Build my life upon these dreams
Comforts and cozies fill my thoughts
Returning to a place familiar and warm
Memories of achievement and joy
Love, yes love felt and expressed
The lie roles off my tongue like marbles on hill
Expressed yes, but not love
Comforts are facades hiding what lies behind
Dreams are more easily dashed than delivered
My achievement is this empty shell
Medicated my heart beats at a safer pace
Medicated the knife never draws blood
Medicated sleep without dreaming is peace
Medicated darkness is not so cold
Medicated is no life to be wished on anyone
Suicidal thoughts, Can anything be more frightening
How do you take a life without the mess
How do you take a life without hurting everyone you love
I will not
Survival is a skill perfected by years of practice
Battles lost and won in my mind
The physical toll evidence in the lines on my face
The blanks stares, the tears and distant presence
The unseen damaged liver and once failed kidneys
Everything hurts some days, everything
The deepest pain is beyond human touch
Why do I keep fighting against this unwelcoming tied
I just do, a promise to myself and my loves
The hardest part of fighting the emptiness…
There is nothing there to take a swing at
I have to post this. I don’t like to talk about my weaknesses. Who does really? It has taken years to deal with and even understand why I am the way I am. I still don’t have all the answers. But I do understand my battle with depression more now than I ever did. It is painful and personally embarrassing to say I can relate to every single thing he has said just in the first 15 minutes. I have been battling major depression for years. I know and understand my condition, mostly. I can say without a doubt it has been the second most difficult struggle of my life. It is a war with myself to stay ahead of this disease. And I do keep fighting. I dream of one day being free of depression’s grip.
Exercise, diet, therapy and medications make a huge difference. I don’t like to take medicines unless I absolutely have to. I know I have to in order to treat this disease. I know many people out there can relate to this. I know many people out there suffer from depressions. We all do. Some of us, unfortunately, don’t just come out of it. No, it REALLY does not get better. No matter how hard we try. Some of us suffer from chronic, recurring depression. This is where the meds, exercise, etc. come in to play.
It hurts your pride to admit your faults. But I beg you. If you suffer from major depression. If someone you know suffers from major depression. Get help please. We cannot always do everything ourselves. Getting help is not a weakness. It takes strength to admit you need help.
It is a war with myself to stay ahead of this disease.
I keep fighting.
the well so deep, yesterday
not so much today
to fill the pit beneath me
light is like words
encouraging yet thin
but your hand
it breaks the stone
it clears the path
these wells that form
deep under foot
bored out by our own hands
when standing still too long
when night destroys the day
where life soon cools
and slowly turns to stone
alone in the well
it fills with atrophy and shame
the slightest push
the faintest shove
the stone it cannot form
we fill it in again
and hope momentum
carves a path instead
to my love
A warm glow fills the room with ambient life.
It dances it’s colorful song in abundance just outside my window.
I peer into the light.
My restless limbs heavy as I turn.
My dreams all but faded into the subconscious.
The light beckons as it burns.
The sound of my heart broken by a passing train.
How did I get here again?
I have known the darkest places in my mind.
Felt life slipping away.
Held death in it’s last breath in my arms.
How is it the finest of threads holds so strong?
Unseen in this darkest of places.
It is not my heart that hurts, but my soul.
Even in her smile, her laughter, her love
… darkness consumes.
Holding on to this little white pill.
Is it for me?
Or is it for society?
It’s what we do until the universe claims it’s ground.
Until the weight of life is so faint, gravity pulls it beneath the waves.
This song is not about the living.
Nor these words a burden to bare.
Some are ghosts among us.
Some are the art and scars we carry deep inside our soul.
Alone in a room
Slow Down, the melancholy of Radiohead
Wholefoods, Mac-n-cheese offending my wallet
Joyous, my tongue tastes organic cheeses melted
Eyes dead set in a window
Cold in a well heated room
Bustling city, this inclement day has your attentions
Holiday of me
A self imposed joy of the lonely
Ink on the cards still wet with passing thoughts
Check it again
If you call debts on paper bills
I call them words of remembrance
I am not forgotten
Do you remember her name
I do now
She lived in a house in a abandoned field where children played
She was sitting in a room alone too
Ice Cream for young visitors
They are all grown
Fields long since paved
Cars driving by none the wiser
Quiet comes late at night
I’m still sitting
I have none
Some wounds run too deep.
The sounds of cracking bones or the words of petty fools.
I cannot see the scars.
Time has washed them clear.
I cannot feel the shot.
The bullets have long since been removed.
When all I ever wanted was to run away.
Deep in the forests of my own thoughts.
Freedom from the antagonists.
Freedom from myself.
All I ever wanted was to be me.
Life was simpler back then.
Hide, stay low, avoid the common path.
The reward is pain.
Blend in the shadows.
The consequence is absence of pain.
Shadows are made of fear.
Year after year the jungle of pain and shadow.
Starving for something lost in my dreams.
Eating pain to give to the shadows.
Everything is living.
Except for me.
Back to old tricks.
The mirror holds truths for me to see each day.
Shadows in my eyes.
Old habits never die.
Dreams are just dreams.
No closer to being me.
Hiding from the pain.
It lives within me now.
So I do the only thing I know how.
I have spent my life changing. Trying to change. Trying to improve myself. Working towards a better me. There was a time in my life I did not care. That is no longer me. I admit I am far from perfect. I procrastinate like a pro. I fall back into self destructive patterns as fast as the wind changes direction. I cuss like a sailor. The list goes on. Basically I am my own worst enemy. My fear to live a life better than I am now is fueled by self doubt. Yeah me. I am not the pinnacle of self-confidence I pretend to be. Funny how several people have noted how confident I am upon meeting the for the first time.
I am an INCREDIBLE actress. When it suits me.
But oh how I fall. I have been working for months now with a therapist and self evaluation to try and get past these last seemingly insurmountable hurdles. The irony being all that I have changed about who I am and my life over the last 3 years. You can change or fix just about anything with surgery these days. You can change your entire wardrobe. You can change careers. You can change your hair color, cut and style. You can change jobs and latitudes. You can change your mood with a little help from a friend. And yes you can even change your sex apparently. We are a world fast becoming a planet of designer humans.
But there are two things you cannot change. Your past and your mind. I hear the sound of squealing breaks of disagreement on that last one. I say that out of experience really. So hear me out. We can change the way we feel about a great many things. Education and enlightenment play a big role there. We can OVERCOME, contain or control a great many things in our heads. Just having an open mind and a willingness to change are pivotal in ones ability to modify your thoughts and feelings.
I am struggling. Struggling to change that last bit of me I hate so much. I am afraid to live and free myself of all those fears that hold me back year after year. Those fears that pull me back in to self destructive patterns. The fear that keeps me from living all the dreams I carry with me to protect me from the darkest places of my mind. I feel like a small child that just wants someone to hold my hand. Just long enough to take me across that bridge of fear.
But there is no hand. And all the confidence I can muster seems short lived. I am afraid of people. I meet people and never see or hear from them again or look them in the eyes and feel I am not liked for some reason. Am I too tall, too ugly, too pretty, too weird? I don’t feel like I fit in anywhere. This I have felt all my life. I still feel this way.
See all that self defeating stuff. It leads to being lonely. It leads to self doubt. It is that thing I have never been able to change about my mind. The part of my mind I cannot change despite my best efforts. And I don’t know why or how.
If only I could get past the fears in my mind that keep me from truly being the person I am in my own dreams.
For those of you who know me, I have been through some wicked radical changes in the past couple of years. The specifics of change are only marginally important most of the time. Sometimes not. I am a woman of change. I have seen and done things most people cannot imagine. But I am still just me. A bright and often animated person still searching for her spot on the field.
I consider myself an extremely lucky person. Especially considering I am an open and out lesbian in a world that seems so hell bent on not allowing people to live an d be happy. I have a great family who has been there every step of the way since my formal self outing. I have some good frineds and many acquaintances. I have a great job with a really good company. I and I live in a nice little quiet nook in San Francisco.
What more could I want?
A lot more actually. I may be a forty-something goddess in control of her life. But I am also still a teenager at heart more often than I admit. I am fickle and want every freaking thing now. Change happens and I want it over and done with. I sen my eye or my heart on something and I want it started or done yesterday. I know this is not how life works. I cannot keep up the light speed change of pace I often expect in my life.
And this is where the battle begins.
Me fighting myself. Nichole vs. Nikki. It’s tantamount to insanity. The seemingly endless skirmishes with my own sense of self and desire class often sending me off on wildly divergent paths. The unfortunate victim in this constant flux is me. The wounds are often intense depression and even overwhelming anxiety.
Over the past month I have been stuck in a perpetual black hole of depression and questioning everything in my life. I can usually pull myself out of this funk within a few days or even a week tops. Not this time. It was so profound I upped my therapy sessions. Slept way too much and stayed up way too late thinking.
Thinking is my enemy. I have written several poems about my struggle. “My Enemy” being the most recent. I often write as a result of these “moments” of struggle. If I don’t write for more than a week it is not a good sign. It means I am losing the battle. Of all things I have struggled with in my life, depression has been the cruelest of foes. And the one battle where I have never really come out the victor.Though I keep trying.
Giving up is giving in. I have vowed too never give up. I have come to far and accomplished to much to just hand in the keys to my life and let something or someone else drive. Last week just before the Pride festivities I suddenly and inexplicably found myself emerging from the month long battle over depression. This time I really can’t put my finger on how I did it. I am just glad that I did. So here I am back to writing. Back to living. And back to enjoying the feeling of sunshine on my face.