"And then there's light. It just takes time"
Everyone talks about how depression holds them back. It's a cloud of darkness, and we all shine our magnifying glasses to try to dissect it all
It's not a lie, though, that it's difficult. Depression is no joke, but there's always a good side to anything.
I'm the first to tell you that I'm what some people might call damaged goods, because I've had some problems. I can't ever say they're in the past however accurate that feels. They're pieces of me, and I'm willing to share them.
I guess you could say that it's hard to do that. It almost feels like I'm tainting the now, right? That's not the case, though...
Let me start by sharing what these illnesses are.
I was a teenager, and I felt that way for about half a decade...
The list is as follows:
- Depression
- Anxiety
- Schizophrenia
- PTSD
- Bulimia
- Anorexia
- Body Dysmorphia
- Insomnia
- OCD
I can keep going. I want you to understand that it isn't my fault. It isn't your fault if you have any of it, either.
I took this course once that told me how a difficult pregnancy often led to the child suffering of most of those problems... some of the often also overlap with each other. I know my mom had an awfully difficult pregnancy with me, and that's always where it's thrown to... but hey this is life. It could be it or not. The case stands as sometimes we're dealt shitty cards. We just have to do the best we can with them.
Anyways, that isn't the point of this. The point of this isn't to get pity either. I'm not brain dead, so until then... save that pity party. The point is simple... In spite of anything I've been diagnosed with, I'm stronger than ever.
You could get to know me inside out and have no clue that those were draining problems that plagued me at one point.
The thing is they did drain me... There were days I wanted to just die. I'd sit in a corner feeling the weight of it all like my clothes were soaked in water with a suffocating weight on my body. Nights were my sanctuary that fell into the routine of music.
I guess it all tied in recently, you see. I found a recording that wasn't meant for my ears. I found it beautiful, but it came from a time I didn't know. It came from a darkness I didn't see. At the moment I was too interested in the content to really understand or see it.
It wasn't until I stood at a gas station pumping gas that I seemed to connect the dots.
My problems aren't the demons I've drowned. They're the demons I've embraced that can no longer control me. I'm better for overcoming it all, and they help me understand others who suffer under their claws. The thing to understand is that I am not damaged goods, and you aren't either. We've lived in a way that adventures don't measure up to. We've evolved in a way that a pile of years still can't compare. It's an ongoing journey, and that is what keeps you sympathetic.
THAT was the click. There are things that are sacred to me. There are things that got me through a lot which would never touch my fingertips again, no less be shared. Then who am I to forget that? Who am I to deny someone else that safety?
No one.
I'm no one to do that. That's where my guilt kicks in. I didn't understand. I know words weren't spoken in that moment about the importance of it, but I want to believe I knew better. I guess I do blame myself for it and not the other party. That's the truth, because I should have known better.
I'm an open book to an extent. I'm not an open book in the scribbles of melodies or in the walls of a recording studio, though. Music has always been that safety blanket, and it helped me get out of a dark hole. There are parts of it that I've continuously revisited throughout my life in those dark times that I felt alone.
I haven't shared this with anyone, but I feel it's only fair to rip a piece of my flesh for what I've done.
Last summer I got really sick regarding my voice, and that had to be the hardest time. Not only was I going through the process of my grandpa dying, but I was losing my voice. I'm that person who refuses to go to doctors, by the way. I'll go if I'm forced to by my body, but I tend to just go through the motions.
This was different. I went to the doctor and nothing helped. Nothing... I remember looking at the city lights with Bryant and crying last December. That was it. I told him I couldn't sing. I didn't want to be part of the band, because the more I tried to sing the less I could talk. I'm terrified of coughs now. It feels like I have a fire in me. I can't hit those notes. I can't. I guess that's why I was taken aback by that recording. It took me back to the little light in a dark hole that I knew I won't get back. It's not defeating, but it's bittersweet.
Bryant told me I'd be fine last year. He said I could still sing. We'd figure it out and reteach me if we needed to. I don't think anyone understood, though, and I didn't try to explain. Sure, I could learn a different way, but no one understood it literally hurt. It hurt to talk. It hurt to breathe. The less I sang, the better it felt.
It felt like trickery. I was being told I couldn't do the one thing that had always brought me comfort.
The one thing that felt like that life vest was being ripped off my body.
Dramatic. I know.
I think I accepted it, too quickly, even if it felt like my voice was being stolen.
It didn't feel like giving up, either. It was a hobby, I loved it, but it held too much baggage. I wanted a fresh start. I still found my voice in lyrics. I guess I'm just talking about it now, though.
I had told Bryant it stayed between us. He wouldn't tell Ty or Andy. He wouldn't tell Jessica or anyone. Anyone.
Besides, we were all slowly going our own ways.
So back to this turbulent post.
I think at a younger age things felt like life and death. I look back and see that those things weren't big deals. I look at now and know that my big deals will one day be little ones. That's life.
I also recognize I'm alright. Things get shaken up, and you sometimes revisit a little bit of something left behind, but as long as you don't stay there... you're fine.
We're all human.
We all hurt.
We all bleed red.
And guess what? None of us are perfect. We have demons. We have pasts.
I think my big fear is when life comes, will we push those we love away?
I know I won't. I might see the motions, but I'll pull at the end of the day. I never want to be pushed away like this, especially when I recognize the process.
I'm sure some of you expected me to tell you what everything is like, and maybe I will at some point, but that isn't today.
It's just hard. You're a rat. You sit in rooms full of adults with forms of PhD's trying to figure you out like a puzzle. You're no longer the person but a number. It gets dark. You decide what you show, though. You decide when you want it to be over.
I will say this, medication is a chemical fix, but the overall fix lies within yourself.
People become accustomed to the pattern of being in the funk. They temporarily rise to only give in at the first sign of trouble. You learn to get stronger. You learn that this is something only you can do for yourself. It's crazy, but you get through it.
You just sit there and remember death is not the answer. A permanent fix to a temporary problem is not the solution.
When you try to kill yourself, you regret it. You regret it when you feel the air being sucked out of your lungs. It all looks like fire and your mind jumps from memory to memory. You want to stop and then it's all dark.
Every hole you fall into during the process makes you stronger. Every outlet you lose reminds you that it's okay, because you have yourself. You are your worst enemy and greatest ally.
I can keep going, but I just want to say that I get you. There's plenty of people that get you. Everything will be better. You'll get through it however big the load, and you'll feel human, too.
You won't be in this fog forever.
Anyways, if you haven't heard it yet, I love you. One day you'll love yourself, too. It's okay that you are how you are as a result of what you've been through, but it won't be forever. You are good. YOU ARE GOOD.
Xx
I guess it all tied in recently, you see. I found a recording that wasn't meant for my ears. I found it beautiful, but it came from a time I didn't know. It came from a darkness I didn't see. At the moment I was too interested in the content to really understand or see it.
It wasn't until I stood at a gas station pumping gas that I seemed to connect the dots.
My problems aren't the demons I've drowned. They're the demons I've embraced that can no longer control me. I'm better for overcoming it all, and they help me understand others who suffer under their claws. The thing to understand is that I am not damaged goods, and you aren't either. We've lived in a way that adventures don't measure up to. We've evolved in a way that a pile of years still can't compare. It's an ongoing journey, and that is what keeps you sympathetic.THAT was the click. There are things that are sacred to me. There are things that got me through a lot which would never touch my fingertips again, no less be shared. Then who am I to forget that? Who am I to deny someone else that safety?
No one.
I'm no one to do that. That's where my guilt kicks in. I didn't understand. I know words weren't spoken in that moment about the importance of it, but I want to believe I knew better. I guess I do blame myself for it and not the other party. That's the truth, because I should have known better.
I'm an open book to an extent. I'm not an open book in the scribbles of melodies or in the walls of a recording studio, though. Music has always been that safety blanket, and it helped me get out of a dark hole. There are parts of it that I've continuously revisited throughout my life in those dark times that I felt alone.
I haven't shared this with anyone, but I feel it's only fair to rip a piece of my flesh for what I've done.
Last summer I got really sick regarding my voice, and that had to be the hardest time. Not only was I going through the process of my grandpa dying, but I was losing my voice. I'm that person who refuses to go to doctors, by the way. I'll go if I'm forced to by my body, but I tend to just go through the motions.
This was different. I went to the doctor and nothing helped. Nothing... I remember looking at the city lights with Bryant and crying last December. That was it. I told him I couldn't sing. I didn't want to be part of the band, because the more I tried to sing the less I could talk. I'm terrified of coughs now. It feels like I have a fire in me. I can't hit those notes. I can't. I guess that's why I was taken aback by that recording. It took me back to the little light in a dark hole that I knew I won't get back. It's not defeating, but it's bittersweet.Bryant told me I'd be fine last year. He said I could still sing. We'd figure it out and reteach me if we needed to. I don't think anyone understood, though, and I didn't try to explain. Sure, I could learn a different way, but no one understood it literally hurt. It hurt to talk. It hurt to breathe. The less I sang, the better it felt.
It felt like trickery. I was being told I couldn't do the one thing that had always brought me comfort.
The one thing that felt like that life vest was being ripped off my body.
Dramatic. I know.
I think I accepted it, too quickly, even if it felt like my voice was being stolen.
It didn't feel like giving up, either. It was a hobby, I loved it, but it held too much baggage. I wanted a fresh start. I still found my voice in lyrics. I guess I'm just talking about it now, though.
I had told Bryant it stayed between us. He wouldn't tell Ty or Andy. He wouldn't tell Jessica or anyone. Anyone.
Besides, we were all slowly going our own ways.
So back to this turbulent post.
I also recognize I'm alright. Things get shaken up, and you sometimes revisit a little bit of something left behind, but as long as you don't stay there... you're fine.
We're all human.
We all hurt.
We all bleed red.
And guess what? None of us are perfect. We have demons. We have pasts.
I think my big fear is when life comes, will we push those we love away?
I know I won't. I might see the motions, but I'll pull at the end of the day. I never want to be pushed away like this, especially when I recognize the process.
I'm sure some of you expected me to tell you what everything is like, and maybe I will at some point, but that isn't today.
It's just hard. You're a rat. You sit in rooms full of adults with forms of PhD's trying to figure you out like a puzzle. You're no longer the person but a number. It gets dark. You decide what you show, though. You decide when you want it to be over.
I will say this, medication is a chemical fix, but the overall fix lies within yourself.
People become accustomed to the pattern of being in the funk. They temporarily rise to only give in at the first sign of trouble. You learn to get stronger. You learn that this is something only you can do for yourself. It's crazy, but you get through it.
You just sit there and remember death is not the answer. A permanent fix to a temporary problem is not the solution.
Every hole you fall into during the process makes you stronger. Every outlet you lose reminds you that it's okay, because you have yourself. You are your worst enemy and greatest ally.
I can keep going, but I just want to say that I get you. There's plenty of people that get you. Everything will be better. You'll get through it however big the load, and you'll feel human, too.
You won't be in this fog forever.
Anyways, if you haven't heard it yet, I love you. One day you'll love yourself, too. It's okay that you are how you are as a result of what you've been through, but it won't be forever. You are good. YOU ARE GOOD.
Xx
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