I am fascinated by memories. As something with complex PTSD, I have intrusive memories. Snippets of a time past that force themselves into my present, pushing me back into the past.
It sounds so simple. Call someone when the darkness creeps in, but it isn’t simple. My poem, “Who, indeed?” is about the difficulty of calling someone. Who can help me when the onslaught of darkness brings me to my knees?
I wrote “Overtaken” to describe what succumbing to a depressive valley feels like. I have always found the written word, especially poetry, much safer than speaking. Writing provides me the space to process my world.
I express what happens in my world through my writing. This poem about intrusive memories is one of the ways I can share what happens to me.
Depression is different for each person. For scientists to study and treat depression, first, it must be defined. What exactly is depression?
Medication provides a way to calm the storm so that you can batten down the hatches. I know this, yet here I am, outside during a storm trying to keep all my shit from flying away.
This is a poem I wrote that I didn’t set out to write. I realized in a lot of survivors creative outlets (poems, writings, visual arts) darkness always represents depression. There is a reason for that.
Finding some alone time during the holidays can be challenging. I have found a few stealthy self-care tactics that have worked for me when I need a few moments to breathe.
There comes a moment when truthfulness is the key to whatever is next. My truth is at my very core; I am depressed with a hefty side dose of anxiety. But that is me all of the time.
Tis the season to be…depressed and anxious? Wait, that is not how any of those songs go. But it happens and is happening this year too. The depression spirals out of control and into the darkness I go.