Here’s Looking at You, Hope

Here’s to crying yourself to sleep with the Finding Nemo theme playing, grounding you in unreachable hope.

Here’s to sleeping in out of fear of depression, only to realize that the day is bright and full of hope, and you feel better.

Dear readers, don’t you ever give up. Life seems like too great a burden to bear some days, even for me. But it is always worth those sunrises when you feel okay.

Hold on.

Poetry Friday: Doubt

I recently found this post in my old drafts. I don’t remember why I wrote it, but I like it.

Doubt

It depends on the day how I feel about us; about you. There are so many secret complications, internal struggles, that it’s enough to make it all not worth it.

Can I trust you? Can you trust me?

Can I trust that the future will be better than today?

If I need to vent or cry or worry, will my words reach your heart? I have darkness inside me, you know, black and heaving and hungry and cold. Maybe I will never lose it.

Can you love the darkness in me? Can you love my sadness and my pain? Can you accept the ugliness, or when I feel ugly? Can you accept my beauty, even when I see it clearer than you?

My mind is a mess of mistrust. I know what you want me to feel but you have to understand, lots of times I can’t or won’t. This is reality. This is me right now. I can see so much of myself that you will never understand or appreciate, not the way things are right now.

I bottle my emotions. I splatter my emotions across the pavement, bright and wide and red enough for helicopters to see.

I am tame, quiet, so soft and meek. I am wild, annoying, prickly and harsh.

I doubt you can handle me.

I don’t know if I will keep you.

Lesson Learned

I never feel quite as alive as when I’m being rebuked for something.

It’s like all of my blood freezes in place; my breathing shallow; my eyes wide and nearly watering.

(It’s awful.)

Truly, every other moment in life is blissful dreams compared to how a perfectionist feels when being asked to improve.

The problem this time is that I have no filter.

I don’t know when to stop.

And I sometimes even take a kind of sick pleasure from seeing people squirm when I break conversational norms.

I’ve been told many times by loving friends and family (and my therapist) that there is a place and a time to share my story; a right and a wrong way to convey information. I am quite accustomed to the solemn head shake that means: “Have you no shame?”

My parents, siblings, and husband have taken to ignoring my crass and provocative commentary, noting wisely that usually I just want a reaction from them. It certainly takes the fun out of being blunt, but it hasn’t stopped me yet.

What isn’t fun is when I take my genuine, teasing, curious personality into situations that I perceive as safe and welcoming, when in fact I should have checked “Miss Blunt” at the door. My reasoning? “Miss Blunt” is fun, but she can lead to a rebuke.

As I’ve been thawing out my frozen blood all day with hot tears, blankets, and cocoa, I’ve officially learned that there is a time to be genuine Maney, and there is a time to be someone else. It’s a skill I needed to learn, and painful though it has been (and will be), rest assured that I will try to remain vulnerable, sincere, and genuine as I write to you, dear readers.

Keep being brave as much as you can. I still have anxiety and depression on the daily, but I’m still going and I hope you are too.