Protected: Dear Varish

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I’m not so good with titles

I am trying this because I can’t keep calling the crisis line every time I start to panic. I can’t keep calling people and crying. I can’t keeping crying everyday. I’m so tired of all the crying.

Most days, I am operating under the impression that the depression is winning, the anxiety has me and I can’t …don’t know who to fight back. Broken thing, is what my head likes to call me. My therapist says I am not a thing. I am not broken. Death, in Supernatural, says a soul can wounded, cut, bent, but never broken. I am going with Death on this, because I feel ohh so broken but maybe I’m just cracked, like a well used tea cup, veins and chips making their way through with use and age.

I become romantic and nostalgic to avoid the truth. To avoid being honest with the reader. More so, to avoid being honest with the writer. Here were are, trying to this, looking for us in all of this pain because I know, even if most days I do not feel, that there are reasons to live.

I have a family, I have friends, I have employment; I have people who I care for. While right now I am working on the definition of ‘Home’ and the location of ‘Home, I do have a bedroom with things inside and landlords who are very nice and understanding about pets and 90’s grunge and bad singing and the scent of Mexican food wafting up the stairs at all hours of the day. I have sister who will kill for me. A family who will get rid of the evidence. I have friends who will help me heal, who send care packages of duct tape, needles and thread, bookmarks, who drive six hours to pick up and six hours to bring me and home and will do it again because not quite a fully functioning adult just yet. I have people who care for and some who love me.

I am not their obligation. They love and care for me just as much as I love and care for them.

Right now, I am working on the the fact that trauma reactivates buried traumas and depression and anxiety and reliving bad dreams; mental health is complicated. Mental health is stigmatized. I am here, six hours away from my apartment, writing, about my mental health and the uphill awaiting and the last three months,or the last two years or the last five years that have lead to here and now. Me sitting on a couch with a bowl of ramen and circles drawn and a box of crowns working on my mental health.


2:28pm 5/22/17 Monday NM at Duo’s watching Resident Evil Apocalypse, already so tired from the day and the thoughts in my head