Maybe it’s the shadow’s of writing at three am, half eaten chocolate fudge long-forgotten in the anxious scrolling to find the quote to put here…
“I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.”
―Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
or the heavy filling in my soul. It’s likely the latter. If I were to write my feelings out, it would be a dwelling, obese monster radiating the hurt I try to want to convey. I don’t write anymore, and, thus, I’ve hit the standstill point.
I have PTSD and OCD. Coming to grips with my disorders is grasping onto the monkey bars when you’re seven. You have to fall in order to learn. Only, this time, I’m 20, recalling past memories, driving my mind into a grove, and I can reach the floor while touching the top of the bars. Now, my hands are clammily reverting into a child’s grip my weight can no longer support the realities of. Each day swallowing my imagination, I find myself gasping for the breathing I once had before. Days begin to blend into time, and time loses herself in the raps of censure.
Most of my days are fracas. The melee of my day is to just wake up to feel normal, adequate, and alive. When the majority of my youth struggles with some form of mental illness, I struggle with accepting, living, and thriving with my own objects of horror. Fearing the stigma of being labeled as “too soft” or “growing up”, I find my own dismay in allowing myself to open as a human should.
To me, I am a harder person. Mother raised her girls to be tougher, rougher, as she always says, that mother of mine. I find myself stuck in my stubborn ways, oftentimes, when I ought reach out for the hand that just might ease my burden. However, the label in my brain urges me to handle my own keep because, ‘you earn your keep, and play harder’, as momma always said. Coming in handy is the last of my thoughts for use of my rough-mother model, but the use of tender moments for ME is where I feel authentic. Finding those moments, looking at them, and actually seeing them is an emotion in itself.
The largest part of me lives in authenticity, and I will never leave shards of myself for others to be pricked in such manners. I want to leave seeds blowing through the atmosphere – going no more than 5 miles. Like a dandelion, I want hope to dote upon you While I may not always have the emotional idea, the logical part of me knows this lapse in doubts make me a human, the feeler finding type.
Y’know that feeling when you accomplish something? I always loved the monkey bars, no matter how blistered or how many woodchips got into my knees. The red grasp of a grip writhing the palms of youth into callused hands is signification of living.
Y’know, writing anything within the topics in the title nowadays either feels like a paradox or just another self-righteous feat of a person exploring their own mental illness. I guess this is a story for those books because mental illness is scary due to the fact it’s your own body doing this to you, and other people cannot physically see your harrowing injuries that amass within. The feeling of loneliness and seclusion settles into your bones before you realize its made home.
Depression & anxiety, two monsters who date well when introduced to their host. Infection of these two hindrances bring the MENTAL symptoms: loneliness whom sympathizes with anxiety, funk (and not the good funk), and lurking murky thoughts that may consume you. Anxiety is a pickly little monster who adores to stoke you with the feeling of paralyzing fear; she enjoys depression’s loneliness and intrudes with fear. Among other things, mental illness is a nasty cluster that invades, and hosts itself within a person. It kills the use of to be a human, and it can fluctuate.
Living for me has always been about survival up until I become aware that I was a human being too. It’s interesting, in the since, because I graduated. Being able to do what I did whilst having depression as my constant companion, I was floored. Enamored. After that, I kinda blanked out for a year – explored the depth of what a human should be doing – things happen. Thinking back, it’s always been a struggle to stay afloat with just living. I mean living in the sense of motivational endurance, and forever, I thought laziness was my honest concern, yet where I am now, I should be understanding(?), in a way, because I was just a young sprout learning the way of life. Depression is your friend, they’re interwoven within your entire atom. Like a festering fissure, they’re lost deep within bones. Creaks of who you used to be sometimes are reminded when you’re admits a group of your loving friends and you’re body just feels weighed down. That’s depression.
Anxiety lives quietly within my soul. I’ll call her entity she because she was a flowing feeling that wound the silk threads of herself into the core of you, only to be woven into how your existence is… That’s anxiety for me. Anxiety is a mental whiplash. She’s subtle, yet quietly finished.
Mental illness is different for everyone, and how everyone lives different. Circumstance is a factor to take into a matter when handling mental illness, in my opinion. It shapes how we breathe into the places around us as humans
I don’t wish to further speak about my mental illness within broadly. But to the struggling others out there with me, please just be easy on yourself, and remember your body is you. You’re body is much more important than stressors that are within it. Remember to feed yourself, too. That’s important as well.
I think constant reminders of making sure that I’m living, As long as I have people that adore who I am and the slow emersion of realizing my body will always be here. It’s okay to breathe.
If I could describe the complexities that I see in people in myself, I would probably be okay. Yet, I tend to lose myself into arrays, and none of this makes sense to the common man that typically reads the newspaper. I am sorry, you see, I seem to be the person who has a form of objectification, yet I hold on to the idea that it’s quite okay to be a bit of a scatter brained person. Abstracts are what come to form the way everything breathes.
Even as a child, I was always off a day, or just sped up about three days. Thinking back upon it, I can’t help but chuckle just a bit, y’know? Just imagine a chubby little blonde girl screaming in the kitchen at 9pm, “IT’S FRIGGIN’ HALLOWEEN!!!” Yeah, I was that kinda kid. Time & I are kinda frienemies. So I feel my scatterbrained attitude is attributed due to my concept of time.
The concept of time, to me, lives in everyone. Everyone views time in the since of it’s fleeting, yet time is only fleeting when one believes she’s gone. Everything is constantly changing – we have to accept that, but does that mean time changes how time leaves? It’s a trick question & probably a duel edged sword based off of one’s perspective, and that is my point. YOU are at a change, and, in turn, I have this fuckin’ idea of existing at the cost of your own time, if that makes any sense. I can’t wait to cringe at that line later in my life. My theory is: The only time you have is the time you hold in yourself. What a statement.
How does this tie in with myself?
I like to think of myself of as the time superhero! From my perspective, I yearn for the time I have on this planet to be really adored, no matter the experience or saturation of feelings. Young I may be, yet I hold an entire flourishing in me. Time is sometimes often on my mind just because.
I could be the person to write paragraphs about me, show you many images of me, yet, for me, it doesn’t feel real. I have this weird complex of having to feel real within the moment or within me. Typically, this means that I have to be naturally earnest & there comes a lot from having an honest sprout. Like a flower, I thrive in an environment where I can help bring some form of helping. A plant, when taken care of, thrives, as well as the being taking care of that plant.
I think a lot about that. These little guys right here up here are dandelions! They’re my favorite flower along with sunflowers, and you wanna know the best thing about these guys? They travel up to 1,000 miles just with their simple seeds. That’s just one flower. The point of this knowledge is for my mindset to understand, thrive, and keep learning on whom I might be, or grow to be.
Right now, older soul with the worry of a young body. I tend to dwell in solidarity, with varying bosom buddies. Large crowds with just people, sometimes not feeling is not where I exist. I grow within knowledgeable reality. While I enjoy the fantasy of where that might lead, I am sometimes so grounded I can’t find myself in the concrete! This, in turn, brings the stress of learning how to release my seeds that tend to the sprouts of the world. Yes, this means that I sometimes have hard time relaxing where this activity has come into affect.
You know those hobbies you enjoy even though they might be a bit of a stressor. For an established persons, that may be helping out with your kids school, writing an advice column for a local newspaper, or volunteering at an old folks home! And that’s where this place comes into affect!
you see, I have no actual want to explore the world of coupling, yet I am a romantic lover at heart. I melt into my own world of affection when romanced. My soul lives in the romantic lofts, the lights of intimacy. Love should not be a kept secret, so I thought why not let my love freely live while being the best kept secret? It sounds weird, but I want people to live along side with me while understanding I want to explore as many emotions as possible because, gosh, there are so many people. I have so much flowing adoration for the world, so I don’t limit my emotional output. It’s taken me quite a long time to really allow myself to enjoy this outlook. It may sound cool or uncaring, but I have to stress to you it’s my perspective & how I live. I have the ability to enjoy the romantic love of the people around me because it’s something that I have more of. Your ideas should drift towards a designer that loves creating more things, not a worker in retail.
How do you describe yourself?
You know the feeling of when you’re by the sea? You’re standing there, the wind winds her hands into your hair. Your skin arises like a sunrise, and the sea scenting you with her flavor for your lover to taste later. Or when you wake up with the sun seeping into her skin, and her breath is light across your hand. Your other hand tracing the line of her side, the sheets warming both your smile and her waking. That’s how I kinda like to think of myself. For some reason, that feeling resonates within me, and I strive leave the breeze to cool you from adventures.
I had a composed writing I wanted to adhere to, but I think I’m going to free-write, and I did. I’m proud.
Anyway, you’re here now, probably thinking or very bemused with humor by my online shenanigans. Well, I can assure you’ll have more entertainment! Welcome to the small space of just my part of the web. Nowadays, having this hardcore idea or doing something you don’t entirely enjoy, yet it pays the bills because it’s something is on everyone’s mind, so this space is to take it from those adrift thoughts into the world of existing with people… I’m a real simple person at heart, from what I can say about me. I don’t write too well about myself, so I hope these help convey who I might be.
My thoughts often wonder to how I should describe myself. I, myself, would cultivate three morals into my being for who I stand for:
a. Respect Everyone. b. Be Honest c. Live for You, love everyone.
If you seem to be reading this, it means that I’ve finally found my voice enough to convey my thoughts to space!