Lesson II : stay/practice being Humble
Fade, fade, fade away.
Snippets of conversation manage to break through the inner fog surrounding. I answer in my head and the conversation continued on fine without me. I laugh but the sound is off and empty. We lock eyes, you smile, and I nod. You seem disappointed and that only adds to it all. Inwardly, the scolding begins.
Why can’t you be normal? Why can’t you fit in?
The conversation continues. Breathing becomes labored and it takes the solider in me to remember my training. One breath, blink, two breaths, blink, three breaths, blink.
You shouldn’t be here. You don’t fit in.
I look around the room and the matching skin tones serve only to agitate. Thoughts of self-hate whip around and remind me I should feel more at home than ever. Yet the family home causes more feelings of loneliness than togetherness. When did this happen?
You just can’t be normal can you?!
I shake my head and you seem to be more concerned. I turn my attention back to the contours of where wall meets ceiling to neutralize my thoughts but the darkness seems intent on creeping in. I shift in my seat and listen to the conversation erupt into laughter. I feel seven feet further.
Why are you even here?
Great question. The world would only spin on without me, the sun and moon would continue to rise and fall, and the family would eventually move on.
Foolish, suicide is cowardly.
So living with depression is suppose to be brave? I try my best to clear the energy around me before the feelings set in, but they burst from within and seem to flood the room. The shadows creep up the walls, around my neck, and seem intent on suffocating me but leaving you all okay.
The conversation doesn’t miss a beat. My chest heaves finally and I feel the pressure starting to cave in.
Why am I the only one who can see?
The tears start their descent. I quickly yawn to set you up for the fake. You’re skeptical but I’m a professional. I quietly excuse myself from the conversation, making my getaway quick and precise. You don’t vocalize your concern, but your eyes follow me into the room.
“You think she’s okay?”
“I’m really not sure.”
No, I’m only here grasping at the windowsill to be a part of your special moments that really should be my own. I chide myself at my inconsiderate thinking, it’s not you, it’s me. The door closes and gravity increases. Tears follow the slide to the floor. I try desperately to hold onto my self-control but it’s hanging by a string.
You’re an outsider in your own home. They’ll replace you. Just fade away.
The tears are silent like my cries for help. Dark thoughts eat away at the sanity that was so fragilely composed only hours ago. How can this be my reality? The darkness in the room seems welcoming and I collapse into its arms. It reminds me of my inability to function, the relationships I’ve lost, and the woman I’ve failed to become. We talk and it reminds me how childish I am and how this is my own fault. I agree and deeper the depression takes root.
Wobbly legs support my venture to my last goodwill reserve. The lid pops and a landslide of little white pills come spilling out. Three, six, nine, twelve, fifteen, I start losing count eventually. I lay back and pray God will understand.
The lids of my eyes start getting heavy and the pressure seemed to be lifting. My soul hangs heavy and hesitant but I urged it on. It’s finally time. My soul gives in and my eyes shut completely. I breathe quietly for a few more moments, focusing in on the conversation outside. I feel more a part of it now than ever. The darkness calls again and I finally give in.
The conversation outside ceases.
This story is for anyone out there suffering with that inner sad feeling that never seems to go the fuck away. I want to remind you that you’re not alone and there’s millions of us out here that feel just like you. We’re all trying to get better and we’re all going to get better. Let’s not let the end of our story end the way my character’s did in this one.
For anyone looking over the edge please call 1-800-273-8255 before making that jump. You’re not alone and someone out here cares.
For those with friends that you’re suspecting might be suffering from depression I ask that you please encourage them to seek professional help or just sit with them. You don’t have to say anything, just hold their hand and remind them that you know they’re there.
Debates whether if women are crazy should no longer take place. Its a FACT. Just find the right type of crazy that suits “you”. Why wouldn’t you want your YOUR girl crazy about you? Nah?! Oh okay, just don’t get mad when the next guy enjoys her craziness. Its impossible to love someone and NOT be just a tad bit “crazy” about them. And chill, im not talking about an episode of “Snapped” crazy lol.…
"The Growth of Love" by Giovanna
Love has it’s chaos… but getting through it is part of the passion.
Meet Pro Make-Up Artist @BadGyal__ // IG @Hey_Amz #BeatByAli
Edited by: @SABAD_
Music by: XXYYXX
Produced &Filmed By : @TheeArtLab
#FLAWconfession @DJBre7 became my favorite DJ a year ago after listening to #TWERKINGTON
Lesson I: Lying
ArtLab - The Reel (Yoncé pt.2) starting the beautiful @thahihsz_
March 8th, 2014 - International Women’s Day
Saturday March 8th, the photoshoot Yonce took place which included 8 models and 6 photographers. @thahihsz_ was one of the models and was actually the one to enlighten me on the what day it was too… International Women’s Day. I don’t believe in coincidence, so Ill take this as a blessing of a sign. If you don’t already follow @thahihsz_ on instagram, do so.