From where enters your strength, your will to live? It reminded of how battered and bruised I have been. A memory of black clouds coming down onto me haunts my head and I had hoped that I had healed that trauma, but they asked me: where does that strength come from? There were no good answers to that question. Perhaps it was this ancestral DNA or my mother’s mitochondrial DNA that let me live though the struggle. How ungrateful I must seem, to have that survivor’s will and to hate the act of having to survive. She must look at me with disdain or maybe with pity at knowing that her scars are inscribed into my genetic makeup too.
Why have you stayed? I am asked this question, not in so many words. Sadly, no responses escape because I hold the gates tightly shut for fear of being seen as the fool. Who could have thought that this would be the woman striving to bear the fruits of my labor—so hindered by a simple soul?
Limits superimposed like the eerie look of clock hands one below the other. Each heavy breath taken is a large wave pushing you under and weren’t breaths supposed to mean that you were living? You know that feeling you get when you’re in a meadow, but can’t remember the way you came in and now you fear trying to exit because you ran out of food and water and you’re also injured. It feels like I’m fanning myself with a broken fan on a hot day, its accordion-like paper frayed.
Sometimes you feel trapped and telling others doesn’t do much for you because they are also trapped in their own glass jars like spoiling jam left on an abandoned counter in an abandoned house. Perhaps in order to rise you need to burn down your home so you are left with no choice, no comfort, only the will to survive. Do you understand self-destruction now?
Take a deep breath and lay your head on the pillow. You’re tired from migraines and stressful conversation, yet you’re still hard on yourself. Perhaps you didn’t do enough, perhaps you just could never be enough.
Maybe there is something in this world that is screaming at you about your lack of worth. It’s not appeasing your pain and now you want to crawl under your sheets. Sleep the day away to keep this depression in your separate existence. The one you choose as real is the dream portion of your nightmare until the nightmare thrashes you awake.
How do you juggle these two worlds–Anxiety and Depression? Where are it’s lifelines rooted in?
One is a tiny, yet deep pond of movement and the other is a shallow ocean of quicksand. Somehow you’re still afloat, but you’re tiring fast. These realities of yours are being created by those that tell you that you need to hide in your parallel existences. They actually fear your brilliance and potential. They’re sending out the K-9s so that you stay in one place, either in Anxiety or in Depression and under your covers all the while. Don’t move or they’ll rip your heart out.