They Say To Check On Your Strong Friends...

 And right now, I am worried that I may be the strong friend that needs to be checked on...

Aside from being a poet and "sharing" my life that way, I am not exactly one to post publicly about what is going on privately. No matter how much I want to. I may touch on it vaguely with a blog post here and there, but to completely come out and say something, that, I will not do. However, it is because of recent private events that I am even writing this post today.

I am not certain, but I want to believe that I have touched on my battle with the depression in the past. If I have not done so, I will briefly do so right now. 

In 2015, my doctor diagnosed me with depression. For a few years, I was on an antidepressant until I started having strange side effects. After getting off of the medication, I learned to manage my depression and I have been doing fairly well in the 10 years since my diagnosis. It also helps that I have a solid support system and that, when I feel that I need to, I see a therapist. Now, here is the thing... It takes a hell of a lot for me to reach out. To anyone. Ever. I have a tendency to bottle everything up inside because I do not like to seem "weak". Even though I cry for everything, from movies to songs to seeing a newborn baby, it is absolutely taboo to me, for me, to cry when something hurts. 

"To feel is to fail" is something that I began telling myself some years back.

Even though society has conditioned a lot of us to believe that to cry is to show weakness, growing up, it wasn't exactly taught that I had to be strong; I simply observed my mother never really breaking down. Like, it is almost a rare occurrence to see her cry; one that causes me to go into full on panic mode when I see it happening. She carried the weight of her pains on her shoulders while being the best parent that she could be. Soon shouldering the responsibility of raising three children on her own, I suppose she believed that she did not have time to cry when there were tears of her children that she had to wipe up. Crazy how history repeats itself because I understand that "struggle" more than I probably should...

Anyway...

Multiple times, in the last year, I found myself on the precipice of darkness. Not because of the sadness of the situations, but because I refused to allow myself the grace to embrace the emotions that came with each of them to where the weight of the sadness began to pull me down. Did that make any sense at all? I have wanted to cry, even started to cry a couple of times, but then, I feel guilty for doing so. In the middle of a "breakdown" (as I have started to call them), I swallow back whatever cries I have left, wipe away my tears, put on a brave face, and go about the rest of my day because "I do not have time for that shit."

That is what I used to be able to do anyway...

The recent passing of the family pet seems to be the straw that is breaking the camel's back because my brave face is crooked and those around me are starting to take notice. I do not like that. At all. I am okay, though. At least that is what I keep telling them...

The darkness is coming again; I can feel it...

One misplaced brick is going to cause the whole building to collapse and when that happens, how much of me will be able to rise out of the rubble..?

(**Please note, that I am NOT suicidal and this is NOT a cry for help.**) 

There Is Just Something About Grief...

That I simply cannot grasp...

Grief is fickle sort of emotion; one minute, everything is okay and the next, it is not. 

Earlier this year, two relatives of mine passed away within four weeks of one another; my aunt on my father's side and my grandfather (their father). I had not spoken to my aunt since possibly my early twenties, but I was rather close to my grandfather. Her death, although unfortunate, did not hit me the way that my grandfather's death it me; it crashed into me like that of a freight train whose brakes no longer functioned properly and left me reeling. 

We did not talk as often in the last few years of his life because his memory was pretty much gone, but the last conversation we did have was one that I will remember always. I should have known then that death was inevitable; it generally is when your loved one loses their memory like that, coupled with all of the other side effects that comes with it. Yet, who is truly ready to accept that the end is near for someone that they hold dearly in their heart?

Forgive me; it seems like I am taking the scenic route to what it is that I am trying to say...

The other day, I was listening to a book and in the book, one of the main characters lost his grandmother. As the narrator was describing the young man's loss, I flashed to the day of my grandfather's service and the moment when his face came upon the screen with the words "In Loving Memory" underneath him. Tears instantly crept down my face and I did everything in my power to hide them from my coworkers. Of all the times of the day, it had to be while I was at work. Again...

That was how it was in those first couple of weeks when he passed. All the crying. All the sadness. All the memories playing on an endless loop in my mind. A place that I could not get out of even if I tried. You cannot escape what is inside of your mind, you know? I think that is why many people go crazy...

The grief hits me at random. It always does. Same goes for an aunt that passed in 2021 or an uncle in 1994. It seems as though no amount of time passing changes the sadness that comes with missing someone that is no longer on this side of the ground and that is what bothers me the most. Like, why does it still hurt? Why won't the pain go away? Hell, will it ever go away?

One would think that because death is as sure as the sun setting and the moon rising, we would be used to it by now. Fully accept it by now; however, that is not the case, nor will it ever be. At least not for me, and that is the part that seems to boggle me the most...

The Way Butterflies Flit In The Summer...

Is the same way they are flitting throughout my chest...

There is something to be said about a person that can make you feel like a kid again. Something about the way they take you back to the days of youth when school yard crushes were practically normal. You almost find yourself rather, like, giddy simply at the sight of them. All of your teeth are on display and your voice even changes an octave. You suddenly find yourself feeling shy and your face feels forever flush. 

I have not felt this way in quite some time, but I am feeling like this rather often as of late. 

I find it extremely fascinating because I did not think that I would feel that way about anyone again. Or maybe, just maybe, I had convinced myself not to feel that way about anyone. I purposely chose individuals that did not cause me to feel butterflies because to feel the butterflies would mean that I would have feelings for the individual; and quite frankly, I was not ready to have feelings for anyone. However, when the right individual comes into your life, you find that you are not be able to control any of your feelings; especially the butterflies.

Right now, I like someone. Like, really like them and I have for quite awhile. Actually, they have become my muse and the reason I have written so many poems in such a short amount of time. It is the fact that they genuinely like me back and the way that they like me back that makes the butterflies' wings beat harder in my chest. That makes me want to write about them because my adoration for them is so overwhelming. 

Understand, it had been ages since my creativity flowed so abundantly.

I kept telling myself that I needed something to truly make me want to write again, I just never imagined it would be because of him...