She Taught Me How To Talk

I should have listened to Mother. I should have seen the way that she always struggled. I should have recognized these traits in me. I should have known that I would inherit them immediately. Reproduction is a form of cloning. I am just a copy of who raised me. She did not mean to. She did not raise me to. She did not realize what she had to do. I showed signs of anxiety for as long as I remember. She showed signs of anxiety before it was commonly accepted. I have the tendency for depression. She was the one on who I depended. She was the one who gave depression to me. But it was not her choice. It happened genetically. Her chromosomes were intertwined with a man who lived life lightly. She was balanced out by a Y chromosome who liked to sing. She attempted to pass on better traits to me. But I was not so lucky. I inherited the double X that came with genetic anxiety. I grew up hating parties. I was raised hiding in corners. But I was unaware of what I was born with. I was taught it was normal to struggle with socializing. I assumed it was common to struggle with eating. I thought that most children struggled with speaking. But it was just me. And the woman who raised me. I should have seen her as a friend from the beginning. I should have known that we could connect so deeply. I should have asked her about the lessons she is still learning. She is the woman who gave this to me. But she also gave me the hope that I will succeed at living. She is still alive. She is still thriving. She has survived. I can learn so much from the genetics that created this. And I can gain so much more from accepting that this is the way it is. I cannot change the problems I was born with. But I can learn to live a better life with them. I can follow in her footsteps. I can raise a human with love and devotion. I can learn to work through the depression. I can get help and medication. I can be where this cycle ends. Thanks to the woman who taught me how to live.

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Every Other Morning

I am doubtful, pessimistic, and trying too hard.
I am circling my wishes with timid nooses, afraid to kill them but more afraid to lose them.
I am clutching to my sanity desperately, praying to a god I don’t believe in that it will get the best of me.
I lean in.
I am overthinking this, I am making myself even more of a mess.
I am inflicting a torture I don’t know what to do with.
Every day I wake up this way, this morning is no different than the ones before, my thoughts still taunt, my actions still torture, I have no idea what I want anymore.
Do I want sanity mixed with medication? Or anxiety controlled with stubborn determination? What direction am I headed in?
I want this writing thing to work, but I am doubtful I have the words to succeed, look at all of those who have gone before me, they were not rhyming, they were not lying to themselves, they had the education that was needed, the friends that believed in them, the mind of complex intensity that makes them worth reading.
I use these words for therapy, they were not crafted with delicacy, they pour out of me, without style, without refinery, unneatly, ungracefully.
What kind of mind am I selling?
An unstable, depressive, anxious mind state is one that is hard to relate to,
But that is all I currently have to offer you.

Prescriptions

Last Night I was nervous and on the verge of puking, Manic-Anxiety-Depression-O-C-D was getting the best of me yet again.
I tried to calm myself down slowly, using breathing techniques, attempting to eat, uncovering my emotions, and yet still allowing them in.
It was painful, tedious, I am constantly swinging in between normalcy and natural destructive instincts.
I noticed myself shaking, uncontrollably, due to a lack of food or a lack of sanity.
I saw myself losing the battle slowly, hunching my shoulders by instinct, clutching at my stomach desperately, fighting the reflex of puking, obsessing over what this could all mean.
I think I am disabled, I no longer see myself as capable, I feel incredibly unstable, spiraling even further into destructive tendencies, self-medicating with weed.
I react in desperation, dedicated to my obsessive ways of living, walking in circles, dancing off the nerves, rolling up, smoking, and doing it all over again, clinging to these habits that currently define me, while dreaming of a future release.
Maybe medication will help, maybe I am destined to live in a self-made hell, maybe I can try something else.
This is no longer working, the combination of mental ailments is crushing, I am anxious, then bold, depressed, then proud to uphold my head, obsessed, then numb to all of my senses, it circles back around, I am always looking for my next fall, up and down and back to the start, I am exhausted, desperate, looking for an escape from this mouse trap experiment, I am tired of being tested, I want to live a life that I feel is best for me, I have to give up self-medicating.
There are other answers, I have other options, science has developed much since the age of nervous women, there is medication to suppress my anxiety, there is option of expression to allow a release, there is counseling to help my depression not control me, I have the opportunity for healing.
I have to trust that this is the best option for me.

You Will No Longer Control Me

Annoyed, Pissed Off, and Frustrated beyond belief,
But that is not what I allow you to see,
Wake up Angry and Disappointed, Something is missing,
But that is not what I will allow you to believe,
Choking on air thick with mucus, the yellowing of my cuticles, shortening my youth,
Deteriorating health with bad habits I never thought would catch up, refusing to lend myself any form of love, this is how I expect to rise above,
With Anger, Annoyance, and Remiss,
How I expect to continue living, with the aid of excessive alcohol and weed, blurring the vision I never wanted to see,
Hating me, Hating, Hating everything,
Someone please kill me.
Kill this version of defeat, release me from my own disappointment, allow me to bleed freely,
I am already doing all I can to die, I have tried many times, and yet the self-inflicted torture continues to grow inside,
Disappointed in my lack of follow through, wishing the depression would ensue, angry with all of you,
Those who don’t understand anxiety, who can’t fathom what it feels like to want to die, those who think depression passes with time,
Alienated, Aggravated, Doubting that I will ever make it,
Enraged, Defeated, Attempting to keep this secret,
Wishing, Hoping, and Disappointing,
The same cycle plagues me, the same thoughts torture me, the same place I never wanted to be,
Fuck this Anxiety, Fuck this Depression, Fuck always having to begin again,
I no longer want to be open to these emotions, I no longer want to be tortured by my hopeless devotion, I no longer want to sip on this toxic potion,
I am done, I want to move on, I want nothing more than to be numb,
Shut up Doubt, Disappointment close your mouth, Depression you can go fuck yourself,
I am tired of this, I am moving on from anger, I will no longer accept this deranged behavior.

Today’s Specials

I’ll take the anxiety-depression combo,
Super-size that to go.
No I don’t want fries with that,
I will accompany it with my own bad habits.
It pairs nicely with a lack of clothing,
And can be seasoned with a some negative groaning.
The flavors are highlighted by exasperation,
I can even taste the resentment marinating.
There is just a hint of desperation,
But the taste of bitterness is overwhelming.
Balanced out with some lies over ice,
I eagerly slurp up denial through a straw.
I feel the post-meal lethargy settle in,
But still I suck down even more anxiety.
I stuff my face with an escape,
I slowly put on depression’s weight.
The salty taste still lingers in the back of my mouth,
Distracting me from my own self-doubt,
Making me crave something else.
Maybe a quick apple pie with a gooey denial inside,
Or a warm chocolate chip cookie with a hint of apathy,
They both pair with the anxiety nicely.
Wash it down with a cold glass of hate,
A refreshing yet shocking taste.
This feast requires a post-meal smoke,
Only the finest intoxicants that my body can host.
It will have to be a Number Seven,
Allow the coughing to do the settling.
Let the meal sink in,
Momentarily distracted from my malnutrition.
None of the important food groups represented,
Growing fat on guilt and regression,
Losing weight from hope and distractions.
Tuck in.
This feast is for one alone,
It will continue to make my mental illness grow,
The weight of depression gradually gained,
Seasoned by an anxiety I cannot name.

A Case Against Myself

The evidence is right before you.
It is in the ashtrays scattered and filled to the brim,
It is the clothes spread across your bedroom,
It is in the way that you have forgotten to call anyone who means anything to you.

The outcome is clear.
It is in the cough that fills the bathroom,
It is in the isolation that you have grown used to,
It is interactions that are new to you.

The result is frustration.
It is in the way that you say things,
It is in the negative tone you are wishing would lessen,
It is the true tell signs of depression,
It is the way that you are sleeping for days,
It is in the way that you get lost in the words you have to say,
It is in the way that you get so easily distracted in one place.

The truth is laid before you.
It is the way you choose to pass the time,
It is the way that you criticize your ever searching mind,
It is in the ways in which to yourself you are unkind.

The solution will take time.
It is whispering in the back of your mind,
It is aching to be heard,
It is the voice you have previously ignored,
It is the patience that you reserve for all others besides yourself,
It is the secret to good health,
It is what you wished you would have always felt.

The change is within your grasp.
It is your choice how you react,
It is your voice that you have to impact,
It is your mind that you have to entrap,
It is your mistakes you have to look past.

The choice is yours.
It is depression or resilience,
It is anxiety or boldness,
It is in how you choose to control this,
It is reminiscing upon the past and looking to the future,
It is accepting experience and moving forward,
It is feeling lost and looking closer,
It is accepting that you are not broken.

I’m Depressing

Leave me alone.
I want to be this depressed.
I want to wallow and trudge and bitch through it all.
I want an excuse to bawl or an excuse to brawl.
I am tired of fighting it all alone.
So I went and reached out to you.
But what did you do?
You left me on my own yet again.
Questioning if I ever really could count you as a friend.
But it is all my fault in the end.
Because of depression.
I am the one at fault.
You are the one that taught me to see.
I am the one who is incapable and bleeding.
This you finally shared with me.
I am more of a mess that you hoped me to be.
I cry for no reason.
I bitch without believing.
I am constantly complaining.
What more do you want from me?
When you have labeled me as a depressed being.
I sink lower into the hole of my own creating.
I am tired of debating positivity.
I want you to see me.
I want you to see that I am depressed.
I want to be negative and live in unrest.
I want this to be me.
I do not have the answers you are seeking.
I am sinking.
Fast.
I am losing track.
I no longer know what day it is.
I can no longer resist.
I find comfort in knowing that I am broken.
I have an excuse continuing.
I am just plain depressing.
I chain smoke.
I drink.
I refuse to speak.
I travel even further into my own head.
I want to be dead.
I consider ways to resolve this.
I dream of car crashes and cutting and shotguns.
I know I am numb.
I seek help from no one.
I want this to remain secret.
I am ashamed of what I am up against.
I am done with expression.
I am tired of depression.

I’m Fucking This Up

Lazy Piece Of Shit.
Unmotivated Sack Of Bones.
Worthless Whiney Bitch.
You wanted this.
This is the change that you manifested.
This is when you should be at your best.
But you had to go and get high instead.
Fucking Addict.
Habitual Fuck Up.
Undeserving Of Love.

You know this.
You see the evidence.
This is what you’re up against.
Embrace It.
Bold And Brave.
Willing To Take No Shit.
Never Complacent.
This is what you were born this.
Never Satisfied.
Always Striving.
Constantly Searching.
This is how you’ve made it.
Hard Working Survivor.
Constantly Flexible.
Destined For So Much More.
This is what you choose to believe in.
Don’t Lose Hope.
Look For The Silver Lining.
Learn How To Cope.
This is how you continue on.

Breathe…

I lost track of what I wanted to say…
I am distracted by another point never completed…
My mind has no ambition these days…
It wanders and leads me to thoughts that are incomplete…
It deceives both you and me…
It thinks of these rhymes while I attempt to find something to actually care about this time…
I am tired of the complaints of which it speaks…
I wish that it would just move on from me…
I am the only one dragging myself down…
I am the only one who sees my own crippling doubt…
I am the only one who is privy to the secret that I have kept so desperately…
I will deliver my own self-defeat. This is all within my own control. This choice is up to me. This is my own self-deprecating form of deceit.
I am the person who is responsible for this, and yet I am the last one who will admit that this is something I struggle with.
It was once nameless.
It was once something that I was just born with.
It was once something that was supposed to mean so much more to me.
I was once a human being…
Until Depression overtook me.
Now I am just a mind that holds an infection.
Now I am waiting for someone else’s dictation to sever the bonds that I have been building with the monster that lives inside of me and takes every ounce of hopeful air I breathe.
It has overtaken me.
I am no longer distracted,
I am exhausted…
I am no longer exhausted,
I am indifferent…
I am no longer indifferent,
I am losing. I am losing this battle against a hopeful version of me. I am losing track of what I once meant. I am losing the sense to repent against these unjust thoughts and transgressions against me.
I was once so “carefree”.
I was once spoke with “honesty”.
I once “believed” that this “depression” is not a part of “me”.

I Want This Piece of Me to Be Missing

I am too tired.
I am too tired to do all of this.
I am too tired to carry on.
I can’t.
I can’t seem to stop for even a moment before I have to move on.
I can’t seem to stop over thinking everything.
I won’t move on.
I won’t do what I know is better for me.
I won’t go on to living the dreams that I had.
I don’t have enough.
I don’t have the talent or the teachings.
I don’t have the raw elements of success.
I shouldn’t be this way.
I shouldn’t wake up and already feel the pressure crushing in.
I shouldn’t indulge in these vices that are killing me.
I have no strength.
I have no plan to resolve what is frustrating me.
I have no desire to move on from where I wallow.
I am depressed.
I am not me.
I am not the person I could prove to be.
I am in a shell of existence.
I could care less.
I could fully commit to losing everything.
I could submit to my final defeat.
I could end this reality.
I could save myself.
I am indifferent to hope and positivity.
I am content with my negativity.
I am blind to all possibility.
I want to sink even lower.
I want to explore this depression and see what it is worth.
I want to satisfy my sick desire to have no hope.
I want to get better.
I try to heal.
I try to not listen to myself.
I try to convince myself to move.
I try.
I fail.
I sink even lower into this despair.
I fall fast.
I lose my breath.
I completely forget who I am.
I forget to eat.
I have trouble sleeping.
I doubt everything.
I focus only on the negative.
I clench my jaw.
I speak words that I regret.
I hide in my own head.
I am me.
I struggle with depression.
And I know this will never end.