Inspired

Yesterday morning my little 11 year old 5lb Pomeranian died suddenly with no warning… I have been devastated. Especially being so unbalanced lately with meds and starting my senior semester as a psych research student. Out of all of this, all my friends were nowhere to be found. For months I lost my spark. The one that drives creativity but yesterday I found it in the strength and grief and love for my old companion.

This is what came of it… the last picture is basically finished just need a few finishing touches but in pain is art and in art is pain and in that is solace. Remember that.

I soared…

I guess this is the way it is now

The way the course has run

You’ve said it all

Shown all you’re cards

I know your games

I know your tricks

You wicked thing

Twisting and poisoning the life out of me

I guess this is where we are now

I’ve seen your face underneath that mask

I’ve seen your soul, so full of darkness

So is this what you’ve become

Is this what we are

Or should I say I am no longer

Disowned by you

Now only one daughter,is what you have

But the joke is on you

Because you didn’t clip my wings

You pushed me off the edge

And I soared…

aren’t you scared now, mother…

-B.

5-5-18

Looked good on her

Freedom looked good on her

This was the first time in her life

The first time she called the shots

That she was in control

This was her life

She took it back

Took it from those who kept her down

Kept her weak

She looked over the edge

And she didn’t fall but she soared

She showed those, who kept her hidden

That she was not all the things they had made her feel

She showed them

Because she had finally found herself

And in that, she found her freedom

She was just her and that was beautiful

She was beautiful for everything she was

Flaws and imperfections

Faults and scars

Hiccups and all

She was her own

And she wore it well

Freedom certainly looked beautiful on her

-B.

12-19-17

One magic pill

One magic pill.

We’ve all wished it was real. Something we could take to cure us. Make us normal. Take away all the bad things and make us whole again.

Psychiatry, the idea of getting on medication, is often a tough choice for some of us and an easy one for other. Whatever it is for, the journey is not the same. Some have luck and others don’t.

I like to think of it as one big guessing game.

As in other fields of medicine, you have a disease process and a course of treatment. In most cases it’s that simple. But with mental illness, it’s not. It’s far less simple than that.

You have all these psychiatric medications and you get to see your psychiatrist once a month. So, once a month you try a medication. Then the fun part. Some of these medications take weeks to work, so the wait. Then the side effects. On the other hand, they can completely not work all together or even worse do the complete opposite and make your symptoms ten times worse. So, next month, back to the drawing board.

Suppose it does work, but then it doesn’t take all the symptoms away. Then you have to start the cycle over again. You have to add another medication.

Then, finally you find the right combination that works. Everything is going fine for a few years and then BAM. You need to adjust the dosage or the medications have stopped working all together. Back to the drawing board. Back to the cycle.

Like, picking out of a hat.

These medications are so abstract and have so many applications in how they treat various symptoms. The lists go on.

And one day you wake up and you realize, you aren’t just a person seeking treatment for your mental illness but you’ve become a slave to these medications, a product of the pharmaceutical companies.

I’m not saying that taking medication for mental illness is bad. Absolutely not. I have no right to. I am on numerous medications just to be a functioning member of society. But, do I wish I could remember what it was like to handle it on my own or learn to handle it on my own. Yes, I do. Do I hate carrying around 6 pill bottles with me, when I go out? Yes. But, I’ve learned to have no shame in taking out my meds when needed because who the fuck cares what they think. I need them. I need to take care of myself.

But, oh, how I do wish, that there was one magic pill…

-B.

3-21-18

The air…

She hadn’t slept one wink

It had snowed all night

But now it was dawn

The morning light

Just coming up

She went out for her cigarette

The cold, crisp air

Bit her nose

You know, there’s something

About the cold

Something, that made her feel

Feel clean, again

The air, everything around her

Despite the gloominess

The air, had a sense of calmness

It brought peace

A peace

Which she rarely felt

She relished those moments

For, within her was a raging storm

Constant, wildfires

A gift and a curse

Something she carried through life

But in this moment

This one, a wave came over her

Not like the ones that would drown her

But the rare ones, the ones where she could breathe

And she took a deep breath and for a moment it was

Okay…

-B.

12-14-17

This took a turn

Don’t you hate that? How the night before, you feel motivated, have a plan for the next day, even feel a little motivated the second you wake up. But then, it starts slowly. Something feels a little off. You make up excuses for it. It hits you, you feel a little off.

That realization, that moment. The moment you realize it’s you, you’re the one who feels off. That’s when it happens. You start slowly spiraling. Not too bad at first, though. Not very noticeable because you’ve put it in the back of your mind. Well, at least you think you did. But it’s growing. It gets bigger and bigger. You start actively thinking about your anxieties, fears, mistakes, things that make you wrong as a person. Things you’ve decided are true, that must be true because why else would you feel this way. Why else would it be so damn hard, so damn exhausting to get yourself to make at least one phone call, check off one thing on your list.

You make up these things, these facts about yourself, convinced they are true but in fact are the complete opposite. Yes, maybe it’s exhausting to fight yourself to even get one thing done on the list but you did it. You, on your bad day, got something done. Even if you didn’t manage to get something on your list done, you managed and you know fucking what? That in itself is strength.

People don’t see mental illness, not all the time. They don’t see what we are fighting. How fucking exhausting it is. How the simplest thing makes you tired and ashamed because you can’t do it like the “normies” can but fuck them. You are, I am, so much stronger for it. We have to fight everyday. It’s not easy. Life’s not easy, but we do it.

So, this started as a rant but turned into a pep talk. I think mostly I needed to hear it. I needed to know it was okay. But if anyone else needed to know, know it’s okay to survive, it’s okay to just breathe. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.

-B.

1-30-18

2017

2017, pretty much a big fuck you but with a cherry on top. A very big sweet red cherry on top.

The highlights; I failed nursing school, I got back in, passed my third semester and made it to my final semester but not before the worst and best summer of my life.

The summer of 2017, started out amazing. I was ready to study for school, I had friends, new friends, I had purpose. Then I was all alone. Everyone fell off the face of the earth. I couldn’t study. I was all alone, all the time.

I learned a lot in my loneliness. I learned to take care of my myself. Become healthy. Even lost 20 lbs.

I got back into my art, in any creative outlet I could. Writing, photography, drawing, making jewelry.

I learned how to cope. Cope in a healthy way. Listening to music again, art, going to the river. I learned to be alone and be okay with it. I started to enjoy myself, my company. I have never done that.

I decided it was time to meet people, specifically start a relationship, and maybe make some friends. I set out on a few dating websites. I went out on a few meets.

But, the second to last one… July 30th… I’ll never forget. I made 17 cigarettes for that night. It’s funny the things you remember. That night, I was raped.

I didn’t think of it walking back to the car. Not until I started the car and an overwhelming urge to vomit came over me. The next weeks were hell. I was late. My period was late.

But for some reason, I kept talking to another guy I had given my number to. I remember the day after it happened, he texted me for the first time. I was skittish and I was not really into it but over the next few weeks he was persistent.

I eventually told him what happened. I hadn’t told anyone. Not even my mom. I trusted him. There was something about him. He had been touched by the darkness too. I just knew.

I finally got my period, day 40 of my cycle. A week before I had told my mom. She urged me to go to the police but in the past when I went to them about my past, they never believed me, there was no justice. So, you understand why I didn’t trust them.

Time went on, I was numb, depressed, drinking. I barely left my room, the chair in the corner by the window. Where I sat and smoked. But he was there to talk. He was the only person I spoke to.

I didn’t withdraw from school, I thought going would help. I tried to study before the semester but I couldn’t and my mother was not helpful. Always on me about studying.

In August, that guy and I got closer. He asked me to be his on the 15th. He knew I was fucked up, he knew I was not interested in anything sexual but he wanted me. All of me. So I said yes.

I was in a downward spiral. Looking for anything to help. I met him, he made me feel safe. In control.

School started but we made it work. He lived over an hour up north. He would come once a week and get a hotel room. School got bad, my home life got worse. I was drowning. It was worse than the summer.

I decided to leave my last semester at school. I just couldn’t. The PTSD had set in. My moms abuse was too much.

I had finally had enough. I left. At 28, I left. I stood up for myself and left. He saved me. I packed all my stuff up in my car and his. He took me home.

Then I went back. I thought it would be different but it wasn’t.

Days later, he saved me again and I never went back.

I don’t know what I would have done if I had never met him.

It’s 2018, now. Life is hard. I’m just learning to be an adult and I still take baby steps. I still ask for help with everything. Being under my mothers thumb, feeling feeble for so long, has damaged me good but I got this.

I guess what I’m saying is, it’s never too late. Follow your heart. Follow your dreams.

-B.

1-12-17