My Depression Now

My depression hasn't left. I haven't dealt with the unmet needs and feelings buried beneath. I thought going back to school would fix it. I thought finding my purpose would heal me. I thought paying my way through school would validate me. I have not healed this. How have I still not healed this?

Depression has crept up on me again, like that unwelcomed guest in a shambled house. I'm nine months in to my massage therapy program and my body and spirit are spent. I am tired, weary down to the brittle bone. My tiredness in spirit has been ignored for far too long. Though my body has longed for rest, I have not stopped moving. Me, always moving, forward and backward but never still.

I have felt the fires of anger in my soul burn up to the surface. Anger for unmet needs of mine and forced responsibility. My heart feels like a stranger to joy. Its cries of pain show me again that I am in pain. I am in pain when I don't give myself time or space. To be in survival mode for extended periods of time has depleted me of my resources.

My anger feels unsure of where to land in my neuroses. So, it deepens and depresses itself into my body. I smoke, I eat, I distract. "Anywhere, but here," I scream into each cell of my body. My cells respond in lack of safety and certainty. My body is not my home. I have not felt at home in my body for years.

Growing up, emotions were scary creatures. Today, I find myself still running in circles away but never far enough to escape them. I wish my emotions weren't like the tsunami waves in the ocean. I numb and distract until reality is on my front door step again with its dose of darkness and shame.

So, I smoke. Today, I smoke because anxiety is more friend of mine than sadness and grief. The sadness feels too unbearable to speak of, let alone feel most days.

I am sad, torn apart by the pain I've endured. The pain of breaking my own heart over and over, neglecting myself over and over. I have not held this pain in my arms, cradling it like a wounded child. I have scolded, reprimanded and coerced this hurt child into a body I can't even call my home. She is in the darkest corner of my heart, waiting to be held. I see her now. She is my depression. She is my anger. She is my sadness.

"I am so sorry. I am so sorry I keep doing this. I don't know how to love you. I don't know how to care for you with love and adoration."

No, my depression has not left. I am still here dealing with it and finding my way up to the surface again. I am breaching it. I can feel it. I am breathing.

Healing

Two episodes in one week. The truth of that reality stings. And burns, As I wipe away the remnants Of the chocolate and sugar-induced coma. I am a recovering bulimic and anorexic. And no I am not cured. My eating disorder has shape shifted a multitude of times, But it has not vanished. I am healing. I am still healing. It has been nearly eight years. I am 25. The second wave of disorder. The first when I was 12. Alone, Scared, And afraid. Always, Afraid. My wounds have not healed yet. How have they not healed yet? I feel myself slipping Through the cracks. My life is so tightly wound up. My body is in knots. I feel restricted. I can’t breathe. Only think, Always thinking. My outer life mirrors my rigid attempts to control And restrict life coming at me. I’ve always felt life coming at me, Like daggers into my exposed heart. My heart feels exposed, Open. A flesh wound that is ripe and ready. For desolation. Or transformation. I am not sure which, Maybe both. I want to fucking scream, To put words and sounds to this Fucking anxiety. Fucking Anxiety. This fear.. I hate you God, I loathe your pervasive presence. You are so afraid, Always waiting for the next attack. Never wanting to fight back, You only run. I don’t want you here. You, young, naïve child. I don’t have time for you. No, I don’t have time. Not for your terror, No, Not for your overwhelming Fear And Sadness, Anger, Or pain. You are weak. You are what’s wrong With me. These are the words I use against myself. Time after misguided Bullet. How do we use our words against ourselves? Against each other? Words of criticism, Hatred Condemnation, Violence, Judgment, Fear, And bigotry? These words are our shadows. My wounds, These wounds, Of all of us. We have not healed. We are still healing. Time is healing. The shadow is coming into the light, For healing. My shadow desperately hungers For healing, Though it may resist, And kick and scream. No, I am not fixed. We are not fixed. Because perhaps our brokenness Is the fix. Can we all face our brokenness? And turn toward it with words Of love? I am not sure. My own words feel so heavy. I see my choices In perception And darkness prevails. Maybe the power has been given To the darkness, To those voices of fear and hate. The violence is here, On our front doorsteps, In thoughts, words and actions. Inner And outer. It is time to rise Above the hateful words In all of us. Not outside of me, Or you. But inside. We may not choose who leads us Externally, But we can choose The power within. This is power True and absolute. Not power over, But power in, Each of us, The power to wield Love out of fear, Union out of division, Light out of dark. Hope is not lost, If we are still breathing. I am still breathing. We are all still breathing. No, Hope is not lost. No matter the setbacks. Each day is given, To choose again. Love. Healing. This is power. To rise above the old, By embracing the shadow. And to bless the past, With forgiveness. We are healing, You are healing. I am healing. Always. Again. And again.