I share you like a funny story
Like you are not terror
Creeping down my neck
Like I can't remember
Your arms held tight against my chest
(As if I could forget)
And I am breathing now
In and out
In and out
But I still see your face
Your ice blue eyes
Your crooked mouth
Your whispers slithering
(Relax)
Before I knew it was too late
You come in flashes to me now
(You'll like it if you just calm down)
Like the end of winter coming into view
(I promise this will feel good)
I can't tell if this storm will be the last
Or if I've got six more weeks of you
(Relax)
(Relax)
(Just relax)
I've been dreaming of forgetting
Of letting these memories loose
And leaving in their place
These futile fantasies of you:
When your lips meet mine at midnight
You are gentle, you are sweet
And when 'no' is not enough
I have the strength to scream
I don't get stuck with what you've done;
I pull you off
And out of me
te·nac·i·ty| təˈnasədē/ | noun
- the quality or fact of being very determined; determination.
- the quality or fact of continuing to exist; persistence.
It has been more than three months since I have found myself collapsed on the ground before it is even 8:00AM, sobbing hysterically, uncertain if I would be able to make it through the day because my zipper got caught in my shirt or my skirt had too many wrinkles in it or more often than not, for no reason at all. It has been even longer since I last crawled into my boyfriend’s arms, incapable of speaking or breathing or knowing where to find the desire to keep trying. In the time between then and now, I have somehow experienced stress without feeling suffocated by my own existence. I have made plans with my friends and followed through on them without being completely overwhelmed. I have been able to distance myself from toxic people and behaviors that have done nothing but hurt me. I have a level of clarity I never thought possible, and I actually have energy, motivation for what feels like the first time. I feel happy. And it did not happen by sheer force of will, which is why I am writing this.
It took me seven years to admit that what I was experiencing was real, that I had a problem and that I needed help. You see, the thing about mental illness is that when things are good, you don’t think that your world needs to be fixed and when things are bad, you don’t think it ever can be. All of this is only worsened by a society that so poorly frames its conversations about mental illness, insisting that all of our ailments are a product of our poor lifestyle choices or worse, that they point to an inherent lack of character or sanity. In the moments when you might have reached out to someone for help, the article you read about a woman who solved her lethargy and sadness by drinking eight glasses of water a day comes back to you, reminding you that this is all in your head, that you must not be trying hard enough, or your best friend makes fun of the bipolar kid from high school for being crazy, or a mass murderer’s violence is blamed on his history of depression and you can’t help but think to yourself, “I’m not crazy. I’m not violent or insane. I cannot be sick”.
For me, it was the idea that I was not “really” sick, that there was something I was doing wrong to make myself feel so bad. I cannot tell you the number of articles I have read over the last few years that claim to have the perfect cure for sadness, lethargy, anxiety, etc. Everywhere I looked, every person I talked to so boldly proclaimed that if I stopped eating wheat, if I made physical health my main priority, if I just learned to look at life differently, I would no longer have a problem. “Choose your own happiness.” Looking back at all the advice that was given to me, I have a hard time understanding how I invested so much of myself into methods that explained away my mental illness as a lack of self-discipline or desire. From the moment I was first given an antidepressant at 15 years old and stopped taking it weeks later because I was convinced I did not need it, I have been trying to find a way to fix myself and every condescending solution I have been offered since then that has failed has only made that effort more difficult. Rather than confront my illness, I tried to laugh it off as a joke. “Oh, Echo’s crying again, how funny that she’s so emotional.” I tried to make it weightless, so that no one understood how deep it went. “Sometimes, I just feel a little sad. Everyone has bad days.” I never told anyone that sometimes I had trouble just moving one foot in front of the other, that it was nearly impossible to get in the shower or move from my bed. I never reached out because I could not let myself believe that I needed to. It was my fault, my responsibility that I was not making happiness a choice. Had someone told me, instead of claiming that organic honey and cardio are the cure-all for mental ailments, that I should go to my doctor at the first sign of depression, maybe I could have spent the last seven years making that choice.
Of course, there were an infinite number of excuses I had for not seeking out help and I obviously cannot blame self-help articles alone for my apprehension. Everything from my family history of mental illness and the experiences that came along with that to the stigma surrounding mental illness and the perception people had that I was perpetually cheerful and bright stopped me from admitting even to myself that I was not okay. I could be screaming internally, begging myself to just say something and still not be able to make a sound. I felt completely trapped, constantly on the verge of breaking down. Then, one day, someone in my family attempted suicide and my first reaction was terror. It suddenly seemed like that would inevitably be my future, and it was enough to scare me into admitting what was happening to me. It still took about a year after that to actually gather the courage necessary to accept that it was real and talk to my doctor, but I knew I only had two choices: get help or die pretending I didn’t need it.
The symptoms of depression and anxiety vary quite a bit between individuals but in order to give you an idea of what made me take the leap into my doctor’s office, let me tell you a little bit about mine. In addition to the general feelings of despair and episodes of extreme depression, I also had trouble concentrating, constant fatigue, irritability, both insomnia and hypersomnia, headaches and periods of extreme anxiety that left me temporarily unable to function. (For more information on depression and anxiety and their possible symptoms, this website has a ton of helpful information: Depression | Anxiety ) The morning that I scheduled my appointment, I was a mess. I felt so certain that my doctor would tell me that I was faking my illness or that there was nothing wrong with me at all. Instead, she reassured me that mental illness is not a personal fault or personality flaw, that it is a legitimate, medical problem and that the medicine would not work if it weren’t. The validation of what I had been experiencing for the better part of a decade was a tidal wave of relief. I started to think that it might be possible for me to eventually be okay, and I saw it as an opportunity to open up to the people closest to me about what I had been going through.
The most healing moments in my entire journey have been those conversations that I had with my friends and family. My boyfriend was there with me every step of the way, from the doctor’s office and my difficult days to the moment I started to respond to my treatment. When I apprehensively told my mother, she did not react with shock or disappointment. She told me that there was nothing wrong with seeking help and we ended up having a long conversation about her history of depression, which gave me the support and knowledge I needed to move forward. One of my best friends heard about every single grisly side effect and emotion I experienced and then, she still told me that she was proud of me. I will never forget those words; they helped me to hold my head up a little bit higher. These pieces of love and acceptance were vital in my progress, giving me hope and a reason to continue trying each time my medication failed, and I know without a doubt that I would have given up altogether without them.
After my first appointment came the testing of different types and dosages of medication until a combination actually worked. It was an adventure to say the least. Not only am I extremely sensitive to even the smallest change in medication (at one point, I accidently bought a different generic brand of the generic I am currently taking and I relapsed completely), but antidepressants take a huge toll on your body when you first start. They have a long list of possible and likely side effects and while the majority typically taper off within the first couple of weeks, that is more than enough time to decide to stop taking them. For instance, the first antidepressant that I tried made both sleeping and eating nearly impossible and on top of that, it led me to physically attack my boyfriend while I was having a violent nightmare. You have not seen a look of surprise until you wake up at 2AM with your teeth locked onto your boyfriend’s nipple… like I said, it was an adventure.
After my search for the perfect medication was over, I finally started to feel like the struggle to get to that point was worth it. This is maybe the most important thing you can remind yourself if you are ever starting an antidepressant. I felt far worse before I ever felt anything close to better and every change in medication due to adverse side effects only devastated me more. There were countless nights I sat up crying, wondering if I would ever find something that worked, if I could ever feel better. It took me three different medications, three dosage adjustments, one brand switch and five months to feel the haze start to dissipate but when it did, my entire world changed. Not to be cliché, but the sky literally looked bluer, the sun brighter. I remember vividly the first day I realized I wasn’t standing out on the edge of a cliff anymore. I could practically hear the birds singing in my ear. It wasn’t that all of my problems disappeared or that taking an antidepressant gave me a rush of euphoria. I still had scholarship applications that were due, still struggled with friendships and my relationship with my parents. My past and all of the difficult moments that led me to that edge still existed; everything just seemed so much easier, the methods for coping so much more obvious. More than that, I saw for the first time that despite everything bad that had happened, I deserved to be happy.
Maybe it is the medicine, or the support of my friends and family or maybe it is just having a space to talk about my illness without fear or shame. Whatever the reason, I no longer see my life as a burden. I have stopped spiraling into a severe depression at the thought of having to be alive next year and instead, I have started thinking about the reality of what that means. I have a future. I can concentrate long enough to complete my goals thoroughly and efficiently. I have the energy and motivation to be a good employee and student, to be a better friend and daughter and girlfriend to the people that I love. Without all of my symptoms to hold me back, I feel limitless. It is amazing how productive you can be when you aren’t spending three hours a day cemented to your bed or crying in a ball on your floor. There is now a world of possibility for me to explore, one to which I never imagined I would have access.
One of the definitions of tenacity is persisting in existence; not easily dispelled. I have Recurrent Brief Depression and Generalized Anxiety Disorder and with the love of my friends and family and the help of medication, I am slowly learning how to be tenacious.
If you are suffering from depression, you might think that not wanting to hurt yourself means that you are okay, that if the pain is not visible to other people or not “bad enough” to end up in the hospital, you have no grounds to claim mental illness. Never forget that any type of pain deserves compassion, validation and an opportunity to be healed.With neuroscience being such a new endeavor and the relentless stigma attached to mental illness, it is difficult to admit that you need help, even to yourself, but it may end up being the best decision you have ever made - it was for me.
Dealing with bad experiences or sadness doesn’t always mean starting a medication to deal with your problems, though. Most of the time, it is just finding the strength to talk about what you are going through, saying it out loud. It can be five minutes on the phone with your mom, talking about how hard life can be. It can be looking at yourself head on and simply admitting that you are struggling. Sometimes, it can even be writing a weird, long blog about something you have been holding onto for years. No matter your method, do not let mental illness leave you voiceless. You are far too strong, far too brave and far too lovely to go down without a fight.
If you need someone to help you take the first steps to getting treatment, or even sometime to just listen to you talk, feel free to contact me about anything. Or, if you prefer a more anonymous conversation, please call 1-800-273-8255 for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.
Exuberant and unrestrained
You invested your heart in me
And despite all your tenderness
I loved you through gritted teeth
Because I am made of shadows
And I am made of steel
But still you tried to wish me gentle
Tried to conquer me with guilt
I’ve never learned to love in chains
Never planted roots where I can’t grow
And though you tried to water me
There was no where left to go
I wasted my last beer on self-pity
in the throws of summer clothes
and the tightening of my jeans
This is not who I want to be,
a liter of saltwater
puddled on the floor,
grasping for this cheap relief,
fading away my widening hips,
my self-proclaimed deficiencies
Oh, the damage I have done
to my own body for its imperfections
An architect upset with loose boards
who responds with demolition
there is blood on my hands
a casuality of me,
and you,
and the end
and even now, i am
breathing you out,
heaving you back in
but there is nothing in this
wistful wind
that can carry me
past all that’s changed
and back to you again
There is no mercy in loving
No rest from hurricanes,
crashing into your core
Even in the moments when it’s good,
when it’s so, so good,
there will be sweet torture
washed upon your shore
It is okay to take time
to breathe
This life, it
goes and goes
and goes
We are rushing
through
Trying to keep pace with
cheetahs and
falcons
Matching stride on a
journey that even still will
end
When we are only
human
it took years
to wash you off of me
there must have been a lifetime
lost to your malignancy
but i am no longer
your wide-eyed daisy
counting the days
'till you're ready
to save me
i tried for half my life
to meet you in between
on and on and on you wept
but still you stayed your feet
Do not let thoughts of death
manifest inside of you
They are black ink
and you are 60% water
And when you think you're drowning
just remember
You are swimming
in your own molecules
You have nothing
to be afraid of
there is no anger here
no reckless blame
just the fading memory
of a blazing flame
just the calm digestion
of a goodbye we never spoke
and this tidal wave of pain
giving way to lost hope
i will remember us beautiful
i will remember us strong
but nothing lasts forever
someday everything is gone
how did this happen
why do i still have scars
in all the places you found me
i gave you my broken,
my hopeless heart
and your gentle hands
nonchalantly stripped me,
ripped and tore me apart
year after year i swear
to breathe you out,
to let you go
year after year
to fix what you broke
i am so lost in losing who you are,
i keep looking up but
i can't find the stars
you were the snake, trying to survive
i was your meal, stuck sucking poison
from your bite
where does your kindness go to hide
where was that blazing fire in your eyes
when you were laying kisses
down
my
spine
i catch myself sometimes
thinking about power
only in the context of men
and how easily i contort myself
to be beautiful for them
there are years between me
and the shedding of this thought
painted on my skin
carved into my bone
that i am simply not good enough
where does all the anger go
when you finally release the pain
will i still be curled up,
strung out,
on bitter, hopeless rage
we have been waiting for freedom
to appear in the hands of our captors
why aren't we fighting
why aren't we fighting
we may not call ourselves slaves
but we are still bowing to our masters
there is sweetness
dripping from my lips
and the sunlight, it’s
filtering through my fingertips
you have left me lingering on
your honey soaked memory,
hanging on so willingly
to a promise you can’t keep
still i spill myself to drink you in
throw all my senses to the wind
oh, what splendor there is in loving,
in knowing how swiftly it can end
this is not graceful
there are not flowers
growing from my skin
this is not your beautiful,
floating fantasy of misery
there is no martyrdom in this
i have seen destruction
in a simple gust of wind
and even the sight of sunlight
has made it too difficult to live
so don’t look at me with yearning
there is no glamour for the sick
stop breathing in my sadness,
telling me just how lovely it is
because this is not a symbol,
not a twisted wishing well
for you to throw your pennies in
there is no tortured elegance
in wishing you were dead,
nothing shiny hiding at the edge
i have stood in desperation,
watching myself slowly caving in
and still i have found no beauty
in wishing i didn’t exist
romaincrisis
turnnoffyourmind
titsay
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
ellievsbear