I've been running a race for 3 and a half years and it's almost over, and I am on the final stretch. My heart feels like it's about to explode. my head feels like it's floating. Everything hurts. It's all racing so hard. I don't feel like me. I don't feel like who I am, who i want to be or who I used to be. I feel detached from the world. and everything feels distant. Everything feels elusive. and I want everything to just pause so I can catch my breath. Drowning.
It feels like an exaggeration, but I almost drowned in a pool when I was 10. I was too stubborn to stay in the shallow end, when I knew I couldn't swim well enough... The plan was to hold on to the rope. but I went under and the water took me out too far and I couldn't' find the rope when I came back up. I remember feeling panicked, and gasping for breath, but probably most telling, and I remember feeling so stupid because I knew better. Why didn't I use my good sense? My brain in the midst of regret and shame while my body was gasping for air. Then as quickly as I lost myself underwater, I felt my feet touch the tile. It was over. But it's never over. That memory runs through my mind more often than it should 27 years later. In a montage of stupid choices I've made. and somehow I feel like I'm here, panicking right now, drowning, and just like before. it's my own fault. And even when I finally come up for air, I know that this feeling will follow me forever.
Write... Right?
“Why am I compelled to write?... Because the world I create in the writing compensates for what the real world does not give me. By writing I put order in the world, give it a handle so I can grasp it. I write because life does not appease my appetites and anger... To become more intimate with myself and you. To discover myself, to preserve myself, to make myself, to achieve self-autonomy. To dispell the myths that I am a mad prophet or a poor suffering soul. To convince myself that I am worthy and that what I have to say is not a pile of shit... Finally I write because I'm scared of writing, but I'm more scared of not writing.”
I'm scared almost every time I pick up the pencil or pen, but I can't stop myself from doing it. Each time i sit thinking I should write, but I find myself hesitating, but I know that without writing, I won't be able to release the tension, the pressure of emotions that won't be okay until they spill onto the page.
I write to find my way. Through journals and letters, pages of poetry and prose, I have found a way to at least in some ways clear the cobwebs from my mind. I read and re-read what I write and in it I find corners of myself that would be so easily forgotten were they not marked with the permanence of the written word.
When I write, I understand how I feel and in so many ways I read back those thoughts and emotions in such an amazing way that is brilliantly poetic and so many times I impress myself. The fact that I've been writing about the depth of depression and anxiety and the way that it permeates every aspect of my life from my job to my body to my relationships and my life. It is so much of who I am. But those are the parts that I so desperately want to get rid of. How can you embrace the flaws that have affected your life so profoundly and that you know are not going anywhere?
May is Mental Health Awareness Month
Mental Health is the bane of my existence and alternately the core of who I am. Since I was a little tiny girl, I knew that there was something different about me. A hollow space that wanted to be filled.. an emptiness, a sadness, something that was just different. It was off. I was sad. So sad. I cried myself to sleep when I was 5 or 6, as a teen, all that got me out of bed were responsibilities and plans. I languished through hours, weeks, months of melancholy, wishing and hoping it would go away, but learning to love that darkness like a blanket. It became my security.
It smothered me. It smothers me. I've been in therapy for 3 years. Under the care of an amazing therapist and a psychiatrist who keeps my care consistent. It is amazing how difficult it is to be successful in life, and successful in self care and be aware of mood swings, ups and downs and round and rounds that come with life. I want all of the pieces to fall into place. I want the symptoms to not affect my mood or my cravings. I want to be able to breathe easily and freely. without anxiety also knocking at my door. Knocking at my door. always knocking at my door. waiting outside. hanging in the driveway. Casing the joint, making the rounds looking for weakness.. for that moment when I am not tending to myself. When I am too tired, or too stressed, or hungry, or dehydrated. When I have too many things to do, when I am normal sad..its waiting right there to invade. to break in. to break into my life. and to break into my life. and to stay for as long as it wants to.
Its my job to practice active self care to prevent it from overtaking me. From making it a worse thing that It is.. to stop it from taking root.
It smothered me. It smothers me. I've been in therapy for 3 years. Under the care of an amazing therapist and a psychiatrist who keeps my care consistent. It is amazing how difficult it is to be successful in life, and successful in self care and be aware of mood swings, ups and downs and round and rounds that come with life. I want all of the pieces to fall into place. I want the symptoms to not affect my mood or my cravings. I want to be able to breathe easily and freely. without anxiety also knocking at my door. Knocking at my door. always knocking at my door. waiting outside. hanging in the driveway. Casing the joint, making the rounds looking for weakness.. for that moment when I am not tending to myself. When I am too tired, or too stressed, or hungry, or dehydrated. When I have too many things to do, when I am normal sad..its waiting right there to invade. to break in. to break into my life. and to break into my life. and to stay for as long as it wants to.
Its my job to practice active self care to prevent it from overtaking me. From making it a worse thing that It is.. to stop it from taking root.
There is no floor
Depression numbs you. It makes happiness a bird with a broken wing. Excitement is illusive. Euphoria a hallucination that people talk about, but you know can't be real. Unfortunately, the numb that comes from depression, doesn't numb any pain. It lets the pain settle into the crevices of your body. Sadness that burrows so deep into your soul, it carries its way through your bones like calcium, through your blood like oxygen, through your cells like water. It seeps into your muscles, cramping them without a workout in sight. It doesn't numb anything worth numbing. It only dampens motivation, productivity, optimism, love. the darkness goes so deep and the fogs looms so thick, the fall is so precipitous, you realize there is no floor. This rollercoaster isnt a fun 1 minute ride that whooshes you to a slow stop, where you can catch your breath and walk off for the next attraction. This rollercoaster twists and turns and dips and dives and freefalls, on repeat. The slow parts feel just like the slow inch up to the roller coasters peak.. where anxiety is your master. And then
This is what depression feels like
Yesterday, I slept almost all of the day, I woke up at 10:00 because I had to, and went back to sleep at 11:00 until about 1:35 and then back to sleep until 3. I only woke up because I had to go out last night, but I wanted to sleep the rest of the day away. I went out last night and felt like a hermit in my shell, until my drink came. I went out but wanted to be home every minute. I woke up early today to cook, and found some calm in that, knowing that it was good for me, but even on this celebratory weekend, I found myself disconnected, all of my feelings on mute.. all of my emotions away. far away. numbness has become my friend.
My depression becomes something that I stifles my energy, and so being on, takes everything out of me, and I just want to be alone.. any buzz of my phone feels like dread, because I dont want to deal with whats on the other end. I want to be a good partner, and a good friend, but Im trying to be good to me. Ive isolated myself for the past few months, and that's all I want to continue to do but I know it wont make me feel better. but at least it wont make me feel worse.
I sit looking for solace, but I can't find it within myself. Its all muted, stifled. numb.
My depression becomes something that I stifles my energy, and so being on, takes everything out of me, and I just want to be alone.. any buzz of my phone feels like dread, because I dont want to deal with whats on the other end. I want to be a good partner, and a good friend, but Im trying to be good to me. Ive isolated myself for the past few months, and that's all I want to continue to do but I know it wont make me feel better. but at least it wont make me feel worse.
I sit looking for solace, but I can't find it within myself. Its all muted, stifled. numb.
End of the year Draft
The end of the school year is a blur. It's tax season for accountants, Valentines day for restaurants, ending with a Black Friday type of revelry on the last day of school.
The end of the school year means finalizing grades, which means parents will email every week to ensure that their child has every opportunity to get that A or B. Forget the 35 other weeks of the year when turning in daily homework would have been great.
It's hard for those outside of the school house to understand the ebbs and flows of a school year. Each day is not the same, each week brings a different vibe. providing crests and valleys that the teachers must deal with.
The end of the school year means finalizing grades, which means parents will email every week to ensure that their child has every opportunity to get that A or B. Forget the 35 other weeks of the year when turning in daily homework would have been great.
It also is the busyness of every single activity known to man. This week we have Field Day, Career Day, a field trip, spring awards ceremony, a couple of concerts and all that leading up to final Exam week. All coordinated brilliantly with to coincide with the weather getting warmer and Spring Fever peaking in the middle school minds.
Pulling at the Seams
I feel like my body is attacking me. I mean i am attacking my body but it feels better to seem that its involuntary. I have gained an appreciable amount of weight over the past 18 months.. and I've tried for a while some half-assed attempts to get it off.. But now I have to get serious. Something clicked this morning that I have to do it. for me.
And none of my summer clothes fit.
So today, after deciding to forego driving to church and deciding to listen to it on podcast, I got on my work out clothes (some of which also don't fit)(and when spandex doesn't fit..its sad). and I took my dog for a 45 min walk. It wasn't brisk, there as no jogging, but it was 45 mins of activity. 45 more than yesterday.
I came back and drank some water and had some yogurt. I am going to be mindful of what I put in my mouth and purposeful about my body getting exercise. There is no longer any excuse.
I've found myself not looking at myself in the mirror, unless it's just my face. I've found myself in an odd back and forth with body acceptance and avoidance and sadness, and joy. I finished a half marathon a few weeks ago in 3.5 hours. I danced all night long at a wedding yesterday. I get out of breath coming up the steps.
I have to make sure I am taking care of me. Because I am TOTALLY sick of hearing this song everytime I get dressed.
Muffin Top
But today I worked out... now it's time to clean up and get ready for spring break to be OVER.
I'll be updating this just for myself as an accountability tool.
And none of my summer clothes fit.
So today, after deciding to forego driving to church and deciding to listen to it on podcast, I got on my work out clothes (some of which also don't fit)(and when spandex doesn't fit..its sad). and I took my dog for a 45 min walk. It wasn't brisk, there as no jogging, but it was 45 mins of activity. 45 more than yesterday.
I came back and drank some water and had some yogurt. I am going to be mindful of what I put in my mouth and purposeful about my body getting exercise. There is no longer any excuse.
I've found myself not looking at myself in the mirror, unless it's just my face. I've found myself in an odd back and forth with body acceptance and avoidance and sadness, and joy. I finished a half marathon a few weeks ago in 3.5 hours. I danced all night long at a wedding yesterday. I get out of breath coming up the steps.
I have to make sure I am taking care of me. Because I am TOTALLY sick of hearing this song everytime I get dressed.
Muffin Top
But today I worked out... now it's time to clean up and get ready for spring break to be OVER.
I'll be updating this just for myself as an accountability tool.
Trayvon Martin and what he taught me about blackness
I'm the youngest child. My brother is the only boy. My mom raised the girls; she loved my brother. He had his fair share of punishments and wasn't catered to in the mama's boy sense, but he absolutely was able to get away with things that my sister and I never would've been able to. I found it annoying. I could regale you with tales about why I feel this way in order to substantiate the lack of fair treatment in my our household, but just trust me. thanks.
I've made it clear to everyone that I feel this way, but I also wouldn't trade places. I love my life and I'm proud of what I've been able to accomplish with the persistent push from my mother. (Our father died before I started high school). My mother knows. My brother knows. Er'rybody knows. Because of that I've prayed that God will only bless me with girls. I sit in trepidation thinking about my life a a mother, and worry that I'd be too hard on my sons. I look at the little boys in my classroom and often think... what the hell is going on inside of you guys? then drop em off at football camp.
Then... George Zimmerman was acquitted, and people rejoiced.
As I processed the loss, I realize that the world doesnt care about black boys. They talked about how Trayvon wore gold teeth and had some minor shit at school dealing with marijuana. Seemingly forgetting that he was a kid, who was murdered.
At that moment I realized why we must love our black men in ways that the rest of the world does not need. We must love them because when they go out into the world, the hostility, the disgust, the fear, the condemnation, the violence that they face is palpable, and accepted.
They have to learn different lessons. I may be black, but I am not a threat. Nobody worries about me walking down the street. White men don't see me as a criminal. I may be a stereotype, a statistic, a welfare mother, a gold digger, a hood rat, someone educated, but I'm not a threat to their manhood. Thus, I will never face the police stops, or the profiling. No one holds their purse, or blames me for every crime. Most police APBs don't describe me.
And for these black men who wake up every day trying to just live a regular life, but knowing that their guard must be up, that they must be alert. That they must hold their tongue and swallow their anger when accused of something they did not do, or when they are shoved to the ground for probably clause. They need love. So I'm glad we love them. I want to hug every little black boy I've ever taught and tell them, I don't understand your anger, but I understand WHY you are angry and I want you to know that I cannot change it. I can't change the world. I can't fix it for you. But I will support you through it. Because when the world doesn't support anything black men do, unless its the brute strength of a buck, how can we not step in as their sisters, mothers, cousins, aunts, neices, and say, I love you and I've got your back. With me you're safe.
I've made it clear to everyone that I feel this way, but I also wouldn't trade places. I love my life and I'm proud of what I've been able to accomplish with the persistent push from my mother. (Our father died before I started high school). My mother knows. My brother knows. Er'rybody knows. Because of that I've prayed that God will only bless me with girls. I sit in trepidation thinking about my life a a mother, and worry that I'd be too hard on my sons. I look at the little boys in my classroom and often think... what the hell is going on inside of you guys? then drop em off at football camp.
Then... George Zimmerman was acquitted, and people rejoiced.
As I processed the loss, I realize that the world doesnt care about black boys. They talked about how Trayvon wore gold teeth and had some minor shit at school dealing with marijuana. Seemingly forgetting that he was a kid, who was murdered.
At that moment I realized why we must love our black men in ways that the rest of the world does not need. We must love them because when they go out into the world, the hostility, the disgust, the fear, the condemnation, the violence that they face is palpable, and accepted.
They have to learn different lessons. I may be black, but I am not a threat. Nobody worries about me walking down the street. White men don't see me as a criminal. I may be a stereotype, a statistic, a welfare mother, a gold digger, a hood rat, someone educated, but I'm not a threat to their manhood. Thus, I will never face the police stops, or the profiling. No one holds their purse, or blames me for every crime. Most police APBs don't describe me.
And for these black men who wake up every day trying to just live a regular life, but knowing that their guard must be up, that they must be alert. That they must hold their tongue and swallow their anger when accused of something they did not do, or when they are shoved to the ground for probably clause. They need love. So I'm glad we love them. I want to hug every little black boy I've ever taught and tell them, I don't understand your anger, but I understand WHY you are angry and I want you to know that I cannot change it. I can't change the world. I can't fix it for you. But I will support you through it. Because when the world doesn't support anything black men do, unless its the brute strength of a buck, how can we not step in as their sisters, mothers, cousins, aunts, neices, and say, I love you and I've got your back. With me you're safe.