Last Night

Last night, you dragged me home from the pub -drunk- after a drink too many of Chardonnay. And this morning, as I nursed my hangover, you  shared with me how scared you were last night. And yet, I have no recollection of the night’s events.

You are not the only one to tell me that you’re scared. My therapist says that my nihilist attitude scares her. My friends and family keep checking in on me, because they are afraid I might act on my suicidal thoughts. Strangers keep a distance and think twice before befriending me, because I scare them away.  And I know you have my well being in mind, I know you want the best for me, and you mean well when you check in on me. But, still, it hurts to know that I scare people.

Let me tell you how I feel. I’m scared too. I scare myself every night. And when I wake up in the morning, the fear is still there. I am scared by my suicidal thoughts and even more so that I can’t stop them. I am afraid that I might not be strong enough today and engage in self harm. I am scared by my bitter attitude, knowing that it pushes people away and leaves me on my own to fend for myself in this scary world. I’m scared of my urges to drink and smoke, because I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to not act on those urges. I’m scared to look at my bottle of medication, because it triggers more fears. I wake up afraid, and go to sleep afraid; I can be my biggest enemy.

Last night, when you dragged me home and told me how scared you are, I wanted to hold on to you, keep you close, and tell you how scared I am. I don’t want to scare people away, because I know how it feels to be scared of myself. Last night you experienced what I experience every night. (and sometimes every day)

So please, when you feel afraid, know that I am just a frightened little girl and I need all the support I can get. I know it’s hard, but together we are stronger and together we can conquer our fears.

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Life After Trauma

I have written a poem to portray one of the many feelings that are commonly experienced after trauma; anger or rage. In the past, I used to be afraid to admit to myself that I am angry, which only led to further suppressing my emotions. This week, something strange happened; I had an epiphany. And I realized that I can run; but I cannot hide. And so I faced my anger. It’s hard but it’s not as scary as I thought it would be. And the bonus? A beautiful and touching poem that perfectly expresses how I feel. Here goes:

Bloody, red Bordeaux’s in bottle-green glass,
and warm light saturating the room;
my mother picked violets to spoil me,
but I want to throw it all away.
I pop five corks, hurting after three,
and let my nostrils welcome the aroma of aged oak.
I mourn for the fermentation, filtration, and clarification;
for I will never taste the Cabernet Franc meticulously grown
in the magical valley of Loire.
The process of oxidation unleashes an inner fury,
as I hear the shattering of glass in my body.
Have I inherited violence in my genetic code?
Because nothing makes me feel at peace,
but three hundred sixty-five pieces of broken glass;
when shards and shards puncture through my body,
and the color of my blood, like watercolors, mixed with wine
creates deathly hues in deep shades of reds,
and stains pristine white linen.
My mind only stops its death march,
when droplets of expensive Merlot run down the walls
and form puddles on the granite around me.
Sleep only comes to rescue me when once beautiful blossoms,
drown in those cursed little ponds; home to glass fish.
And only after,
I have exerted myself-flinging bottles, hurling objects
and taring flowers-
has my soul finally reached the point of tranquility,
for me to fall asleep on the floor,
in my own havoc.

I Am Not Perfect

I am human. And yes, I have faults too. Yet, unlike my friends, my faults are obvious and up for discussion as I suffer from mental illness. 

One of my toughest issues is learning how to navigate relationships. Friends are important to me, as mental illness can sometimes make me feel isolated and alone. Unfortunately, though, it is hard to be my friend. Trust me, I’ve tried. 

My friends reading this will know what I mean. They will know, as they have continually been shut out. They have to deal with rejection every day. They have to listen to my fifteen minute rants a dozen times daily telling them why we shouldn’t be friends. This behavior is in direct contradiction to my statement above that friends are important to me. I know. 

One of the toughest issues I battle is extreme fear of abandonment and rejection. Every time I suspect that I might be rejected, most of the time it’s based on irrational assumptions, I will begin a frantic effort to ensure that I am not being rejected. I will ramble about my horrible personality and how nobody will ever be there for me, until my friends will reassure me that I am not horrible and they’re glad to be here for me. Some of you might think of it as manipulative behavior; but it is not. At that moment in time, I am unable to clear my brain of those thoughts. My body enters a fight or flight mode as it has encountered danger; rejection. And the only response I know is to reassure myself that there is no danger. 

The problem? Nobody wants to spend their days reassuring again and again. And yet again. It gets tiring, boring and burdensome. After hearing three times a day of what a horrible person their friend is, everybody starts getting fed up. And after being pushed away for too many times, everybody begins liking it and stays. 

Now, my fear of abandonment renders destructive behavior which causes rejection. The fear of rejection is then intensified and the destructive behavior continues at an even more aggressive pace. See? 

Being my friend is nearly impossible. My brain works on overdrive. Every statement a friend makes is dissected and analyzed a thousand times. I will sometimes respond to statements three days later when my friends have long forgotten what they’ve said. 

Why am I writing this? First, as a note of gratitude to my friends for still being around. Thank you. Your efforts haven’t gone unnoticed and I appreciate it and it means so much to me. Also, I am writing this to explain to them where this behavior stems from. I am not trying to say that this behavior is excusable. All I am saying is that I am trying my best to work on changing my behavior. I am training my brain to shut those niggling thoughts out. I’m teaching myself coping skills and better ways to deal with my fear of rejection.

Thank you for bearing with me. Even with my faults. And a piece of advice, it’s ok to tell me when I’m too much. 

Nobody is perfect. Not even me.