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!
It’s September 10th, which means it’s World Suicide Prevention Day. TWLOHA’s slogan this year being Find What You Were Made For.
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.
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.
Stay. Find what you were made for.
My first poem published in print ❤
Huge thanks to Untethered.
Look at me
like I’m not broken.
Like nothing’s wrong
like I haven’t missed
the way you used to breathe.
My 2nd article on psychcentral’s blog just got published 🙂
When I was diagnosed with PTSD at the beginning of the year, it came as a surprise to me. I’d gone to this psychologist for a potential BPD diagnosis. I walked out with not only that, but four years’ worth of PTSD as well. It was surprising because in these four years I’d not once thought about this disorder; it never even occurred to me. But as I thought about it, letting it sink in, things started making sense. And since the diagnosis, I’ve had to think about what happened. Because I really didn’t deal with it; I’m still having trouble figuring out where to go from here. I know it could’ve been much worse. Others have had it so much worse than me. But I’m trying to stop that way of thinking. What happened was awful and it did change me. It does me more harm than good to invalidate my own feelings. February 2012, I was 18 and had been living on my own in Toronto for seven months or so. One morning I was followed. The bus stop was right across from my apartment building. I noticed him
Source: Surprise Diagnoses | World of Psychology
I am so excited and honoured to be featured in this issue of Untethered. It’s my first publishing in print – thank you to everyone at Untethered for including me! ❤
Forthcoming August 2016 Editors’ Note Dear Reader, In this issue you will find the body controlled, imprisoned, misunderstood, judged, failing, starved, bound, raped, disappo…
Source: Vol. 3.1
I’ve been living with the diagnosis of Panic Disorder for 5 years.
Last week, I had one of the worst panic attacks I’ve ever had in my life. And I’ve had some really bad ones.
The frustrating thing at the time was there wasn’t even really a trigger. Things were relatively fine throughout the day. That’s always one of the big struggles living with an anxiety disorder – sometimes, it just happens; no real reason or trigger and so it makes it that much more difficult to deal with, for both yourself and whoever you’re with.
I was sitting in the passenger seat on the way home. I’d began feeling the usual nausea and dizziness, so I rested my head and closed my eyes, trying to breathe through it. But it just got so much worse so fast. All at once my heart started pounding, my breathing was shallow and quick, and I could feel any ounce of strength I had draining and I was positive I was going to pass out right there in my seat. Feeling that weak – that faint – is one of the worst feelings I’ve ever known. You’re so vulnerable and helpless and I could barely hear my mom in the driver’s seat asking me all these questions I didn’t have the strength or knowledge to answer. My body felt overheated but I was also shivering, cold sweat on my forehead. And then worst of all – the tingling sensations in my hands and lips that always come during a panic attack. Except this time was different. This was worse. All of this is happening to me, and my panic spiked even higher when I noticed I couldn’t move my fingers. It was the strangest, scariest thing. I’ve never felt that before during a panic attack – like I was actually paralyzed. I’m looking at my hands as they’re tingling and when I realize I can’t move or bend my fingers, I go into full-on hyperventilation and panic. I remember bursting into tears and cried out that I couldn’t move my hands. It took maybe an hour or so before I calmed down enough before I could bend my fingers again into a fist.
I don’t know what the hell that was. I can only hope that it was the first and last time being that severe.
During all of this, my mom made us go to the hospital since we were already in the car just a few minutes away. I convinced her in the waiting room to just go home because being there was just making it worse – it was so crowded and it was going to take forever to see anyone for my symptoms. When we got home she said she finally realized she had to do some of her own research on how to help and deal during one of my panic attacks, which was nice to hear.
Because we don’t always know why our anxiety or a panic attack is triggered. There isn’t always a reason. And being asked over and over again things you simply cannot answer, especially while it’s happening, is beyond unhelpful.
“Amazing, still it seems, I’ll be 23.
I won’t always love what I’ll never have.
I won’t always live in my regrets.”
23 – Jimmy Eat World
It’s my last day of 22. Half of it I spent sleeping, wanting to experience as little of the day as possible. I’ll do the same tomorrow. But I’m tired of it – of not living.
This song, by a band very important to me that I grew up with, has been on my mind lately. For obvious reasons. It’s called 23 and tomorrow that’s how old I’ll be. I want this song to motivate me. I want it to be a part of what gets me to really start living.
Because I have more bad days than good. And some days I can’t even get out of bed. Normal, every-day activities wear me out and I’m tired of wishing my life would just change magically. I know I have to do something about it. It has to be me. I can’t sit around waiting for someone to save me from my loneliness.
And I have been slowly making changes. Slowly but surely. DBT was a huge step for me. I’m writing a book. I’m submitting my writings to different magazines and sites – I’m no longer living stagnant.
I’m in need of a friend – of people – who understand. Where I’ve been, where I need to go. Because I can’t do this alone.
I’m trapped. All of my failures have caught up to me and I am stuck.
My day-to-day is full of nothing and I can’t break the routine.
Society would call me either lazy or a loner or shy, but the truth is I’m being held against my will by my own mind and body.
I want out. I want to wake up each morning with a smile and have a good day.
I want to live. I want to travel and meet people, create memories and experiences I’ll hold dear for the rest of my life.
I want adventure. Excitement.
But I also want stability. Comfort. Home.
I want meaning. I want to change my life and change someone else’s. I want to take risks and not be so afraid of failing. I already regret so much.
All of these wants I’m not sure I’ll ever have…I’m still finding the courage, and I’m afraid that bravery doesn’t come naturally to me.
From my art journal – “I Feel So” by Box Car Racer, always there for me in my angsty moments.
I took this photo of my medications at the time when I’d been first diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder.
To say this diagnosis changed my life would be an understatement. I have others, but this one is different. Bigger.
Sometimes, when I think about what all comes with living with BPD, I get so overwhelmed at how hopeless it all seems, that recovery was never a road meant for me. But more often than not, I know that’s just the disorder talking. And they all do it – my disorders, of which I’ll delve into one post at a time.
For now, I’ll give you the gist:
Besides BPD, I have been living with severe depression and anxiety for over half of my life, and as a result I turned to self-harming when I was 12 years old. ADHD diagnosis in 2014, PTSD diagnosis at the beginning of 2016.
I need my life to change. I’m ready for it. I can’t let any of these disorders control me anymore. One way I’m changing is through my writing. I’ve been writing all my life and back in December 2015, I decided to really do (or try, rather) something with my talent. I’m writing a book about my mental health journey in the Prose and Poetry genre, and being mentored by one of my favourite authors. As much as it is for me since it’s my story, I want to help others like my mentor has helped me. Give others hope, prove they are not alone no matter how dark or distant they feel.
I hope to connect to others struggling or who can relate. Please feel free to comment or contact me. Because I know I can’t do this alone – no one can.