Silently (poem)

It’s finally here!! I received the acceptance email for this poem 14 months ago. Yes, 14 months…over a year. And it’s just a little thing but I’ve always loved and been proud of this piece.

Thank you to Bete Noire Magazine for including me in this issue!

 

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When Winter Depression Leaves You With No Motivation

New article up on The Mighty a few days ago!

It’s that time of year again — the time I dread more than anything.

I think I’ve always despised winter — those dreadful months between October and April.

I hate the cold and the shorter days. I’m not a summer person either though, so it’s not about the longer days. In fact, I really couldn’t care less. But the shorter days, the darker ones, the colder ones: I hate those. And I’d never thought about why, but I guess it’s partly because they remind me of me — always so cold, unwanted, so ready for the day to be over. A dark gloom. The worst parts of winter.

It occurred to me randomly. It wasn’t even 5:30 in the afternoon, but the sky; dark blue, and the wind; so loud, snow blowing. Another reason, perhaps the bigger reason, is that I become restless near the end of September waiting for the inevitable — any and all motivation left in me starts to disappear once October 1st hits and the season starts changing. I see it coming. Every time. I can feel it in my bones. I can see it in the grey-blue clouds. I know I’m going to be living in what feels like the worst head cold and become a little more numb as the days go on.

Motivation ups and leaves. Takes a vacation as winter rises from fall and my very will to live goes into hibernation; starved and unsure if I’ll make it through the cold of winter to see a future.

It’s maybe the worst place to be when you have a mental illness — in the middle; empty, numb. In my experience, anyway. And it’s not that I’d rather be on one side of the extremes, they’re both just as dangerous. I can’t stand the feeling as I start to notice that I’m just going through the motions, knowing there’s not really anything I can do about it. Because I lose every ounce of motivation for anything, even the things I enjoy, the things I love. I just want, and try, to sleep as long and as often as I can. Just stay in bed. Except my mind keeps me awake. Exhausted from all of the nothing.

Motivation.

It becomes a foreign word, something long forgotten. Every day is an unanswered question of, “How am I going to make it through today?”

My mind and body are drained simply from thinking, from wondering. So as the cold takes over and spreads, and before the frost can render me frozen, I go into my own kind of hibernation — isolation. And every day, life’s expectations weigh heavier on me — a weight I’m afraid I am no longer strong enough to carry on my own. But that’s all I ever am — alone. Isolated. And the loneliness that comes from that is heart-wrenching.

I’ve got failure and disappointment down to a science.

The days will continue to go on and I will continue becoming numb.

Nights like these, it’s a shame. I am the worst part of a season I hate. Trade this cold reminder for brighter days. Who knows if I’ll be seen again — it depends on motivation.

Motivation, I need you to hold on tight to me. I’m losing grip fast and once you’re gone, I fear I’ll never get you back.

https://themighty.com/2017/11/depression-winter-motivation/

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Hush (poem)

Got this little poem called “Hush” published today over at Horn & Ivory Zine for their last issue!

Fun story behind it – I wrote it during my recovery from surgery back in January while loving my life on morphine! I have very little memory of actually writing it but I’m proud of it. It’s actually a song still in progress – the poem version of it just got published first.

Thanks to the folks at H&I ❤

HUSH
by forrest jamie
He’s playing me
acoustic heartbreak in
the scale of Lies
but it’s my time now. It’s my turn
so hush down and close your eyes.
No, you don’t know this one,
only I know the words to this song.
Hush down now and close your eyes.
I’ll sing us to sleep –
you for a few hours,
me forever.
A Tylenol lullaby bye baby,
composed of some whiskey and codeine.
A cocktail hymn of shallow breaths and SSRIs.
My narcotic lullaby bye baby,
for your ears and one night only.
Under stainglass stars and porcelain moonlight.
My lethal lullaby bye baby,
my song of goodnight
(goodbye.)
hi

World Suicide Prevention Day 2017: I Was Made For…

It’s September 10th, which means it’s World Suicide Prevention Day. TWLOHA’s slogan this year being Find What You Were Made For.

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I really struggled with this. I’ve been in a bit of a low period lately, so it’s all too easy to shut out the positive. Once I realized that that’s what I was doing I found that the answers were actually pretty simple.

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I Was Made For my art. I was made for my music and my writing; for my creativity.

I Was Made For these amazing people I get to call friends who understand and are there for me, and in return be there for them. To give them back the love and hope they’ve given me.

I Was Made For the chance to be a voice in this world. A voice to raise awareness. To fight the stigma of mental health. To fight for equality.

I Was Made For being more than my depression and anxieties. More than my BPD. My disorders do not define me.

I Was Made For something I haven’t figured out yet. But I have to believe I will.

I Was Made For this. Here. Today. Tomorrow.

♥♥

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Stay. Find what you were made for.
#WorldSuicidePreventionDay

Comfort Zone: A Letter to My Depression

Another article of mine was published on The Mighty the other day! This one took a lot for me to submit – the thought of people reading it was terrifying, which I took as a sign that I had to do it.

I couldn’t tell you why, but it became abundantly clear at age 10 or 11 that I was “broken.” It was like something inside of me cracked and out came depression, seeping from my mouth, my eyes, my skin. So sudden and out of nowhere. And I didn’t have the words for what was wrong with me then, for what I was feeling – all I knew was that I wasn’t the same person.

I can’t remember for the life of me, and I’m not sure I even want to. I know I was far too fresh to be so cold, too young to feel so old, too innocent to be so broken – a child bombarded with mental illness. A child so angry not knowing why and as for life, I just wanted to forfeit.

For the life of me I can’t remember — when did I become so jaded? When did my life begin to end? How have I survived so long in this purgatory and can I ever really start living?

I don’t know who I am but I know this isn’t who I want to be.

I’m talking to you. Depression – my uncomfortable comfort zone, I don’t. want. you. Loosen your grip on me please, I think I have something to live for. I think I’m just a small part of something that’s been saving me and I think I could do something more, do something good out of what you’ve done to me. If I can keep going from the words of others, the knowledge that I am not alone, perhaps my words can be that for someone. I don’t want this to have all been for nothing.

Depression, you stole me way too young, way too early in life. I wasn’t given a fair chance but I am still here. I am. still. here. That has to mean something.

Because at 12 years old, just a child, not being able to imagine life beyond the next year — how. dare. you. How dare you throw your dark blanket over my fragile body, so heavy, that all dreams and possibilities started to fade in my preteen mind? How dare you numb this young heart and dull the memories. How dare you take up all of my time. And I know now that it’s not my fault but it’s my mind and my mind has been taken over by this illness — by you.

Depression. Where I once saw vibrant colors, now muted shadows and I tried so hard to see through it. I swear I tried to see the truth but depression, you are so good at making me the fool.

I’ve had enough. Far too long, I let you win. I let you control and take and take some more and time passed and now thanks to you I can’t remember how I even got here, but I am.

And I know. I know you are not something a pill or a combination of pills can make disappear for good. You are not something a brain surgeon can cut away, but I know I can live. I’ve been surviving, merely existing for over a decade, but this time I want to live. I will not let your false comfort smother me anymore.

Depression, you’re an uninvited illness in my mind but I can and will fight back this time. In my 23 years, I’ve just been existing but I swear I’m going to learn to live with you.

I’m done being ashamed of my mental state.

https://themighty.com/2017/06/depression-ready-to-live-not-survive/