how they see us: living with depression

it is not kind and it does not care who you are, how much money you have, or the type of diet you follow.  i was listening to a conversation about a girl who cried everyday, slept more than her roommates, did not get out of bed, and was planning on dropping a couple of courses because “she didn’t know how to manage her time” and “she was doing it to herself; it’s her choice to be happy.”

truthfully, i was beyond annoyed and even angered that the friends of this girl (who was showing real symptoms of depression, at least from what I gathered from the conversation) basically wrote her off.  i wondered how these girls could come to a consensus that their “sad” friend was a burden and needed to get her life together.  after i regained composure, i realized that as a society, we are extremely ignorant about mental health.  i get it, it makes people uncomfortable; but the only way to combat the taboo that depression is a choice is to inform those that do not deal with the illness on a daily basis.

if i had a dollar for every time someone told me “just get over it” or “be happy” or “life’s hard, everyone has problems” i would have a significant stack of dollar bills.  depression is not a choice.  happiness is not a choice.  i know sure as hell that i did not choose to sit in a psychologist’s office twice a week, telling her my inner-most dark thoughts, as a 7th grader.  it was not my choice to have a chemical imbalance in my brain.  the thing is, depression is not just sad music and crying from time to time.  it is not just bad social skills.  it is not forgetting your umbrella and getting drenched walking to class, only to have an assignment due that you forgot about and declaring “this is the worst day of my life.”  but there have been many sleepless nights and mornings i could not get out of bed and multiple consecutive days that i could not change my clothes because i did not have the energy–it was not worth it; i did not care.  i sometimes get tired by walking to the car or just sitting in bed thinking; there are times i count down the minutes until i can crawl back in bed because life is too much.  depression is the medicine you are required to take every morning because without it, you could not function like a normal human being.  it is constantly drowning on dry land; never catching a break from the world or your mind.  it is not an overreaction and it is not something to be ashamed of.

people who are lucky enough to not have been plagued with mental illness love to give their advice to people who do suffer.  remember the conversation i overheard about the sad girl?  her friends’ solution was to get a job, keep busy, start working out, do something.  putting on your tennis shoes, getting a job, releasing those endorphins–all great things, i am not denying that.  they do help with momentarily relieving the symptoms of depression BUT they are not the cure-all.  do you tell someone with cancer to “try yoga, it will make you forget how sick you are but it will not actually cure you”?  running is to depression as ibuprofen is to a lifelong headache; it’ll spare you a few hours, maybe a few days, but that headache is still there.  the depression is still there.  it is not something that everyone understands–which is why a lot of people get annoyed when you are sad for too long or you refuse to move from your bed.

but to the girl who is sitting in her room, in the dark, that has not moved for days, you are okay.  it is perfectly fine to sit until you gain enough emotional strength to face the world again.  i hope your friends come to understand that you did not choose this.

you are so inspiring.

strong.

and you will get through it, i promise.  it takes time, a whole lot of time, and figuring out how to accept that fact that you are different, you suffer differently, silently.

 

xo,

kate

i swear i’m a pacifist

again and again—

and i hate this about myself;
it is a vicious laundry cycle in my head
with no detergent, just thoughts—

water—

that can’t rid a stain
so deeply seeded—
so do not act surprised when i push at you.
when i can no longer look at you without an overwhelming ailment in the pit of my stomach
i promise i will shoulder you away when you begin to get too close
no, you cannot bind my ribs together with strands of your hair
my lungs are chronically broken and not even you can hold me together

i retreat as if on a battle field

and the enemy is too strong and all of my men are dead.
i give up the fight
and lay down my weapon
because i have always been a pacifist (even when i drink too much) and
i think it would hurt more if you said goodbye first.
so i say it:
i wave the white flag
i plant it on my heart
my heart on my sleeve, resting on my armor
like the man on the moon, the flag flies for all to see
and i know it doesn’t make any sense
but i am always one to give up before they give up on me.
i would apologize but that would send the wrong message

don’t you think?

on the eighth wonder of the world

it’s no secret that traveling is my true passion. 
when my feet connect with new and unfamiliar grounds, my heart stops & races at the same time

but then i met you–a wonder. i swear you are the eighth wonder of the world. 

my soles touched down on your heart

so unfamiliar

but so much like home

(home being a place far away from here; the home i have always dreamed of)

a month passed & my heart is still beating as fast as it was when the plane landed in new zealand. 

you’re a wonder 

i swear you put the constellations in the night sky with your eyes

& the ocean bows to the moonlight shining from your heart. 

i have always been a wanderer 

wonderer 

my heart is never satisfied in one place for too long

but so much time has passed & my soul is not done searching every inch of you

i don’t think it ever will be

& that is how i know it’s authentic. 

pretty things

pretty people don’t know the things i do
but i hold out small hope that i am
interesting enough to write about
i am all over the place
my nails are only fully painted for the ten minutes i can resist biting them
do you think i’m selfish or conceited because i write about myself a lot?

pretty people don’t know the things i do
today i walked to class without my headphones
& listened to the sounds the earth created
but nothing spoke to me
and i am almost certain that means something is wrong within my soul.

not everyone will understand anxiety, and that’s okay

a little something different than usual. i have been truly inspired lately by beautiful people dealing with not so beautiful battles.  the connotations of the words anxiety and panic are negative and degrading, causing sufferers to retreat further into themselves.  i, from first hand experiences, know how embarrassing it is to panic and have everyone look at you differently; like a monster or a crazy person.  honestly it is 2015 and people struggle with different battles–who are you to put down an innocent person for something they cannot contol?  i hope this speaks to you.

xoxo


anywhere, anytime

maybe there is a trigger, sometimes there isn’t. maybe it just happens.  i know too often when i am walking down a flight of stairs or opening my car door, i suddenly cannot breathe.  like placing my foot on the last step or unlocking my car somehow turned off a switch inside of me that usually reminds me how to live.

am i breathing? am i even existing?
i can’t be alive.
how can i be living but drowning in my own body?
i think i forgot how to breathe–i think i am dying

i remember learning about cellular respiration in biology but the professor never mentioned what happens when your lungs forget how to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide and your body betrays you as if it wants to expel your sole being from its flesh cage.  a sort of heaviness decided to shack up right next to my heart and take up a majority of the space in my chest.

“relax, there is nothing to worry about.”
i want to be okay! i want to relax!

but crawl inside my body at this very moment and feel my lungs expand fully but never enough, feel my legs buckle and listen to my thoughts reach deep, dark places in my mind i never even knew existed.

most nights, falling asleep takes hours because my thoughts take over my being and i have never felt so physically trapped when my mind–my subconscious–my psyche–paralyzes me right then and there. my mind is still at war with my body; my ribs have been seized and the lack of oxygen makes my hands go numb.  i don’t understand how it happens–how it’s possible.

but anxiety is all too familiar and i feel as if i have only explained .05% of what it really is.

i am starting to realize that some things do not make sense yet they can impact a person’s life in the greatest way–after having panic attacks for years, i have yet to find a solution in controlling the symptoms; then again, i continue to learn my limits every day and i think that is rather important in defining my character.  more times than not, i am kept from doing seemingly fun and normal things because of the severe panic i experience at just the thought of everyday activities.  i am still learning who i am and maybe that is the most important lesson.

i am never not filled with shame because i am always nervous–biting my nails, eyes filled with tears, heavy breathing–it is not easy and it never has been.  but i made it out alive.

i am alive.

maybe it’s okay to drown

once i wake, i dive into the pools
of calm water on the leaves
on my skin
puddles on the ground
oceans replace those four walls
that never accomplished anything—except hold me back
and i catch sight of what lies ahead because
i finally realized my future resides in the sun

lately i have been too afraid of blistering
my skin is pale
i didn’t want to overheat
but illuminated candles no longer radiate enough light
they were always a waste of money

the fear generated a friendship with the
moon
an attachment i do not regret
though i find i need more
friends–connection–conversation–
i’m a strong believer in delayed satisfaction &
fifteen second chances

i’m learning that it is okay to be alone with my thoughts
when the earth needs the human in me
i need the currents to pull me under
my lungs may be filled with water
but i have never inhaled so wholly.

wash in cold water only; lay flat to dry

my room is clean and my insides are messy

the disaster of a closet you apologize for is me–my head,

my thoughts, unable to stay on hangers no matter how durable,

strung out all over shoes, responsibilities

so i plan an escape.

never have i been without a plan:

a backup plan;

three more backup plans…

four different possibilities i must be prepared for at all times.

and then there is always the chance that my four plans may each fail

but what if the universe conspires against me–

i feel it pushing and pulling at my hair lately

and i am left with numb legs and a jittery heart because how can i ever be prepared

for the uncertain?

that closet is a black hole and i shy away from any attention because

i cannot bear to take someone else–another life–down with me;

i must ask for your forgiveness.

you are unaware of my birthday; you haven’t a clue of my favorite color and

i’m already apologizing;

the closet is bursting at the seams, another hanger cannot possibly fit–

you’d end up in the back, on the floor, in a ball anyways.

impatient

i went to the lourve once

and couldn’t enjoy the art of structure surrounding me

the line was too long

i cannot sit around for my body is too quivering

my mind too unrelenting

and i need something new every minute

i’m bored

and i promise i’m not sitting around

waiting for you like a lost puppy

in the movies that’s abandoned in a dark alley in the rain

but I’ve always been a sucker for animals—

lost causes

can you blame me

the rain falls from my eyes and i sit in the dark

waiting

damn i’m still waiting

everything i write is about you and i can’t stop

obsessing

each page is covered in nonsense and i tear out each page

tear them to shreds so the words are no longer readable

maybe then i can forget they exist—

i want to forget that you exist.

my mind runs a million miles a second

guess how many thoughts belong to you

have your name blazing, unapologetically

you are my actuality

my liver

the heel of my foot

without you, how can i be expected to walk

but then again alcohol was always poison to the liver

so maybe if i drink until

i don’t taste your hair in my mouth

or feel your words in my veins

i can stop waiting

on something that’s never been taught how to tell time.

“how did you do this to me?” he asks; she laughs and turns away

there’s this boy i know

with fragile lungs and broken ribs

like branches on the forest floor

his heart’s only protection is the skin that is perpetually fading

despite how long he opens his shirt towards the sun

towards the glow radiating from the soul of the one he loves

and then there is a girl 

with long flowing hair like a stream running through the middle of his forest

her soul brightens his path though it guides her into darkness

a natural curve dances on her mouth

a mischievous smile and a hollowed out soul 

acid tears never felt good until she laid eyes on him

the broken boy’s broken bones wrapped around the heart she didn’t have

how cruel of her to let him depend on her drunk affection

his love

the tenderness of his heart got lost somewhere beneath the surface of the earth

while she was digging her grave and 

he had no choice but to save her 

but no longer exist as–