I like to listen to sad songs

They remind me of where I’ve been

And where I’ll probably go again

But just as the song always ends

So will the despondence

You

Are a walking

breathing

loving

thinking

nurturing

worrying

sleeping

dreaming

crying

creating

falling

standing

reaching

smiling

working

living form of art.

And don’t you ever forget it.

colors

I long to paint the sky. For colors to blend and bleed and slip around the sunset. To wash over the warmth of the wind as it weaves in waves of wonder. For what is the color of beauty? What hues do you see when it’s brushed across the horizon? Which tones are muted and hints are highlighted? To each their own beauty.

My Year With Prozac

My Year with Prozac:

(This is kind of a big deal for me to share but stepping out of my comfort zone has been the theme lately)

Around this time last year, I was really having a rough go of it. I’ll spare you specifics but I wasn’t the belle of the ball. It wasn’t the first time but it was the first time I decided I had had enough of drowning within myself.

So I asked for help.

And in seeking that help it was discovered that in my brain, coursing around my body, I had too much of one thing and not enough of another.

So on this day exactly one year ago, I held a little pill, half blue and half white.

I stood there, half with fear and half with hope.

And I took it that day. And the next. And at first, it robbed me of my energy and appetite. My focus and passions. It seemingly made me a little worse for a little while.

But out of moves, I took it. Day after day.

Until one day, I touched the surface of the water. I got stronger.

My fingertips brushed the air for the first time in a long time.

Pretty soon, my head was above the waves. They were rocky but I could breathe. And slowly I began to tread water.

I steadily became strong enough to deal with the “too much” while I got help with the “not enough.”

I became more balanced.

Am I balanced every single day? No.

Do I still have my down days? Anxious thoughts that can wreak havoc?

Yes. I probably always will. Sometimes the waves are choppy. And that’s okay.

It’s all part of growing. To keep going. Saying “and.” This year has taught me so much. This life is worth every breath we take.

Here’s to a year of change.

#endthestigma #mentalhealth #anxiety #depression #prozac #serotonin #tattoo

Tectonic Place

Every man is an island.

Sun rays dance on the sands of silence

The glowing grace of the artful absence

of other souls and senseless madness

Until the light begins to fade

Broken bits that once fit all drift away

The illusion of peace at once decays

giving way to an untethered terrain

Inner

Inner

Maybe I like being haunted sometimes

Peace isn’t always the most capturing story to tell

There’s something about spilling your demons

Pouring them on paper, further away from you

Where they can’t touch you

Sharing them with others

Thinking they might play well together

Fog

I feel it creeping up, staring at me out of the corner of my eye

I smile but feel the weight of the muscles I pull on in an attempt to push the mist away

It remains

Just yesterday a friend said I was glowing and I wonder: will I still glow in the dark?

Prompt: Laughter

You laughed the stars
Into the sky
How lucky am I
To witness the constellation before me
Your eyes as the sea
The sun like your skin
And even warmer within
Heart of gold, nothing cold
Save the absence of you
A world in which that would not do

Weightless

Time is a continuum

But death stops it in its tracks

If just for a moment

The continents still

Traffic quiets, rivers halt

If just for a moment

Words are silenced

Breaths are bleak

If just for a moment

As if a cardiac hiccup attempts

To keep us close to our loved one

If just for one last moment

Part 1: A Pounding Heart

Woke me up with a start

Fifteen after six on a Sunday

On an early morning in May

My breath matched the beat

I lied flat on my sheets

Just breathed. Wait. You’re okay.

The intake of air calmly slowed

My lungs and my mind

Attempted to calm the racing rate

But to no avail; I rose up

Twenty-seventh year of life

Unsteadiness began to run rife