw all the same conclusions, and land on the appropriate emotion I should be experiencing, but I couldn’t touch those feelings.

I often thought I would end up in such a rage I would accidently throw myself off my balcony, or make a cut so deep I would bleed out in my bathtub. I thought I would feel so sad I would swallow every pill in my cabinets, and let those little medical wonders take me away to a new Hell. I thought I’d drink until I couldn’t speak, and try calling him again, hoping that after all these years he might pick up, just so I could hang up the phone the second he said hello, and a split second later I would put a bullet in my brain without ever telling anybody goodbye.

I thought I would die from those feelings, that all the sorrow and rage would drive me into a corner until I had no choice but to end it all. But I never did. I kept on going, and those feelings kept on flowing through everything that I did. I wasn’t empty, but I was being hollowed out. It took years and years, but I finally see what the end is.

I felt so much that all I wanted to do was die, but that was rooted in a desire to escape, and I wanted to escape because deep down I wanted to live. Now, I don’t care if I die, and that’s rooted in a lack of any desire to live. Dying isn’t an escape, it’s just another path, another way to reach the finish line. I could do it 5, 10, 50 years down the road, and it wouldn’t change a thing. So why bother? It doesn’t matter. Today is as good a day as any, so why not now? Why not make today my final day?

It doesn’t matter, so I might as well just die.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“I am October, Ohio.”

I am October’s colors, my skin the reflection of bruised peaches and burnt honey. I stick to all things green, suckling away at their breast, until only a shriveled husk remains, clinging onto skeleton branches, begging the wind to let them be. My winds are not so kind as to carry any calls for help, even if it would be in my self-interest. I am October, Winters harlot and Summers whore. I welcome September with amber whispers, while Death waits in the kitchen for crumpets and tea. Before November arrives, I will have suffocated every cul-de-sac’s front yard with the flesh of ancient oaks, and laugh along with the children as they make piles of the refuse skin to jump and play in. I am October, a fire without heat, burning the sunset past the horizon, leaving life tinged the shallow shade of a red run dry. I am October, because we are the same; we are only beautiful when we are dying.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

He loves me; he loves me not.

“He loves me.”

He shared with me his secrets,

Hidden between kisses.

I stockpiled every last one,

Treating them like stained glass;

I avoided touching them,

But I loved watching the world

Through his colorful view.

 

~He loves me not.~

He only ever looked at me

Through a rainbow lens,

And it leaves me to wonder

If he saw me for who I am

Or for the person he wants to see?

Because through his kaleidoscope

Even a gray sky

Can be mistaken for

A perfect, cloudless blue.

 

“He loves me.”

He knew my body,

Ran his fingers over the war

I had scratched across

My wrists, shoulders and stomach.

His hands never shook,

And his warm touch

Felt like it was melting away

Every mistake I had made.

 

~He loves me not.~

But those scars weren’t mistakes;

They were choices.

Regardless of regret,

If I just let them disappear

Without confronting the reasons

I made them in the first place,

I’m not learning a damn thing.

In the end, his hands

Weren’t trying to heal,

But instead hide the truth.

He couldn’t love the scars

So how could he love me?

 

He loves me, he loves me not.

He loves my potential; he loves the thought

Of what I could be, the perfect future he sees.

He loves what might come, but he doesn’t love me…