The Darkness Is A Wicked Place

A lot of people are shocked about Robin Williams taking his own life, but I can't say I am. To me, he always seemed to have this air of sadness about him, even when he was at his loudest and most entertaining. For some reason it always felt like a facade, like this was his role for us. All I wanted was for him to turn off the noise and get real. To drop the joking around and get serious for a minute.

His death is probably the realest he's ever been. 

Suicide is tragic. It's always so confusing for people. It's hard to understand how someone so successful and beloved could take their own life. Didn't he have friends? A wife? Family? Yeah, suicide is tragic but it's also not simple. Money and loved ones have nothing to do with it. A scary thought, isn't it? That no matter how rich, successful and loved you are, depression can still get the best of you. Yes, this man had money and people, a wife and kids, who loved him, but he also had a mental illness. 

And mental health is a tricky thing. We all have good and bad days, even those of us who aren't suffering from anxiety and depression. There are highs and lows for us all. Except, some of us can't reason our way out of the lows. Sometimes the lows are so low we can't fathom ever having a high again. The simple act of living another moment in this miserable world is unbearable, so we do something about it. We bow out. 

We all understand the darkness and have experienced at least a fragment of it.What we don't understand is how consuming it can be, how suffocating and daunting, the sinking feeling that it will never get better. For me, death has never been a solution to get out of the darkness, still I know those who have turned towards it for an answer. The thing about suicide is, it doesn't stop things from getting worse. In fact, it only eradicates the hope of it being better. Those people who dwell in the darkness sometimes forget that fact. 

The darkness is a wicked place. If allowed, it will seep in and cloud the senses, dismantling rational thinking and destroying common sense in its wake. When the darkness is at its thickest, you cannot see the good, there is no hope or bright side there. Just an abyss of pain and fear and worry. If we're lucky, light is filtered in through people and things we love. In a room of pitch black, the flicker of a match can be enough to guide us to the other side. Sometimes no light arrives, though. Sometimes the darkness wins.

What I find most tragic is the joy we experience from these people who are trapped in the darkness. Despite the laughter and love they spread, they are broken and lost. Unhappy. Unhealthy. It burdens my heart to see someone exit the stage before their time. To decide they don't want to live here anymore. Live with us. Those are selfish thoughts, for sure, because this isn't about me, or us. It's about the darkness of depression, how heavy it is, how difficult it is to get out from under. 

I am saddened to hear Robin Williams didn't find his way out of the darkness. His demons were only compounded by his addictions, both of which he failed to fully escape, even in death they are haunting him. It's heartbreaking to think he never experienced the same joy he gave to others so freely. I only hope he has found peace wherever he is now.   

Mental illness is an unpredictable beast. The journey is long and hard, repetitious, but if you're lucky you will find the light to pull you through, and keep finding it every time you get lost in the darkness. And I will keep holding a match for you, on the off chance you are looking for my light. 

Subjects Removed

It's been a long year so far, and we are only halfway through. As some of you know, I put my condo up for sale back in February. I thought it would sell quickly. It didn't. After much waiting and fretting, it is now sold.

While I thought the weight of stress would finally lift off me, leaving me with nothing but an overwhelming feeling of freedom, I'm actually suffering from a unique sort of melancholy. Yes, this is what I wanted, to be rid of the burden, financially more than anything else. And yes, this does represent being able to move forward. For the last year, I've felt stuck in a sort of limbo with very little to indicate I am actually moving in the right direction.

Still, there's this sadness. A grief. For a loss I am responsible for.

Don't get me wrong. This is a happy occasion, but I am still saying goodbye. To a place I bought at a very difficult time of my life. A home where I did a significant amount of growing and an equal amount of healing. In saying goodbye to this place, I am letting go. Letting go of myself, of parts of my past, of people and moments and love and losses I never thought I'd let go of.

Sure, I moved out awhile ago, but as long as I owned this apartment, I had an umbilical cord to the girl I once was. The sad one, who was so lost and broken she never thought she'd find her way. The heartbroken one. And the one who learned much and stopped feeling bad and started breathing in the trees and ocean, breathing out the doubts and anger. As long as I owned that apartment, I had an attachment to my friends, the people I love and miss. By selling it, I am acknowledging how much I miss those people. How detached I sometimes feel over here.

And I am saying goodbye to my ex. This sounds bonkers, doesn't it? I mean, we haven't been together for three years and have both been with other people for quite some time, two years and counting on my side of things. Still, this is where I went after us and it's where we worked diligently to form a friendship. That friendship still stands, I like to believe it always will, and I consider myself lucky to have it. It takes unique individuals to salvage a friendship from the wreckage of love, but it can happen, if you aren't both complete dicks.

It's weird. How a building, a five hundred square foot apartment, can represent so much of who you are and what you've been through. I understand those memories will be with me forever, but I didn't except this overload of emotion. Honestly, I thought there would be dancing and merriment. Don't think this is a regretful thing. It really isn't. That is not one of the hundred emotions storming through me.

And I am happy, but also sad too.

Funny how things are never quite what you imagine them to be. But at least this is a little forward movement. I think.

Social Rules? Fuck them.

Yesterday, I stumbled across a post in my feed from a girl I absolutely adore. The gist of her update was that due to 'social rules' she was withholding her feelings and instead posting a video of moose noises. The social rule in this instance was not burdening others with negativity or unhappiness. Apparently, if you put too many downtrodden posts out into the cyber world people get annoyed.

Of course, in my true fashion, I replied with, "Social rules? Fuck them."

And it wasn't just a passing comment, nor something witty or humorous said to garner chuckles. It wasn't a flippant remark. It wasn't said without feeling or thought. 

I genuinely think most social rules should be ignored. Not because I'm a rebel. Not because I like to stir the pot. But because I don't like the idea of people censoring themselves. I don't think it is healthy to slap a hand over your mouth and swallow your emotions, especially if it is only not to piss off the wrong people. I say wrong people because the right ones will never be annoyed by you. The right ones will always care. They will always love and protect and give you a safe place to fall apart and pull yourself together.

It is counterproductive to one's health and well being to stifle thoughts, cares, concerns and feelings. This world is tough. People are hard. The badness can weigh you down, make it seem as if it is impossible to stand and walk and exist. Life is difficult. It isn't easy. And sometimes we get lost. We can't find our way. We stumble through the darkness, waiting for the light, just a flicker to pull us through. Realistically, most of us can't do it alone. We need other people in order to make it out okay. To survive the blackness.

I am grateful for those who have shone their light on me. And I only hope there are others who are grateful that I have held up a flame for them. 

Why have they done this for me? Why will I do it for you?

Because we are all connected. We are one. Me and you. We exist here. Together.

And if we can't turn to our friends and family, if we can't speak our minds, in person or on the intersnacks to the ones we care about, the ones who are supposed to give a damn, then what good is socializing anyhow? Not being honest with our feelings, not being truthful to the ones we let into our hearts is utter bologna. This isn't a tea party. We aren't ladies. And we don't lift our pinkies when we drink tea. Well, some of us don't. Some of us have to because it's ingrained in us and an impossible habit to break. But what I am saying is we aren't debutantes. We aren't playing bridge and talking about the weather, eating cucumber sandwiches and wearing floral hats. The days of hiding our secrets and inconvenient emotions in a box under our beds are over because it never made anything better. (This is the comedic relief)

Here is where there is no humour.

Depression is a real thing. More people are affected by it every day. Mental health issues. Suicide. These are things that exist in our lives, that we brush shoulders with, that some of us know far too well. Chances are, someone we love is suffering. Hurting. In pain. Struggling. It boggles my mind and befuddles my heart to consider the fact someone I adore could need help but is not speaking up, not asking for help, not venting because of some stupid social rule.

Fuck the weak of heart and uncaring. Fuck the ones who get annoyed by expression of emotion. Fuck anyone who doesn't want to hear it. Fuck those who are scared of the truth.

Because the alternative to speaking up and writing posts and talking about the pain and negativity and doubt and hurt and despair and uncertainty is bottling it up. Shoving it down. Ignoring it. Hiding. Running away. Recoiling. Shutting everyone out. Turning away. Leaving them to 'deal' with it on their own. For them to try to find their way through the darkness without a hand to hold or someone to talk to.

That's why I say fuck social rules. Let it out. Because keeping it in isn't helping anyone. And if anyone is truly bothered by how you are feeling or what you are thinking, then they can fuck right off too. They aren't worth the time or energy and clearly need to cultivate their empathy and understanding. Maybe a lesson in love will set them straight.

Perhaps it's because I've experienced the darkness that I understand if you don't let it out, you will never let it go.

Are You Okay?

If the past couple of weeks have taught me anything, it's how unanswerable the question 'are you okay?' is. Fine, I get it. Everyone wants to hear you say that you are in fact okay, but what if you aren't. What if you don't know if you're okay at all, what then?

The other day, I was talking to my fister - which is what you get when your sister is also your friend - and yeah, I know how bad it sounds, but I just love merging two words into one - anyhow, we were discussing how being asked 'are you okay?' is most annoying. In some ways, it's almost as though the other person doesn't want the truth. They just want a quick response, then they can dust their hands off and be on their merry way.

Then my mind started making connections. Remember how I wrote that blog about how we need to ask better questions? No? Well, it was beautifully named Because Of The Poo and basically detailed how we are asking the wrong questions, that if we truly cared about the people in our lives we would tailor our questions to be more specific.

If you think about it, 'Are you okay?' is a slap in the face. Either you answer yes or no. Mostly you answer yes for fear people will get that awkward expression on their face that tells you they really, really, really don't want to know what's going on in your head, let alone your heart. I suppose an honest conversation can seem a bit daunting, after all they can run on in length. Still, no matter what the answer is, I have a hard time grasping what 'okay' is.

Sometimes I think it's the simple act of existing. Yeah, I'm okay, I'm here, I'm breathing, I'm eating and pooping. I am going through the routine. Is the basic act of existing what it means to be okay? And if so, why are we accepting that as a good thing? Why is it a relief? If I really start brooding over it, which is never a good idea, it seems as though being 'okay' is in fact not 'okay' at all! This is getting to be too much for my tiny brain to handle right now. I mean, it is almost eight o'clock. So, let's start wrapping this up.

In the past couple days, I've come to the realization that it isn't acceptable to be emotional. If you do it at work, you're boss might not think you're cut out for the job. If you do it around your friends, they might think you're unstable. Mention it to your mom and you might end up being analyzed. In truth, people shy away from those raw moments. And who can blame them? I hate showing that vulnerability,  but sometimes the tears come and they aren't wrong. They are what make us human. Sometimes you can't plan your meltdowns, they just bubble up and over the cauldron of your mind and leak out your eyes.

Here it is, the truth, simple and honest: things happen in life you can't control. Shocking, right? Well, when they do, you are allowed to feel however you feel. That's right. Your feelings are your own. And they may not make sense to anyone else - hell, they might not make sense to you, but that doesn't make them any less valid. It doesn't mean your feelings aren't justified.

I've decided to dump 'are you okay?' from my vernacular. In its place, I will ask things like, how are you handling this, what can I do for you, can I get you anything, and is there anything you want to talk about? These questions will at least make way for an honest response. Because I don't fear a truthful conversation, no matter the length, and I never want someone else to feel I am asking them a question for show. I am just not that kind of girl. Thank goodness.

Now, where'd I put that meltdown I've been meaning to have? I know it's around here somewhere.

Too Tried To Try

Sorry, I am utterly exhausted. Too tired to think of something witty for a handful of people to ruminate over. It's a broken sort of couple days. I tell you one thing, I am grateful for my sister. Even though it sometimes feels as though I am so far away from her, I can be at her front door in a matter of four hours. Not counting the fact ferries stop running at 10:30PM. Damn them for that.

She is strong. And I hate the fact she is hurting. It's a grief I feel right through to the pit of my soul. And I understand why it hurts so much. I am hurting for her. Broken for her. Distracted and confused and unsure and angry and sad with her. I am by her side because there is no other place I would rather be. I know when I need her, she will be there because that's the brand of love we have. Friends. Sisters. Wicked women who know the importance of life is to live it, and love.

There's something so powerful about knowing you will never truly be alone.

Anyhow, this song has been getting me right in the feels these last couple days.

But then I am sensitive and these are hard time.

And I always miss the sun.