mental health part 2 (no edits)

 I was in therapy. I took medication. I went to church and gave my life to Jesus. How much of this do I get into?

The point is that I believed I was worthless with my whole heart, and because of that I allowed people to treat me horribly because on a subconscious level, I believed I deserved it. 

What's worse than that, I decided that the idea that life was beautiful was sort of a horrible lie that "they" told people.  Happiness was really just a cruel trick. Nobody was really happy. Now that depression had shown me how to "wise up" the wool would not be pulled over my eyes again.  I would not pursue things like love and joy and beauty because they were all ephemeral any way.

(I know this sounds horrible but for me it was the only way I knew to stay safe.  If love and feelings hurt, fuck it! I can numb out and do without them.)

I did numb out, that was a big part of things for me.  Not feeling.  Being strong...tough like when I was a kid.

I married. Got a job in management. I kept art far from me.

Until something strange happened after I had a baby.

The dichotomy of motherhood tore my broken heart open. I had always wanted to be a good mother and there something I discovered about connection with my child, and I believe it is what saved my spirit. 

To be truly present with my child required that I re think strength and weakness. To say yes to sadness, and struggle to keep trying to draw near to my child in spite of my inadequacy and shame. 

All the beauty of life in spite of hardship? This was a kind of beauty, that pain couldn't touch.  Becoming a mother was witnessing my heart being brought to life again. 

I learned this:

Connection, which lies and the feet of love asks that we are vulnerable. Vulnerability is not the opposite of strength, rather it is strength perfected.

I had been doing it wrong.  

My imagination went wild. The wonder, stories, songs, poems...all came out of the new found willingness to give and receive tenderly to my child.  To sit with my fear and learn to keep going, watching life's beauty unfold before me...proving all my jadedness and disbelief wrong. The wonder of life broke through the hard strength of my shell protected self and with every myth it dispelled it brough me to life a little more.

The desire to write became constant and the muse decided to be my best and constant friend and teacher.

I wish this story had a happy ending but here's the reality.  I have terrible ADD, which means that I have all the ideas in the world, in fact, I am an idea machine. I love digging for new story ideas and obscure historical figures. I love new words and the challenge that comes with fitting them into verse just so. you would have to hold on to me very tightly if I took you on the ride in my mind. The twists and turns my mind takes are constant! My brain is a cherry bomb.

But the problem is that I never learned to finish. It's the fault of childhood neglect and ADD. The people who make me the most calm and at peace are the planning organized types because I have no idea how to do that. I am genuinely amazed by people like that, especially when the don't mind the zip and zap of my constantly "what if this or that" nature.

Anyway.

That is my next challenge, to actually finish one of the thousand projects I started. A novel, a screenplay four TV series a book of poetry...It's sad and funny.

Its good comedy. (I fight the urge to call it pitiful)

I still hate my birthday. 

I hate it so much. 

It's the only day out of the year I am truly truly depressed and I want to crawl out of my skin. I know there's a reason why and I know it has to do with self hate and unresolved trauma and all of that, but this year was the worst its ever been and it was the first time since age 19 that I was afraid for myself. 

There is a thorn stuck in my soul and I guess I haven't found yet.

But life is tough and if we have to bleed onto something it might as well be the page.