Today is April fool’s day, but you won’t be finding a prank or gag from me on here.
It’s not because I have no sense of humor, or don’t enjoy messing with people every once in a while, but because the topics discussed on this blog are so personal and crucial to so many people’s beings. There’s a lot of people out there who feel mental illness is still treated like a joke, when it is the farthest thing from. I know I’ve felt this way. And I know a lot of other people still do.
The room is vacant of motion.
Time stands still. My mouth dries as the breath creeps in, stinging my lungs held so tightly by Asthma. The white walls reflect my mind. The empty spaces reflect the loss. Lost, maybe.
I could be.
I can remember you. I can remember the conversation. I remember the way your eyes locked with mine as I tried to count how many seconds I had been staring. The way the words flowed off your lips effortlessly; a stream of thought and consciousness in search of another’s ears. Looking for anyone to listen. Looking for anyone to care. All I can hear is my breathing. All I can feel is my shaking.
Anxiety has been on hold ever since she called.
And it’s getting hard to ignore her.
Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com
Identify me
Attempt to find me
In a sea of sunken dreams
I stay afloat
But only barely on thin arms
I’m a mirror by myself
Reflecting everybody else
But never what I thought or felt
It’s not my time.
It’s the silence that depresses me
And I welcome it subconsciously
I don’t mind.
Even the blind see
Who they want to be
Not contingent on the stares
They are so blissfully unaware
Of what they are
Everyones gaze it petrifies
Because of what it signifies
I feel I’ve lost more of myself
Than I can find
It’s the silence that depresses me
And I welcome it subconsciously
I don’t mind.
And I confront what I repress in me
And I smile at it thankfully
It reminds me of whats real
Reminds me I can feel
And it hurts to know
This is who I am
I’m a mirror myself
Reflecting everybody else
Who am I to deny
my place in their right
I’ll just keep the silence for myself
–
This is a song from my last band that fell apart way to soon. Hear the song here.
Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com
Darkness. All I could see was darkness.
I can remember sitting on my bed staring at the ceiling as the sensation of the sheets below me slowly began to fade away. There was light in the far corner that illuminated some shallow alleyway of my life. But as for the rest, darkness. My eyes were hollowed out. Any liquid that would mix into tears had accumulated and gone back behind my eyelids, drowning my thoughts in a salty mix. Each hand lay still beside my body, barely moving with the still breaths that came with the rise and fall of my chest.
My body shook as if it were cold, but no goosebumps could be found on my bare skin. A galaxy had collapsed within itself just below my chest cavity. A black hole resided inside of me. Sucking the life from every extremity. My fingers and toes went numb. And I was soon flooded with apathy. A wave crashed over me and I had no strength to fight.
I drowned.
Quietly.
Quietly and all alone.
And somewhere in that corner, illuminated by light. I screamed.
But the waves drowned out my voice. Defeated, beat down, and tired.
No one heard me.
So I watched my demons swing and dance before my eyes.
Waiting for the curtains to fall so I could drift asleep.
Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com
The doors closed as I fell in.
I stood backwards;
With the future behind me,
And the past staring straight at my face
Like mirrors reflecting mirrors in a run down elevator
In the old motel just outside of town.
I was trapped.
In a cycle of endless space
Where time had frozen
And my body lay cold
Forever expanding.
Forever retracting.
I reached for my own hand
expecting warmth
I reached for anyone
But only found myself.
That’s when the power went out.
And I couldn’t see my reflection through the mirror clearly.
The elevator couldn’t descend any lower.
I broke the mirrors.
I faced forward.
I pulled open the doors
And I climbed out.
With the past behind me,
and the future staring straight at my face.
The doors closed as I pressed forward.
And now I won’t look back.
A few weeks ago I posted an article entitled “Coping” that detailed my own personal experience with mental illness and depression and received a lot of good feedback from it. Not only did people seem to understand what my depression was more, but people who also fought began to come forward and share with me their own stories. It affirmed my idea that these things need to be heard, and have gone ahead to decide to start a series of posts under the name “Coping”. In this series that’ll be published every few weeks, guest writers will share their struggles, coping mechanisms, their lowest point and more, allowing us into the eyes of those with mental illness. Reminding people who fight that they’re never alone, and those who don’t fight with a better understanding than they might of had before.
So here’s the first guest post from my great friend Haley, enjoy.
There is no cure for depression. It will always be a part of who you are. But it’s how you accept its presence that determines the impact it has on your life.
It took me an extremely long time to accept my depression. As I was growing up, I was always the happy member of the family. I provided the laughs and made sure everybody was always having a good time. As I grew older, members of my family were gradually diagnosed with depression until I was the only one without this disease. And what did that mean to me? I was the only one that could always provide joy. I didn’t know what depression was: I took on the burden of making sure my sister and parents were in good spirits because I thought that they were unable to obtain it on their own. When I reached the point where I was unable to do this, I felt like a failure. I had let my family down.
The more you know about this world
the angrier you’ll become.
So don’t believe the words
but stay true to what’s at heart.
Don’t confuse fate with reason,
Don’t let anything destroy our hope.
–
The clouds we walk are ever-changing
until we find how simple it is.
–
This was the ending part of a song entitled “Dear Hope, Never Let Us Part” that this blog is based off of. Feel free to read the full lyrics and hear the song here.
Help. For a lot of people this is something easy to say. If you’re struggling with something you should ask for assistance. Most people don’t mind an honest ask for help when you’re having trouble with something. But when it comes to mental illness this is one of the hardest words to say. It’s often the last thing that is said. Help from others becomes the last resort.
But why?
For me personally, asking for help was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Was it pride?
My ego?
Fear of judgment?
Losing friends?
Being rejected?
Honestly, it was a little of all those things. Many people don’t want to admit they need help, I can attest to that. I’d much rather try and figure something out myself than have a crutch or someone else holding my hand along the way. But there comes a point when even you can’t help yourself in your life. Eventually you start drowning too fast and can’t tread the water anymore. So when the water started filling into my lungs, did I ask for help then?
No.
Because that’s when all the other fears from asking for help came in.
I often overhear people saying “I was so depressed yesterday after watching that movie” or “my insomnia is so bad I’ve been up until midnight the last three nights”.
I started thinking about this after reading a blog post earlier today. Go check it out, it’s an awesome blog.
Depression is not a short term sadness after viewing something sad. That is just being sad. Everyone gets sad every once in a while. Sadness is something in everyone. Depression, however, is something that lasts a long time, an ongoing fight that is often daily.
Medicine
I was sick.
It beat me down.
I was conscious that it wasn’t the right decision. I’m convinced I knew that all along. I was so desperate to feel better that I took the medicine as often as I could. It made me happy. I was doing better. I was distracted from myself.
I was doing better.
That medicine is what kept me going. It hid the scars that I had buried under my skin that had recently grown so close to the surface. They were so close that you could feel the outline with the slightest touch…and how badly I wanted that touch to be easier for you. But while you were helping me I slowly began to break again. And I abused you.
The dosage was never consistent. Over and under-indulging nearly drove me insane. I can remember sitting alone wanting to take more, but I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find you. You had enough. You cried. You left. You were my crutch and I abused you until you snapped.
I thought I was happy.
I thought I was better.
But people are not medicine.
And you were not prescribed to me.
I thought I was happy.
I thought I was better.
But I am sick.
And I beat you down.
PF
Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email wemustbebroken@gmail.com
Dear Hope 