I haven’t necessarily defined this blog thing that I do. I found it overly difficult to write the “About Me” page so I left it blank because I was stuck and it was holding up that moment where I actually posted my first blog. Even the title was difficult, but as soon as I found something that wasn’t completely trite, I went with it. I pretty much hate it now and will most likely change it in the near future, but it got me started and it works, I guess.
When I first started out it was in an effort to write more and to post flash fiction, which I am loving, by the way. About a week into it, I started training for Tough Mudder six days a week and it has become a huge part of my life and something I want to talk about, so you get the running/training/what the hell am I doing kind of posts. While I’ve mentioned here and there throughout my training posts that I have depression, I don’t like to make a “thing” of it. I definitely don’t want to make this blog into a depression rant where all you get when you tune in is “how depressed is Helen today”.
You know that commercial on TV where it says “depression hurts”, the one that I hate because it is so familiar and terrible that it actually hurts to hear it? Yeah, that’s how I’m feeling. Ass-deep in the middle of a big ‘ol depression cesspool. It is so hard to describe to someone who has never felt it before, but I describe it like a cloud or blanket has been laid over me and every thought goes through this thickness in order to get to the surface and at that point I feel so terrible I don’t even know what truth is anymore. I can see my irrationality as if it is a separate being living inside of me, taking over me, and I am helpless to stop it or change it. Sometimes it lasts for only a day; sometimes one day bleeds into two or three and I feel like it’s never going to end. When the “fog” finally clears, or the being leaves or whatever, I look back and think, wow, that was horrible; happy to be on the other side of it.
Today, most of this week actually, has been pretty rough. I decided a few years ago that taking prescribed medication did me more harm than good. I think I’m in the minority regarding this school of thought, but I’m not here to say take meds or don’t. I think it honestly depends on each individual and you need to do what works best for you. For me, I have found that I function better without them because I can be aware and see it for what it is (usually) and I can ride the storm until it passes. I have found alternatives that work much better than medication ever did: meditation, music, running, getting lost in reading a book, and writing. (Writing is a new one I recently added to the list. If I had known it would give me more clarity, I would have been doing it more consistently all along. I’m finding it also helps with nightmares…)
Anyway, in an effort to help myself through this, I thought I would write some words and see what happens. A poem emerged and it’s a little rough and shoddy and most likely hard to read (this could be the depression talking) but I’m going to post it anyway. I didn’t know what to title it so rather than spending the next few hours worrying about it I’m going to say it doesn’t have one and leave it at that.
Having no idea how to close this out but feeling it needs some sort of “ending”, I will wish you all a fabulous afternoon in hopes that my wish will rub off a little on me.
False, blinding light
Fading into creeping shadows
Enshrouded in sticky cobwebs
Seeping fluids, oozing from
Piercing, blood-thick wounds
Where are you
When will it stop
Screaming through pores
Squeezing, clawing, tearing
One tear falls, then another