Be a Mess, but Always Clean Up

I gave myself permission to be depressed.
I wanted my body to cry, oversleep, lay around in bed, eat unstructured meals, be isolated--all in hopes that my body would purge the toxicity and in turn, I could continue on my positive path.

That day, going home from work, I thought of terrible things.
I wished that I was ill enough to be excused from the turbulent and the tumultuous nature of daily life. I wondered if it would make a difference if I hurt myself this time.

I was late for work the next day. The feeling of shame today was so consuming I wanted to cry so hard, let them see why I've slipped up on my duties. But...I know how this works. I can't bring my personal struggles to work because it'll only make it that much worse; questions of whether I can be trusted, whether I'm healthy or tough enough to do this job. I have allowed this disorder to cast a shadow on enough opportunities in my life, I will not let it consume this one.

I will do my very best at my job today.
I will hold it together and when I get home, I will still hold it together but I will clean.
It's what I do--I clean when I feel ashamed of myself or when I know I've disappointed someone because I used to do that when my mom was angry with me for not doing something I was told to do.
It works and it's a healthy way of coping with the feelings because it's distracting and gratifying.

I felt the storm coming this time. It started with feeling more tired than usual, laziness, giving up on my routine, letting pessimism win, then showed its ugly face through errors in judgment at work. So here it is, it has arrived for a visit but I won't allow it to stay. Because what I've built for myself--within myself--is worth far more than to be given up on.

The War of My Life

This is the war of my life...
I can't do anything right. Why? Because I don't do it on time and I don't fulfill expectations. Every day carries with it the massive headache of self-loathing and anxiety.

I'm writing this here because I can't tell everyone.

I can tell some people, but not most.

I'm writing this, through blurry eyes and a runny nose, only here--not anywhere on the internet that would be noticed more because I know people don't like it. Only writing it here because I know it's ugly and there is a stigma against it still.

I've kept it too myself too long, festering in my body and mind, building up a pleasant facade when I should've been exposing it and welcoming help where it is offered. I had hoped I could sort it out on my own because I like being independent and I didn't want to face judgment. I don't even care about the judgment now because when I don't look at my unhealthiness as a massive vulnerability or disfunction but as a result of my big heart, artistic outlook, glowing soul, and emotionally intelligent mind. This is how I cope; knowing that I have these beautiful things about my personality and that despite the belief that illness makes one vulnerable, I am strong for continuing to exist and thrive.

I can't tell you why a 4 year-old girl felt the desire to rub and tear at her skin. I don't know why a physically healthy girl did not like to play competitive games at the age of ten. Why did she sit alone?
I don't know how it came about that she was anxious and depressed. Why did she pick at her skin despite the bleeding and scars? Why did she smile and bring joy to others but not seem confident? Why did she have suicidal thoughts? Why did she cry so often?

I know now that my disaster is the overwhelm of having so many mysteries, so many questions, that have not been asked and therefore not answered. I hoped my parents would answer them but the truth is they don't understand me enough to do so.

It feels like for most of my life I've been holding my breath and admitting my problems, facing them head on with help, would be the exhale I need.

One of the greatest exhales of my life was finding out that I'm not the only one who struggles with skin-picking. In 2013, I was studying psychology, an introductory course, and while discovering the symptoms of OCD and body dysmorphia I stumbled upon hair-pulling and skin-picking. I learned that the DSM-V had just published a term for skin-picking: dermatillomania. I was shocked, I broke out into tears as I searched through websites telling of "how to determine if you have dermatillomania" and "cognitive behavioural therapy to treat dermatillomania" as well as a novel about a woman's experiences with the illness. I felt so relieved and happy to know that I wasn't alone in this. I noticed that some people experienced it differently than I have and thought that maybe I didn't fall into the same category. I thought maybe because I didn't have as many scabs as they did that maybe I wouldn't seem like I needed help with it. I was also angry because I thought my doctor would have told me about this. I wanted to know, but I still have not officially been diagnosed.

I knew I had depression. I even told my mom that I know I still do but it only makes it worse in my household if I continue to discuss it. The conclusion was that I should speak to a professional. Then, I put off seeing a professional because I was feeling better. My happiness fluctuated and being in a long-term relationship and the issues that came with it definitely complicated my situation. I wanted to make myself better but didn't realize the importance of working through it with someone.

I want to go to school, I want to do well, I want to work hard to reach my goals. I want to succeed and feel fulfilled. But I can't. I stop myself because my head is running a thousand thoughts a minute. I want to do everything important, but I end up doing nothing important. I become paralyzed by disappointment in myself, in others, in life. I become paralyzed by all the emotions I'm feeling all at once and it makes no sense.

What it's like in my mind:
I should write that paper now, but I feel so tired and I'm not comfortable, rubs hand, picks at pimple, I should change into this, I hate my body, I think I need to eat, I should eat healthy, I don't, I want to sleep, picks at arm, I don't want to dream again though, pick my hand and scratch off scalp, time is going by too quickly, before sleep I need to watch something, yea, because otherwise we think about death, yes we should watch this because it will distract us, but I have to do schoolwork, but we have to rest, but we are having a hard time with how we feel, but we are bloated and fat and don't want to work out, we are having a hard time concentrating on reading because every word makes us think too much, we pick our hand, we think about writing a novel when we read about analysis of novels, we think about how our teacher will be disappointed and we get upset so we distract ourself again to keep our mind off the depression, we start to cry, we will clean our room now because that's a mess we can tackle, we are tired and we just thought about the ex-bf and how he made us feel awful, we remember that and debate texting him for 20 mins. we are paranoid that our parents will come in our room, we are paranoid that they know they know they know! we're afraid of yelling, that movement around this house is so loud and disturbing to me but I can't say anything because that would be strange. don't pay attention to the sound, pretend you're not annoyed, pretend you're someone else, okay now we are thinking about the guy before him that we loved and would like to talk to him. we are feeling upset about it all and need to distract us so we don't cry, we will watch one episode on netflix. We got enthralled in the theme of one episode so we say "just one more" but we are watching for four hours now and have not completed 3 assignments that are overdue, we're picking our hand and feet now and it hurts but we're in a trance and would like to continue. We thought about time and death again so we're watching something happier and checking Facebook, picks at hand, bad idea because I hate myself. turning off light trying to sleep, what about tomorrow? what if I screw up, I don't want to go in the classroom because I'm embarrassed. we are trying so hard not to think but everything is happening right now and we want to scream but its 4 am and we need to sleep.

It's not just me in my mind...I'm accompanied by anxiety.

Hurt and Losing my mind

It all seems to have healed until you're up at 2:30 in the morning. The hurt sets in again in that moment when you're caught alone, caught reflecting. I was thinking about going to the dentist, thinking about buying new jeans or writing a new song and then there you were...hurt. I panicked a bit as I felt the tears come through. I thought no, I'm not sad enough to cry but then I remembered it all. You're hurt because he won't let you be any other way, and you try to move on. You see other people, kiss other people, learn to play pool with another guy, spend Valentine's Day occupied with another guy but the hurt still seeps through ruining all the joy and relief. I felt relief not having you around to add more injury to the already gaping hole where love and care and trust used to live. I have trouble trusting men, and I had trouble trusting you. You stole from me--you blatantly asked for my full trust and I fell into you and you let me drop. I dropped so far from where I started. I should've just let you pass me by, should've told you to "shut up" when you first said you were falling in love with me so many years ago. My love gave you youth, another chance to rejuvenate--your love aged me, contorted what I believed love and respect to be and wore me down. What did you actually give?

How can I be okay when I'm wronged and left for dead? Left to feel it all AGAIN, like it has always been.
The damage cuts so deep that I have to ASK people if I actually deserve better and most of the time they tell me to stop giving you any credit, the minimal credit I already give to you.

I'm going to find someone someday who will actually treat me well.

I will get back at you for this in the best way...
I will become my best self.
Since you will not give me the peace I need I will have to find it within myself, as hard as it is since I carry anger toward you.

Since you've been gone I've realized:

1. I'm more confident in myself now
You didn't appreciate me really. Now that I'm free to new people, I'm learning that I don't really have to try to evoke compliments. My perception was so perverted when I was with you that I convinced myself I wasn't the type of girl to illicit compliments from men. I thought I needed to change my body or demeanour but I just don't.

2. My care is better spent on other people who reciprocate it so much better, and I don't even have to have as much history with them as I did with you.
I love my friends and I'd rather spend my time caring for them because they're not selfish but rather considerate and understanding.

3. I don't need to defend you anymore.
You never reflected on your wrong doing and apologized to me, whereas I did. I don't have to tell the friends you haven't seen or worked with in ages why you haven't responded to them because the truth is you don't care. You weren't considerate to those valued friends, and you weren't considerate to me.

4. You used your parents' divorce and your young failures as a crutch--and I went with it.
I sympathized with you all the way. When you broke down when I was handing the truth to you and voicing my feelings about your misbehaviour as a boyfriend, I paused my emotions for the sake of yours. It wasn't noble of me because every time I did that I turned away from myself. You need to realize that it isn't okay to always use those events as an excuse for your wrongdoings in a relationship, you're giving yourself permission to continue to make the same mistakes without developing into a healthy person.

5. You weren't interested in growing with me.
You may think that since you're much older than me that you were done growing and I was the only one left to grow or catch up. The truth is I've grown up more than you have in a few ways. You need to get off your high horse "rockstar" mentality and grow up! During that process...stop hurting people! It's not that hard to say "I'm going through some stuff right now so I think it's best we stay purely just friends". Take an oath of abstinence. You owe it to me and to potential women you could deceive, asshole. You didn't have a relationship mentality when we were together, as though you're meant to have casual relationships or non-monogamous ones. You freaked out at the thought of anything remotely indicative of commitment. You wanted me at arms length and now you've got what you wanted and then some.

No tinder needed for this flame, and you can forget that match

The End
And I thought it was me, over and over again
me, me and me
I thought I had made it an awkward mess
that the silences and lack of substance was
the sum of my age and lack of experience.
And I thought it was my body, inflaming and inflamed again
me, me and my body
I thought it was my cherub-like roundness
that your 'maybes' and distance were
the product of all my quirks and openness to care
And I thought it was my personality, wild and unashamed again
that I became too enthralled and overthought your interest

You would see me

I thought it would only be a matter of time
before you saw me
And thought it so obnoxiously gleaming, so innocently ugly
You'd throw pity in the place of interest
And run toward the prettier pastures, the exit's refuge--whispering "that was a close one"
Leaving me in the shadows of my self-doubt, and dampened spirit

But it wasn't me, and how could it be?
When this time I came first with the lust and neglected the like
Ripened forbidden fruit swaying decidedly in your direction
Only to let the fruit rot, escalating quickly with no promise of climax to come
A flame snuffed out before it even flickered
But I'm not disposable,
you were nothing but a MATCH.

It's not me, It's not me, I swear

Wasn't life better when you could curl up in a chair and fall in love with fiction?
When fictional novels gave you a spark of life even if it was fabricated and impermanent
You'd close your eyes and imagine being in that world,
 feeling love and comfort from a fictional male.
Remember when you swore that your best friend was bound to be your lover?
When he couldn't see past your appearance you shouldn't have seen it as a sign to change, you should have seen it as a chance to look within.
He didn't know you like that, or maybe it wasn't enough but it's just not about you.
All those nights that your boyfriend made you cry, fracturing your kind heart, I bet you wanted to burn all of those books that made you feel lovely, that gave you bright hope in experiencing fictional love in reality. And cut out your heart.
He didn't know the affect it had on you, but it's not about you.
I bet you held that cigarette up to your lips in the rain wishing you were not invisible but noticed more: "look at me, I'm dying inside too as I grow up".
Wasn't life better when your trust in people was strong; no tricks or lies
He told me that when people grow up and go through experiences they lower their expectations but I refuse to let that be me.
You let the silence eat you up and force out negative thoughts about myself,
but it's just not about you.
I've been at my lowest--I've been treated poorly--I can't live happily in a situation where my livelihood is sussed out by a dimming star; keeping me from shining by not joining in
He doesn't know you like that, doesn't rise to the occasion, but it's just not about you.
I spread my brightness, put my sadness aside and held it in for the sake of you, to comfort you. I got upset and pretended to be okay...you shouldn't have made it easy to do so.
I keep progressing and you're at a halt. 
The fictional female in me says it's time to turn the page and start a new chapter.

Feel Me Completely

Stomp your feet, widen your eyes so that they bulge out of that beautiful brain. We've met at a crossroads where we are not enough the same but it hurts to turn around and give up on the journey.
I'm the kind of love that should set you on fire--dangerous and hot, leaving you ruined for life by the pain of never knowing something that could burn you quite like me. But I'm also the soothing spring that refreshes your soul and cleanses your aches, leaving your mind clear and body reborn. I want my wreck of a body to be new again under your touch and my confidence to soar with the wings you give me from every kind word. Now Passion's withdrawn and my heart is fractured because I can't remember you saying right and your doings are always wrong. Comfort is lost in your painfully blank visage and the rigidness, and shakingly aggressiveness in your embraces. You tantrum like a torn child trapped in a broken man who's yet to resolve past issues. Your brain is like your room: a tangle of wires, loose socks, miscellaneous items that you cannot sort out, dust and crumbs of problems you forgot to clear. I'm a caged bird that sings to you "Sort it out and love me fully, sort it out and feel completely".

From sentiments to sediments

I lay awake at night sometimes thinking of the boy who lived down the road. And all his efforts to keep me away. He is afraid of his attraction to something he doesn't quite adore. He is afraid to get to close to something he might actually enjoy. I never asked to be so important as to be avoided. I only tried to be a friend. My persistent conversation was far too apparent and so He left me with no reason.  

I was a little rude. But I was young and didn't know how else to talk with you. Now i wish we could reunite as real friends, not as a "little girl" begging for attention.

My birthday marks a day your dog died. You broke my young heart when you said you couldn't talk to me too often. So, I knew my place and my role and I stuck to it really well. But heart-to-hearts were not flat, I wanted you to know how I felt. 

Years later and you're on my porch and we are talking like friends. Years later and you still don't want to show you care. Years later and I'm still stuck behind while you live your life and forget my eyes. 

So why did you do that? Show up out of the blue at the cafe to remind me that you exist? To remind me that I can't talk to you? To remind me that I'm perpetually battling the year of my birth? And there you come beaming with that wide eyed gaze that I swear you reserve for only those you've loved. I left you alone and now the consequence is that when I see you my heart still aches, and it does so into the night, under the moon and back over the sun and through the clouds. And through those clouds there is still the mystery of you and us if you would ever let it. I swear I'm old enough now not to meet you with anger. I swear I'm old enough to share experience. I swear I'm ready to meet your gaze and be "that situation" you've always wanted. I still live on a quiet street where your grandmother sometimes walks, she tells me that you liked me once and my heart says, "I like you again". You see, I always said goodnight even if abruptly following a "hello". I did so just so that you'd know...I'm here. 

But that's the end now isn't it? True love isn't real and if it were it sure isn't on time. 

You see, I don't have time to wait. Not for wide eyes that have no words, not for hesitant crushes or sentimental heartbreakers. I quit on that kind of love: the kind that spits in my face with every empty invitation, disappointment that I'm not my brother or primitive fear of my age difference. I'm off to a higher plane.