Archive for the ‘depression’ Category


Perception is something I have thought about a lot for the past few years. The act of perceiving… how two people can view the exact same situation in complete and totally original ways. How one sibling remembers a particular incident in childhood and the other sibling can see it as completely different.

I have often wondered what makes us see things the way we do. Is it personality and past experience? Is it chemical makeup in our brain? Is one person seeing trauma and the other person blocking it out?  How about how one views sins? Do we justify it in our brains? Or do we really not see them the same as other people?

I’ve had to weigh these questions in different times of my life, jobs, school, friends, home.  Critical thinking has never been a strong suit of mine, maybe because of the past child abuse I endured, Maybe because I really am not that smart but am very sensitive.

How about how one views something terrible?  How can I perceive it as terrible, scary, disgusting or offensive…. but yet someone I love very much can see it as sexy, erotic or even beautiful?

what about empathy? Where does that come into play? Do I have too much empathy and this other person have too little?

I recently saw something that has shaken me to the core of my being. But in trying to cope I have had to stretch beyond my comfort level of perception.  Is what I saw.. is it worth ruining the life of someone I love dearly? Do I allow this to ruin my life when I am simply an unwitting witness? Do I lock this information away because I am helpless or did I perceive it totally wrong?

I recently read an article where a daughter and to go over these same questions. The thing is, she was kept safe from the actual reality of the situation. She did not discover this crime or have to hide it away from everyone else. She was so much better off, and I wish, OH how I wish I could be her… but then again, I am also the perfect person for this discovery, I will protect the other person fiercely… but still have my own best interest at heart, and then, when the time has come… then I can move forward.

I have to compartmentalize.

I have to work through this thought pattern and make it go into perfect little cubicles ranging in order from least scary and traumatic to most awful lurking somewhere way back in the back darkest corner, not to be seen again until much, much later.

And, for now, that is how I will have to perceive this thing, in order to keep going.







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“It started out just like any other day When my world crashed down and I was left without a word to say It started out like a fever in the night

Without warning now I’ve got no chance if I don’t stand to fight I’ve got no choice I promise to survive I’ve got nothing left to lose tonight” ~Blackgummy

Two weeks ago I made a crushing discovery. One so awful that I am unable to discuss it with anyone.  I am angry, confused, hurt, disgusted…. and it has set my mental health back to point zero.

I don’t know how to contain the information I now know…

On one hand, I am able to compartmentalize and keep it in a closet.

But in a way, I feel the more I keep silent the more damage I will feel inside over time.

It’s eating me up like cancer, crawling under my skin and looking for a fight.

I love the person that this involves. But I will never see this person in the same way. In a way, my life long hero has fallen off that pedestal they were on for 40+ years… and is now broken into a thousand pieces and I care NOTHING about helping them clean this mess up.

I feel like a victim. I feel soft and mushy inside, my nerves are shot and my hand trembles constantly.  But on the outside I am in control, I am undisturbed, my mask is firmly in place.

But the pain… Oh, the pain 😦

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I am sick.  I have been sick off and on for a very long time. Not really the kind of sick that you can definitively define with a diagnosis and move on… but with the kind of unusual achiness and the uncomfortable pain and swelling and feeling like a very old woman kind of sick.

Upon facing my mortality recently… I started thinking of my story.  My life. The things that have happened to me and the things I have overcome.

I wonder how much of these stories I should write down, and how many of these stories I should take to the grave locked securely in my old woman heart, for nobody else to ever know.

I wonder if in the telling of these stories to the only people that would care to know or read them, my children, if in reading these things they would change their opinion of me?

I was not a good person for many of my young adult years. I now know it was a response and a coping in part to my past child abuse, but it still doesn’t make it any easier to see written out the brutal and ugly things I did.

I was not a very nice girl.

Mainly I wonder how much of this tell-all would really matter to my children? Do they really need to know about all the men I slept with? Or all the drinking and stealing I did to escape the pain?

Do they even need to hear about my past? Do they need to know the terrible things my mom did to me? My mom, their grandmother, that they loved very much and can’t remember ever seeing this behavior. Do I really need to change their opinion on one of the best grandmothers ever?

There was a quote in the movie Titanic, something about a woman’s heart being a garden of secrets… my heart is a parched land filled with rocks and cacti, do they really need to see this ugliness that I have kept hidden from them so very very well for so very very long?

I think its best to use this history as a plot for a book, or for blog posts that will go unseen by 99% of the world… I think my children should remain protected from who I really have been, from who I really am at times. I don’t want them to see me as anything but a good, kind, loving mom. Because that is who I am now… and that’s all that matters.

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I’m feeling some better these days.

More numb than anything.

I like the numbness… in a way, but then again I really haven’t felt like thinking…

or creating…

or being touched..

or feeling… anything for that matter.

So yes, I am just…Blase’

Will I come up out of this fog with a roaring that can’t be controlled.. suddenly?

Lordy I hope not…

But for now…

I’m blase… or indifferent, unconcerned, uncaring, casual, nonchalant, offhand, uninterested, apathetic, unimpressed, unmoved, surfeited, unresponsive, phlegmatic… you get it… I’m sure.


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How do I blame you

For something you will never understand?

Accusations slip cautiously from my lips

only to land on misunderstanding ears.

Thoughts tumble thick and messy like birds battering inside my head

while your scant words lie stagnate and solitary in yours.

The words of love and affection which I hunger to hear

are stopped by the fortress walls built around your unyielding heart.

I silently scream for your attention, waving and imploring… making a disastrous scene

as you turn away your cotton filled ears and dive into your ocean of ambiguous retorts.





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The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd – The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.

— Fernando Pessoa

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Love is not something that always stays, no matter how hard you try to tether it, hold on to it, keep it safe, It can still slip through your fingers like sand.  Slipping slowly through these fractures of time and distance. The more you try to keep it from tumbling away… the faster it seems to flee, catching in the breeze, and disappearing into places unreachable.

This love that is leaving, is not the love that He has for me, it is, in fact  the love I have and feel for him that is slipping so surely and steadily away.

The longer he continues to place these restrictions on my heart, on my words, on me as a person, the more surly my love will slip away.  He does not mean to hurt me, he is never vicious in his dismissal. Ignorance and selfishness are his only true crimes.  His way of loving simply differs from mine. My words reach his ears in a foreign tongue that, no matter how hard he tries, he will never… quite… get.

Cracks and gaps are created by words he has said in thoughtless moments of haste.  Gorges of dark pain carve their way through my heart with every uncaring word.  Dry craters form with every dismissal, every change of subject, every day I spend in forced silence.

Pain should never be dismissed, no matter how trivial it may seem. The person that is in pain is trusting you enough to bear their secret, admit their weakness, voice their pain.  Once that admittance is out there it is the receiver’s responsibility to tenderly acknowledge that pain.

If the pain is not acknowledged, if that pain is mocked, dismissed, ignored or silenced… then the receiver has broken that sacred trust. Any further thoughts one might have in trusting this person, after this invalidation occurs, will simply be met with a resounding “BANG” in their head.  Doors are shut, mouth is sewn closed, and heart cracks become just a little more prominent.

Can these cracks be mended? I am sure they could, with the right apology, a certain amount of caring and, of course, no further damaging actions.  Is he willing to rectify these cracks? Is he willing to build up my trust in him? I don’t really see this as something he has even entertained, as of yet.  He has apologized.  He even felt bad for almost 20 minutes.  What more do I need?

It’s one thing to be dismissed by a friend, or a family member that keeps a distance. It is a whole other level of pain when that dismissal comes from the one person that supposedly knows you better than any other person on the earth.

When they do betray your heart, ignore your pain.. it is just as lethal as any poison.  Festering and killing you slowly from the inside out. Sure, you can build up a tolerance over time, but, who wants to build up a tolerance to something like that?

So, does this damaged heart start the daunting task of finding a whole new person, a person that may better understand them? I can’t do that, fear is a whole other problem in itself!

Maybe I can learn to repeatedly overlook this flaw of his. Simply, try to love my offender regardless, seeing as I have already invested so much time and know I love him. I will work diligently to not show this tender heart of mine. The heart that’s always silently cracking, beating irregular, pained, beats over and over and over again.

Can I stop owning up to the pain of this secret, inner struggle? Could I really stop giving a voice to my turmoil and eventually learn to keep mute at these times?
Could I really mirror his actions and simply learn to dismiss my pain, keep my words trite, and just live out my remaining years, comfortable and safe and in a veritable Love Coma, repeating to him… to myself… reiteratively with every beat of my aching heart, “I’m fine” “I’m fine”, “I’m fine.”



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