Bitter tears and twisted smiles
ashes within my mouth
hidden daggers sheathed in my soul
tangled words you should not have spoken.
Cruel lies whispered with disdain
chains that wrapped and held
close me in this nightmarish hell
and abandon me with nary a farewell.
I will rise from the flames you consigned me to
better and stronger than before
and when I do you need to be aware
and search the shadows for the animal
you did create.
You Swore! You Promised!
Spittle covers my dejected face
as I fall to my knees.
Tattered rags and dirt covered feet
attest to how far I have come.
I watch the disdain play a game
trying to hide and yet failing.
I watch those of your court pity me
but there is nothing I can do.
You swore that you would protect me!
You promised that you would love me!
And yet here I am, abased on the floor.
I hear the clack of heels as you walk away,
I hear the murmur of voices in my head,
in a flash with a blade of steel
I have ended your life.
Am feeling rather out of sorts this weekend. Spent the majority of the day yesterday wallowing in my misery. One day I gave myself and than I must return to ‘normal’ for T’s sake. So I reached deep down inside me and pulled up the stability and ability that T needed from me. A few times I caught myself tearing up and T would say ‘but mom you promised that you would just be sad for one day.’ and that gave me the strength to keep moving forward from where I was.
Today was also the birthday party for K. His ninth and at the swimming pool. I thought that was a fantastic idea once I knew what was going on. And don’t think that M hadn’t text me with information about the party but I didn’t remember. So off we went and I left the cake for K at my place. M had no room in her freezer and as it was an ice cream cake, I kept it. I ran home to get the cake and returned. Everything was perfectly fine.
And than we went into the pool area. And it was packed there; had to be a thousand people there. Not really but it felt like that. Eventually we found a table and sat down. I could not see T at all. So it began. Aside: I have an absolutely deep rooted fear of drowning. It makes no sense and I am an excellent swimmer.
At first I did not notice. But than I was bobbing up and down and weaving back and forth in a frantic need to see T. My heart began to race, I began shaking a little and than my lips began to pulsate. I could feel the blood pounding through them. One of my co-workers and M both noticed and they both helped me through.
M’s advice was to just stop it!
L helped talk me through it. And with wryness I said ‘and given all the people that are in this pool, I do not think that that would be an issue.’
I was able to keep an eye out and always find him. Than I could not find him and my eyes traveled over to the stairs to the water slide and there he is. Another absolute irrational fear is that I am afraid of heights and do not believe the railing is sufficient to keep T from leaping over. Never has he ever tried to do this and he is eight years old. But I am not rational and my emotions are on high alert. So I peeped from under eyelashes squinting so as not to freak myself out until he went down the slide and emerged unscathed and unaware of his mother’s fears.
We had all decided that 2:30 pm. was the pull out time for getting the boys out of the pool. So I stood up and began waving at T. And weaving back and forth trying to get his attention. I know that he looked at me like three times and chose to ignore me. Finally exasperated I joked that I should put on my mom voice and holler for T’s attention. M and L both laughed and responded with ‘Not only will the boys get out but you would be the cause of a mass exodus from the pool.’ Eventually one of the boys saw me and mentioned it to T. He got out of the pool and argued at first but like the good kid he is he went and got his buddies.
I’ve learned something from today’s episodes. I can see the humor in them even as I am having them. I have learned that others do want to know and understand so they can be helpful. I have learned that sometimes I just need M to give me her mom’s voice and the command to stop it. And I survived. All of it. And with each step forward, I understand more about myself and learn new techniques to cope.
I could let it control me but I chose to fight back. To wrest control back into my hands, my life. And I will. I know it has teeth and claws but I shall unsheathe the sword.
So your friend, your mother, your sister, your brother etc are depressed. And you call them with the best intentions. You are calling to give them support, offer your love and devotion, tell them that they are not alone. And yet at the end of the call when they are sobbing and assuring you it is not your fault, you are stuck wondering what the fuck you did.
You were nice. You said the right words, your mouthed the right platitudes, but in the end, you just do not get it.
Depression is not easily understood. You cannot talk to someone else about it. You cannot ask them for their experience. Because what they have gone through I have not! My loathing and disgust has no bearing on someone else’s. I am angry and no, I will not benefit from talking to someone because at 44 years old, I already know all the shit that is wrong with me. I know my triggers and I know that my dad was an asshole but that is another story.
I have spoken to therapists and counsellors. I have gorged my pain and reiterated the loathing. That is no longer the issue here. The issue is my seratonin levels are fucked up. There is something wrong with my brain chemistry. And I am okay with that. What I need to do is suck it up and accept it.
But this post is not really about me. It is for those who are confused because they reached out, they were supportive, they wanted to understand and yet you sobbed, you stammered, you made no sense. And the whole reason behind that is that they were nice to you. It is the niceness that is the killer. For my sake……this might not be for all who live with depression so sound it out first…..do not be nice to me.
I am deep in the midst of a cycle of depression. It is dark, it is all consuming. I feel as though I spend my days wading through water, not really there. It physically hurts to smile and I am freezing. All I want to do is sleep. I eat just enough so that my stomach does not rumble. And I stare mindlessly at the television not even seeing what is there unable to enjoy reading.
I cry for no reason. And I do not need one that is what depression does. I had to explain to my two bosses at work what is going on with me. I mean, I have a hangdog expression on my face, I often emerge from my office with red eyes…..obviously there is a problem. But how do you explain to someone what it feels like to be depressed. To live with depression. So I came up with a character and I gave him a name and a look.
My depression is named Morty. Morty is an asshole. He is the uninvited uncle that moves in and never ever leaves. He may go visit another family member once in awhile but for the most part he resides with me. He is short and rotund, with greasy black hair and a handlebar mustache. He is aggressive and snappy, his voice is harsh and grating. He dresses in a mix of leisure suits from the ’70’s to the ’90’s wife beaters. His jeans never really quite fit.
Morty when he arrives is careful. He is on his best behaviour for awhile so you never really realize the insults, the taunting, the words running on a loop……you are worthless…..you don’t know how to be a mother……you are going to get fired…..you are so stupid…..you are…..you are…….and suddenly he is right in my face.
And that is another aspect of my depression. See I get to feeling really good and I can push Morty away. I can shut him up, relegate him to the small attic room. The one that gets so humid in the summer the boards swell. In the winter he huddles next to the chimney eking his warmth from there. And I imagine Morty is gone. I have conquered him and I stop taking my meds.
It doesn’t happen right away. This last time was a year and a half before I was hit. And I woke up and realized that Morty had somehow escaped. Now this venomous glutton sits on my chest and his claws are buried deep within me. And I start screaming. Only you would never know that I am screaming because I do not make a sound. But they reverberate in my head.
This time is not as bad as my last crash three years ago. I could not even look after my son. I was wrapped in grey wool and I slept my days away. I watched him play with tears running down my cheeks because I was so sad. I could not explain it to him. But a break through came the day I got dressed before I took him down to the bus rather than my pj’s. So I know that it will come with this cycle as well.
Morty has me in his clutches right now and it is painful. I am back on my medication and the amount of crying I have done since Sunday is slowly lessening. It will take time for me to get to exactly where I need to be. I do know though that I will be fortifying the room that I am locking Morty up in this time so that the chances of further escape will be slim. I know they will happen and deal with them when they do.
Back to the wall shadows creeping in closer
watching the covered figure sleep
She slides down the wall
tears seeping unbidden.
Restless, the figure stirs, mumbling in its sleep
the words indistinguishable beneath the sighs
Tossing and turning sudden sounds of fear
and still she watches.
The blackness begins to creep throughout the room
covering the figure on the bed
The woman stands trying to claw her way free
but there is to be no release.
Bowing her head she gives into the shadows
allowing the feelings of hatred, despair
loathing and disregard for her well being
To find the toe holds and chinks in the armour.
The figure on the bed turns, and she beholds herself
wrapped in a cocoon of black shadows
of feelings so strong, so torrential
and still unbidden tears do seep.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen February 2017
I hate anxiety. There is no insidious beast like anxiety. I am not helpless. I know how to raise my child, I know how to do my job. But in the early morning hours, when said child is screaming at me, I begin to wonder, what the f*** man? Can I not do this?
On my best days, the days where I am snapping and I am rolling, where my customers and my son are feeling great because they are so important to me, I can do no wrong. My swag is shining, my words are poetry and everyone who meets me is game. And than the rush fades, I start to think about the next week, the next sale, the next hour, and wow, I am fucked.
Anxiety eats at you. Anxiety makes you believe that you do not have the ability, the time or even the understanding……anxiety makes you doubt every aspect of your being…..anxiety makes you doubt the truth of your being…….