Write more.
Take more pictures.
Say "yes" to more opportunities.
Say "no" to things that don't let me take those opportunities.
Needless to say, and by definition, I am acting insanely. I'm saying and doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. This blog is proof! I've wrote in here, multiple times, that you (yes, you) will be seeing more of me (not literally, but on this blog). Except - here's where you grit your teeth because you know what's coming and because you too have done this - I don't follow through on my plan, my promise, my truth.
I've made this blog an intensely deep outlet. I have shared memories and stories and trials and tribulations from my past but never have I gotten so presently real with myself. It's one thing to look back on a memory from 10 years ago and dissect every sight, touch, smell, and feeling but it's an entirely different mountain to climb when I am present with what I am enduring today.
Today is a good day. I woke up at a much too late of a time, read a magazine about photography from front to back, checked in with all my favorite photographers and writing blogs, took some practice snapshots for a wedding that I am shooting this fall, and than jotted some notes. I did what I loved today. And yesterday was good too; hours upon hours of class covering personality disorders and mental health emergencies, and than a lovely dinner with my bestfriend-roommate-sister and her boyfriend, as well as my own boyfriend.
But the day before yesterday was dark. If I were my own therapist, I would ask me, "What does it feel like when it's dark?" "Well," I would respond, "It feels shitty. It feels sad. The day feels overwhelmingly tragic, and frankly, I cannot justify in my mind any reason for me to find myself in this state of being." I can't explain where the mood shift comes from, I can't shake it nor can I make it more intense in an effort to find a peak and than a plateau. It just is. You could call it depression, or symptoms of depression, or you could call it melancholy, chronic bereavement, simple sadness, displacement. Call it what you will, it just is. Being the "game-changer" that I am, I am constantly scrapping for treatments of this, wanting to find a resolution, a peace, something tranquil or serene.
I can't finish this post bcause it was wrote a year ago.
I like what it is and I wish I would have finished it but it won't be what it was meant to be if I finished it today.
I am a year older, a year more experienced, and a year wiser; I've moved to my own place, I achieved my Master's degree, I landed a job, I became a mommy of a 4 year old, and my relationship with Alex aged one more year. Most importantly, and unashamedly, I received the support I needed for the symptoms of depression that I experienced.
Where do I think I was going to go with this post? I think I was going to tell you how desperately hallow I felt. How it felt like my fault but my intellect told me it wasn't my fault. How confusing and hopeless of a message this was! I would have assured you, the concerned reader you may be, that I was never suicidal or risking my safety. I would tell you about the suffocation of depression and how my symptoms were exacerbated by any form of abandonment whether perceived or real. I would tell you that I would walk tall and proud for three days and stumble repeatedly for weeks; like a rope was wrapped around my ankles. I would tell you I was the one who appeared fine on the outside - a smile, always - for everyone but those closest to me, and even still. The me on the outside had a lot of people fooled but the me on the inside was holding a machete and hacking my way through the deadening hopelessness to try and release the real spirit I am. I never felt my symptoms physically but I acted them out instead. My doctor tells me I have probably had these symptoms since my mother died and they became so internalized that I associated them with 'just how it is': "your life hasn't been easy; so every time you feel threatened by potential pain than go ahead and act out" is how I lived. But I promise, this was as subconscious to me as waking up from a deep sleep.
I got help because I had a consistent person in my corner who never faultered no matter how rotten I treated her. Consistent, stable, and unconditional is Megan. She proved that I could test her like the hardest Bar Exam of LIFE and she would never fail it. I was tired of making her prove her love for me. I wanted to stop needing proof of her love but I was terrified of not having proof. I've come to realize now, that when either one of us are dead, I will always have her love.
I also got help because of my partner; while I was in the ring fighting with the reprucussions of my life, he was my trainer who told me to keep going no matter how hard it got. He lifted me up when I fell, he took frequent emotional beatings from me, and questioned how badly I wanted to find the other side of my dark but comfortable hole.
And lastly, I got help because I couldn't afford to not get help. I knew that depression can progress when untreated. I knew that I'd eventually get exactly what I was afraid of: abandoned. I knew that Nollie would suffer the consequences of the behaviors that resulted from my symptoms. I feared what my life might become. I look back now and see that there was a small window of hope and knew that if I jumped through that window, a few stoic people would be there to catch me on the other side. And catch they did.
I can't finish this post bcause it was wrote a year ago.
I like what it is and I wish I would have finished it but it won't be what it was meant to be if I finished it today.
I am a year older, a year more experienced, and a year wiser; I've moved to my own place, I achieved my Master's degree, I landed a job, I became a mommy of a 4 year old, and my relationship with Alex aged one more year. Most importantly, and unashamedly, I received the support I needed for the symptoms of depression that I experienced.
Where do I think I was going to go with this post? I think I was going to tell you how desperately hallow I felt. How it felt like my fault but my intellect told me it wasn't my fault. How confusing and hopeless of a message this was! I would have assured you, the concerned reader you may be, that I was never suicidal or risking my safety. I would tell you about the suffocation of depression and how my symptoms were exacerbated by any form of abandonment whether perceived or real. I would tell you that I would walk tall and proud for three days and stumble repeatedly for weeks; like a rope was wrapped around my ankles. I would tell you I was the one who appeared fine on the outside - a smile, always - for everyone but those closest to me, and even still. The me on the outside had a lot of people fooled but the me on the inside was holding a machete and hacking my way through the deadening hopelessness to try and release the real spirit I am. I never felt my symptoms physically but I acted them out instead. My doctor tells me I have probably had these symptoms since my mother died and they became so internalized that I associated them with 'just how it is': "your life hasn't been easy; so every time you feel threatened by potential pain than go ahead and act out" is how I lived. But I promise, this was as subconscious to me as waking up from a deep sleep.
I got help because I had a consistent person in my corner who never faultered no matter how rotten I treated her. Consistent, stable, and unconditional is Megan. She proved that I could test her like the hardest Bar Exam of LIFE and she would never fail it. I was tired of making her prove her love for me. I wanted to stop needing proof of her love but I was terrified of not having proof. I've come to realize now, that when either one of us are dead, I will always have her love.
I also got help because of my partner; while I was in the ring fighting with the reprucussions of my life, he was my trainer who told me to keep going no matter how hard it got. He lifted me up when I fell, he took frequent emotional beatings from me, and questioned how badly I wanted to find the other side of my dark but comfortable hole.
And lastly, I got help because I couldn't afford to not get help. I knew that depression can progress when untreated. I knew that I'd eventually get exactly what I was afraid of: abandoned. I knew that Nollie would suffer the consequences of the behaviors that resulted from my symptoms. I feared what my life might become. I look back now and see that there was a small window of hope and knew that if I jumped through that window, a few stoic people would be there to catch me on the other side. And catch they did.
