Wednesday Wisdom

How to Talk to Others About Mental Illness Now

I was sitting in my chair, trying to silence my snowballing anxiety, but you know how that goes. I was naseuous, dizzy, constantly rubbing my head and face, beating my skull against the chair, not able to speak with clarity, ect., very noticable symptoms. My sister-in-law just looked at me, then looked away. I felt judged, ignored, and crazy, for a lack of a better word. I would have preferred she had asked me what was happening with me, or how she could help me, at least acknowledge I was going through a rough time, struggling with my mental illness, …

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On the personal

Simplified Story Of My Life As Told In Gifs

Welcome to the simplified story of my life. First, when I was born, I was already causing problems. I grew up as a misfit.  Nobody liked me, and I had no friends.  I was bullied mercilessly. In my teens, anxiety started to consume me. I wondered what was happening to me.  I thought I was going crazy. I knew I was different. I was so depressed, all I wanted to do was stay in bed all day. I couldn’t think clearly. My dog told me to snap out of it. But no matter what I did, I was still miserable. …

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Dear Me, I Hate You

These are things difficult to discuss because I’m afraid it will be thought I’m only seeking attention.  So when I say I don’t want to talk about it, we really might need to discuss it but are afraid of people being overly concerned or or just not caring.  There is no easy way, and we don’t know how to do “this” because “this” isn’t a goddamn thing. And tired of your pretending to care. It’s all bullshit.  I’m against this post.  Never works.  Never.

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Writing, Therapy, and Flashbacks

I don’t feel like conspiring to write brilliantly.  I don’t want to care that the creativity has gone out of me like a candle in the wind.  I think I shall never write again because we are not in the blackouts of depression, despair, or constant self-damnation to write from the heart and soul again. There’s a website I’m linking here called Writing Forward that has creative writing prompts, but I haven’t been doing them.  Maybe because I’m lazy, maybe because there’s no audience to which to write, maybe the prompts just don’t speak to me like writing about the …

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Deja Vu Times Two

I wrote the piece below in April of 1995.  I am posting it today because it still defines my existence.  The writing is about how it is so hard to be hopeful because there is always something to strip me of that comfort. I concede today I choose to live my days clouded with negativity, but Therapist does not understand why I refuse to give in to the fallacy of hope and positive thinking.  I’ve been in places before where I felt hopeful, optimistic, and encouraged, but I am ALWAYS, sooner or later, brought back to where I was born: …

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Boom!

It’s not that easy.  It’s not that easy.  It’s not that easy. I will not make it this time.  I am burrowing a hole for myself, digging my own grave.  Only this time, people in my professional life are handing me the shovel and watching me sink.  I’ve discovered my problem . . . at least one of them.  I hate myself.  Sounds simple, doesn’t it?  I should just stop it then, shouldn’t I?  I should stop hating myself. It’s not that easy. The roots of my hatred extend beyond time, and no amount of remediation will allow me to …

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Female Fortunato

Female Fortunato I realize now how foolish I was. I thought I would never be back here. But there is no mistaking that I have come home for the final time. What a wretched place this is! It feels so primitive, so endemic, that my mind must have been born into this deathless sunset. Though a citizen of dejection, I was never less than agonized in my nation. I redundantly tried to disappear, to escape with every piece of artificial joy I could steal, But I was always captured by shadows smarter than myself, And a frantic despair more purposeful than my own. I thought I had triumphantly escaped this last time but realized …

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To Sleep: Perchance to Dream

I am quite anxious and uneven. Forces are against me… or just in pain. I have gone through a transformation, a metamorphosis of a dark kind. I am not the same me I was at the beginning of summer. Something happened to me to change me, and I can’t change back, though I need to. Seeing and talking with one of my abusers has damaged me in incomprehensible and enigmatic ways. It has consummately broken me. I don’t know how I’ve changed; I just know I’m not the same. Feelings of uselessness, worthlessness, and sadness are more profound than ever. …

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God, grant me serenity to accept the things I can not change.

********Trigger Warning for talk of sex and abuse********* The world feels like a dream. There are things I wonder if I dreamed about, or if I actually did them. Such as feeding the dogs this morning. I thought I fed them, it felt like I felt them, but I couldn’t remember at all if they were fed. It’s one o’clock p.m. as I write this. This morning doesn’t feel real. Did I got to the dermatologist or did I dream it? Did I have physical therapy today, or was that yesterday? I am accidental to this world, and my presence …

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Sounds of silence

I haven’t posted lately. I’ve been quiet. At least on the outside. Things are revving up on the inside. I haven’t posted because I have nothing to say. I’m reading everyone else’s post and wondering what the fuck is wrong with me. Why don’t I have anything to contribute? Why don’t I have anything special to offer the blogging community? Why am I such a loser? More specifically, why am I so fat? Why is everyone better than me? Why can’t I hold down a job? Why is everyone prettier than me? Why, why, why, why, why this, why that, …

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