… and I couldn’t figure out why it stung. The situation was innocent enough. At first, I shrugged it off. Moody. It stuck with me. Suddenly, every interaction felt moody. Dramatic. Manic. Too much. I pulled back. I distanced myself. I tried to chill. Calm. Quiet. Subdued.
Until recently, I didn’t realize that I was affected by anxiety and depression. When I realized it, I denied it, hit a low, went for help, and rebounded. I’m coming to understand that this is all more than I thought. It’s a journey. It doesn’t define me. To be cliche and borrow from every bad pharmaceutical commercial ever, “I am not my disease, my disease doesn’t define me”. HOWEVER, you hear about people being depressed. There are articles about dealing with anxiety and helping your friends through panic attacks. The internet has everything. You don’t hear about the really fun fact that medication, therapy, etc. don’t make it magically go away forever.
Sometimes I write. Kind of. After a particularly bad panic attack, which is exhausting, by the way, my brain will occasionally reward me with a “you made it” congratulatory thought. Today, that thought was relevant to what I’m trying to say.
Words have power. Whether they are spoken, written, signed, or thought, it doesn’t matter. Words can build up. Words can tear down. This is NOT me telling you to tiptoe around others as if they’re going to explode, but please realize that what you say holds more power than you could possibly imagine.
Sticks and Stones
(on the power of words)
Until your quaking body, glazed with sweat, refuses to still
Until wails you do not claim as your own tear from your lips
Until the air is ripped from your lungs, alerting you to your heaving breast
Until each step you pace, back and forth, back and forth, is taken without consent
Until you grasp at your arms, the corner of the mattress, the steering wheel, just to remember what it is like to be solid
Until you beg intrinsically to collapse and retreat to a ball on the floor
Do not call me dramatic.
Until the desire to please overpowers you
causing you to change, forget, lose track of
Until the need for acceptance alters your ego
Until you become a machine
made by pressure that crushes, deafens, and blinds you
Until nothing is enough, no one is enough, you are not enough
Do not call me an overachiever.
Until you are forgotten, left behind, excluded, unwanted
Until you stay home so everyone else can have fun
Until plans are made, but you know you won’t make them
Until the little you have is poured into someone, making them a piece of you
Until every action, thought, and word you have screams “LOVE”
Until gray clouds your vision, binding you in and keeping them out
Do not call me clingy.
Until a scar out of place draws stares
Until feeling at all equates hot, sharp pain
Until starting your day is a nightmare and sleeping is blissful and rare
Until you make a plan to say “Hello, how are you?”
Until going out is impossible and simple speech becomes a chore
Until being alone is lonely but being with someone is worse
Do not call me distant.
Until you know the power of what you speak
Until you feel everything
Until you are truly open, accepting, and empathetic
Think before you speak.
I’m working on finding a positive outlet for the vast array of emotions that I didn’t know were even there prior to college… so… enjoy?
Be kind to yourself.
xoxo
I'm Hannie Bananie Cutie Potato Muffin Cupcake Fish Merman. 