Why

 

.

 

birthday wishes

When you somehow manage to write things that you aren't really ready to say...

I cried so hard writing this that it's a wonder I didn't short out my tablet. That's like, cathartic, or something, right? I don't know, it just made my head stuff up and my face hurt.  But, I'm pretending really hard, I am, that I still somehow, somewhere have the capacity for hope.  And that maybe someday it'll be something other than just a trigger. So, somebody remind me to update this next year, okay?

•merry and bright and hungry•

So, funny story...when my dad died several years back, I was sick as hell. Worst case of flu I had ever had. I couldn't cry. Because if I even got the least little bit teary, I literally couldn't breathe. And with my family, well, gallows humor is definitely not off the table. Were we at one point sitting in the car in the funeral home parking lot cracking jokes about necromancy?  Maybe. And if that did happen has it become a kinda fucked up running Zombie Dad narrative in the years since? Yeah, seems reasonable.

Merry Xmas & Season's Eatings Y'all 😉😈😏

click for bonus spoken word version

 

giving in to compulsion

 

I spent a lot of the day yesterday thinking that I probably ought to just stop posting, stop writing, just stop, until at least after the holidays. This isolated existence and the chaos in my brain don't mesh well with how December makes me feel.  ....I don't know how to end this comment, caption, thing, because I'm incredibly conflicted and writing this piece definitely did not help. Good idea, bad idea, no ideas, idk.

(Un)comfortably numb

 

First of all, at this point, my entire page is probably a trigger warning.  But.  In case you hadn't noticed that... I write a lot about mental illness, mine, specifically. My current diagnosis is dysthymia (a lovely word, meaning I am not crazy when say that I don't ever remember not being depressed), with a heaping side of generalized anxiety, and a smattering of ptsd. To say that I am not enjoying myself, is a pretty severe understatement. So anyway, y'know, beware? Herein lie monsters? Run away while you can?

I wanna say "inspired by", but I think maybe "confronted into being" would be a tad more accurate. In any case, this was written because I both very much did and absolutely did not want to write for the prompt "comfortably numb" from @antipoetic.revolution & @marierosepoetry

struggle (starve)

What can I say? I'm in a mood.

 

things i didn't intend to write today

 just got the news/that my uncle died last night/and i don't know how to feel/i want to feel shocked/because the/circumstances/are/weird/i want to feel sad/but the relationship was/largely/nonexistent/i want to worry about my aunt/my only aunt left/on my mother's side/but we don't see/eye to eye to eye to eye/and i don't know/if i care/because i'm supposed to/because i remember her from/before/religion and trumpism/ate her brain like a starving zombie/i don't know/if i care/because the blood in my veins/and the roots of my tree/and the echoes of my maternal line/says that to be a good granddaughter/a good daughter/a good niece/a good woman/a good person/that i SHOULD care/but i have lived my life with the knowledge/that 'should'/is/a curse word/and i don't know i don't know i don't know/how i'm supposed to FEEL/because the depression makes me numb/and the anxiety says/that it/doesn't/and/DOES/matter/and i don't know which voice/to/LISTEN/to

–and i don't think this is a poem, but i don't know wtf it *is*

well, if you really wanna know...

I kinda feel like this needed a content warning, but I can't exactly figure out for what, so you get a cover photo of a foggy field behind one of my favorite cemeteries instead.  You're welcome?  

Anyway.  

At some point this year, a switch flipped in my brain, and I sort of lost the ability to answer the question "How are you really feeling?" with any degree of subterfuge.  Granted, the answer is different day by day (sometimes minute by minute).

•non-lucid dream•

 •non-lucid dream•

i need to stop dreaming about you
i don't know if this is a poem or a spell
but i'm setting my intentions regardless
i'll throw some herbs and stones at it
covering my bases, all for good measure?
i need a solution, a resolution,
i need to be f i n i s h e d 
i keep cauterizing these broken connections
but they just won't stop bleeding
and the constant irritation of anticipation,
this ever-present sense of waiting
it's more tension than i can house
a little more stress to top up the tank
and whoops, here we are, overflowing again
can i set fire to this spreading puddle?
the smell is wrong, but it's pink like gasoline
is that enough? it ought to be enough
i need to stop dreaming about you
and i'm telling you, i'm telling the Universe
that this, here, is my breaking point
i can't afford to cover your rent on my emotions
the fees are too much, and it's way past time
for you, to get the fuck out of my head

•affinity•

 

The poet is aware that "awkwardest" is not a word.  She mostly does not care.  She is also aware that only being able to refer to herself as a poet while speaking in the semi-loathed third person is something of An Issue.  (I'm working on it.  .....okay I'm actually not, but it's on the Self-Improvement list, I swear).

okay, fucking ow

This piece just exploded out of me, and real talk?  I hate it.  I do not like it.  I didn't want to write it.  I didn't want to post it.  I am not happy that it exists.  But I made a promise to myself in this last year, that I was gonna be completely honest about my mental health struggles in my writing.  So, here it is.

meow.

Spells of Sea Salt

•i hate the word together•

• not even a drop? •

•adrift•

•phobia•

Trigger Warning - how are you really

First things first, Yes, this was 'inspired' by the # how are you really challenge on Instagram*  Yes, it is also posted there and intentionally untagged.  Mainly because this breaks a ton of the challenge rules, the most notable being "...offer a message of hope to others" and "avoid sharing information about harmful behaviors".

Here's the thing, and hell yes I am shouting, WE. AREN'T. ALL. IN. RECOVERY.  ...maybe the end of that sentence is 'yet', maybe it's 'again', or maybe, just maybe, it's a full sentence on it's own.  Oh.  I also broke the "make sure you're ready to talk about your mental health story" rule.  But, y'know, I got irritated,  (which, hey, is the most I've felt in the last few months, sooo yay?).  The thing is, I understand why they don't want those things.

That is exactly why there is a trigger/content warning on this post.

But I'm also not okay with the idea of silencing people until they are inspirational.  I mean, that was the whole point, right?  How are you, really?  Y'know, maybe I'm too sensitive, too keyed into this particular issue, but that, this, IS how I feel.  And this is likely the most honest I am ever going to be about it.

*if you want to know what I'm talking about, remove the spaces from the non-tagged hashtag and search for it on IG

•softly•

what