Dee-presh-un

So there's this meme quote phrase "inspirational" thought thing going around online about crying, depression, anxiety, etc. You've probably seen it. But on the off chance you have not, here is one variation:

I have to tell you, I don't like it.  I find it severely melodramatic, offensive, and in my own personal experience, inaccurate. "Having tried to remain strong for so long"? So since I couldn't be strong anymore, I now have depression. You have depression, because you couldn't hack it. You're having a panic attack, because you were trying really hard to stay strong, and then you caved. I think saying "weakness" and "trying to remain strong (and failing or you wouldn't have this disorder)" are pretty much synonymous. Charming, isn't it?
When I first began to experience depression almost 5 years ago, it was when I moved away from home and had a dramatic environment change. I believe that is what brought it on. But I am not exaggerating when I say that it came like the flip of a light switch. And when it does rear its little head from time to time in my here and now, it is the same instantaneous switch in my mind. To go from laughing and smiling, to quiet and despondent, in a matter of moments; with no real reason or indication as to why. Completely from left field, I suddenly do not care about anything, do not want to talk to anyone, don't want to go outside-- I only want to turn off the lights, bury myself under a mountain of blankets and sleep. and sleep. and sleep. 

Obviously there are people who don't get it. 

Buck up.
Just get over it. 
Put a smile on your face.

Blah, blah, blah. 

But remember: they don't get it. You do though. You DO get it. So master it. I spent about 8 months whining and complaining and shaking my fist at the world for my plight: 

Why should I have depression? I'm like the happiest person I know! I'm just trying to do good and live a good life and be a positive force in this world. So why the cuss should this happen to ME?

Then one day I received a stark revelation like a smack on the forehead: 

It's not going away. 

I decided then to own it, to make it mine. I set realistic goals and expectations in my life, to help me regulate it. If I was feeling alright one day, I would be sure to only do as much as my brain would allow, as to not let it completely overcome me, as it so frequently had. 

I understand that everyone's situations and illnesses are different, but man, don't let it run you. There are good days and there are bad days and there are worse days, but don't let it take over this life that you have that is yours that is so full and rich and ready to be LIVED. By YOU. 

So no, mister way-too-dramatic-made-up-quote-meme-maker, I don't think that people who have depression or anxiety have these things because they were trying to be strong "for so long." It's people who, for one reason or another, have experienced an imbalance of chemicals and hormones in their brains and are STILL strong and are still kicking life's trash. 

I used to hate saying "my" depression. I felt like I was making it into an excuse for things. But now it's like, "Yeah it's MY depression and I've got it right here at my feet on a friggin' leash because I run IT and it does not run ME." 

stringing old words together

 I was recently rummaging through some old things I've written, some of them being nearly 5 years old. It was interesting reading these things, remembering the circumstances of my life around 5 years ago. Most of it is very sad, because I think inside that was my dominant disposition. I found several short writings about a girl named Lucy and an unknown male character, and as I read through these short blips (all written independently of each other) I realized they all actually connect fairly well. My subconscious was up to something, I guess. So here they are, right in a row. The brain of me, 5 years ago.

-------------------------------------------------------------

This isn’t real. It can’t be true. What kind of sick, twisted moment IS this?! She tried her best to carry on the conversation without letting her assumptions get the best of her. With the cash register between them, the two girls had been carrying on about the latest cheesy teen romance novel (something lame about vampires or something) for about twenty minutes when it struck her-- and Lucy found her stomach in a place she had never experienced: The soles of her shoes. Her heart raced as the girl behind the counter gabbed on about who-knows-what and who-the-hell-cares at this point, while Lucy’s heart tried its best to leap from her chest. Her hands began to tingle as it seemed that all her nerves decided to give up on her and devout all attention to her struggling heart. She was sure death was upon her. She felt the color flee from her face as her eyes widened and all noise around her ceased. It wasn’t until Jericka had stopped talking that Lucy realized her mouth was gaping. “…Are you alright? You don’t look so good…” Jericka seemed sincerely worried at this point as her new found book friend appeared to be going into cardiac arrest. Lucy’s jaw bounced up and down in a stupid attempt to say something as she realized with whom she was talking. Say something, you idiot. She hooked up with your lousy boyfriend, she didn’t run over your dog. She doesn’t know who you are, she didn’t do anything wrong. “Ihavetogo” was all the quick, slurred response Lucy could manage to spit out as she awkwardly knocked over a book display on her way out the door. She knelt down and began to fumble like an idiot with the fallen books, but quickly gave up as she realized the feeling in her hands hadn’t quite returned (She would later massage her hands, relieved that her nerves kicked back in, for in this moment of impending doom, she was sure they never would.). As Lucy barreled out of the bookstore she sucked in oxygen as deep as her lungs would allow and removed it quickly, making her light headed and adding to the nausea that already sat in her bowels. With splots of colors inhibiting her vision, Lucy wheeled around in a stupor, looking for anywhere to relieve her insides of the apple bran muffin and orange juice from that morning, which, in light of recent events, had declared mutiny, and her stomach no longer had the capacity to tolerate it. She was struggling to breathe, and before she knew it, the surrounding patrons of the mall were holding their noses and deterring the eyes of their children. Then, somewhere in a distant restroom of the shopping mall, a janitor listened intently to his walkie, heaved a big sigh and began to head his way over to Wallace Bookshop.

She took the left hand turn so quickly her blinker only had a chance to put itself to use for one and a half flashes. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened as the headlights of the oncoming cars blurred past her. On auto-pilot, Lucy knew where she was headed but was still debating whether or not she should continue. Though the battle went back and forth in her head, she knew it didn’t matter. Her course was set and that was that. The wind blew with fierceness and intention, it seemed, pushing the little car against its inevitable destination. She swerved up the mountain road, vaguely concerned about deer that had a tendency to leap into the road at the most inconvenient times. Lucy smirked at her own thought: As if now was a convenient time for anything. The sinking of the sun and the chill it created; her reckless, brash maneuvering of the vehicle, her rising pulse and the developing knot in her throat. Foreboding October nights such as this are hardly, if ever, conducive for convenience or good fortune. Lucy knew this. The red flags were being waved in her face like a matador to a bull. But like the bull, tonight Lucy would let her emotions get the best of her. She threw her car into park and marched up the driveway, keys left dangling in the ignition. The only items Lucy put in her coat pockets were her balled up fists, one of which that would, in a matter of seconds, leave its place in her warm pocket to be irrationally  and violently rapped against a thick, cold oak door.

The minutes dropped like hours as the realization of her furious departure sunk like an anchor in his bones. His hurtful angry words reverberated in his chest and their sting lingered. The hour hand of the clock pointed accusingly between the 8 and the 7, at the shards of porcelain of his girlfriend's once favorite lamp on the floor. The minute hand jutted through the six, pointing down at the desk where the lamp, just minutes before, had sat. 7:30. His eyes were wide and lost. Lips parted, he felt like there was something to say. He thought of an old tree falling in the forest and wondered if he muttered anything if the sound would even be real. He closed his lips, slowly moving his neck towards the front door-- closed the tightest it’s ever been. Time passed. he clenched and loosened his jaw as he stared, fixated on the golden doorknob. And time passed. He found himself on his knees, slowly placing the tiny blue remains of his lamp in a pile. He heaved a deep sigh and time passed. His eyes wandered on the ground to the bottom of the front door. Discolored, dirty and worn, he'd been meaning to repaint it. He saw now in his mind’s eye a thick red line just in the doorway. There it is, he lamented. There's the line I never should have crossed. His incoherent sorrow then evolved into deep unfathomable rage as he hurled the remnants he meant to be cleaning up at the base of the door and at the line that took her away. Hot, unfamiliar tears fled down his face. She was gone, and mercilessly, time passed.

He found himself face to face with the clock on the mantel that so nonchalantly carried on with its work while the whole world seemed to be crumbling. 9:30. Two hours had passed without a second thought and he found himself bewildered by the device's endurance. Eyes frantic and heart racing, he touched the side of his finger to the delicate plastic minute hand. He closed his eyes tighter than he ever had before, sucked in a deep hopeful gulp of oxygen and held it there. He slowly pushed the minute hand opposite of its regular course. The night whirled around him. The lamp put itself back together as it came back into his forceful hand. Angry words were pulled out of each other's ears, sliding down their tongues and back into the deep corners of their hearts. Blood temperatures lowered, heart rates descended. His cell phone back safe in his pocket, no new messages to be discovered. Her arms were warm and tight around his waist. His finger led the minute hand until it read 7:00. He could almost smell her. He peeked one eye at the clock, removed his finger and released the stale air from his lungs. His eyes were still frantic on the clock as he prayed for a miracle. He slowly pivoted to face the room. He was alone. More now than he was before his desperate, foolish 90 second attempt to change things. The corners of his mouth turned down and the now familiar hot tears hesitated on the edge of his lids before barreling down his cheeks.

She was gone, and time passed.

Lucy lie, crumpled on the floor. The blue walls of her room silently listened to her muted sobs. She could feel the physical weight of pain sinking in her chest, where, at one point, Lucy was sure a heart was supposed to reside. Tonight, this space was vacant.  She was sure of a finite amount of things at this point. She was sure he was gone. She was sure sleep would evade her on this pale spring night. She was sure that he would not call her, and she was sure that this night would end and the sun would rise in the morning. As tears pooled in her ears, she began to question the suns intentions.

Black to White

It was like something out of a movie scene
A large window with a view of the mountains
It's not raining
But maybe it should be.
Chairs of different sizes and I'd imagine different comfort line the walls
The mother of course gets the comfiest chair,
'cause she hasn't left this room in three days.
Her baby lies on the bed
a tapestry of tubes, cords, wires weaving in and out
of hair, fingers, lips, nose, arms, legs, chest.
As if they never end
leading to beeping, clicking, wheezing contraptions
Serving whatever purpose.
Heartstrings
tangled and knotted and woven
deeper than all the machines
Tears
falling faster than the IV drip in her arm
Squiggles, squiggles, squiggles
on five different screens
spewing a language few can interpret
ascending and declining
peaks and valleys of anxiety and hope
but you trust it
you just do.
and what other choice is there?
Her chest rises and falls rapidly
shallow breaths in the deepest of sleeps.
Frozen fingers and toes
from keeping down the swelling
in her brain
It is large, no not metaphorically bursting with knowledge
Literally bigger than it ought to be
and she is dying.
She is dying.
Flickers of hope
a twitching eye,
a fighting heart
She's in a grey zone, he says
all you can do is watch and wait, he says
So we do.
"We're all such idiots. All but her. She's always so careful, so perfect."
Hope falls with the night
abruptly the world is so bleak
"I shouldn't have gone home, why would I have ever left her side?"
the beeping, clicking and wheezing decelerate
slower, slower
and stop.
She transitions from the grey to the black
and suddenly for Kenslee,
the most brilliant bright white.
An angel dwelt among us,
gone back from whence she came,
to the living presence of the living God.
To the palm of His hand where He wrote her name all those thousands of years ago.
35.
35 seconds, 35 minutes, days, months
35 years to tell this woman you love her
you appreciate her
you admire her
that your life is better because she is in it. 

Now these words fall on dirt

she was just here!

I just saw her days ago!

Then I watched her die on a hospital gurney.

Surrounded by those who loved her most.

just like that.

Life.

As fragile as a house of cards.

Life.

From one second to the next, a Russian roulette

and if you gamble with the ones you hold dear

and the love that you display

it will be too late.

It’s so easy to be resentful

to be prideful and  angry

But can’t you see

there is no time for anger

one minute they’re here and the next they’re gone

don’t take that chance

don’t live with that regret

or you’ll be sobbing apologies

to a lifeless body.
Hold them a little closer.
Hold them just
a little
closer.

"You take care of your sisters, Sammie.

You be grateful for them everyday."

---------------

I cranked up this song and sang it at the top of my lungs and cried on my drive home that night. We love you, Kenslee.

Here's why I think you're awesome.

I think everyone is awesome. 

I don't think everyone is perfect,

but I do think everyone is awesome. 

Everyone is awesome because there is not a single person out there that is exactly like the next. 

Each individual you pass and interact with is a complete walking novel with humor, tragedy, plot twists, excitement and solemness. 

I bet you could stop any person on the street, write down their story and have a New York Times best seller. Every single one. 

Because every person has a completely different life than yours, and that is exciting and intriguing and wonderful. 

The world is a library of human tales, being written and archived every moment, every day. 

Not everyone makes good decisions, or is really nice all the time. Not everyone is our best friend.

But everyone is awesome. 

Everyone is the lead character in a completely unique story that you couldn't make up in a million years. 

And I bet the story of all those around us is a page turner. 

You are awesome. 

You get to be the protagonist of your very own real life story, you get to choose how it ends.

You don't get to choose, necessarily, what difficulties or plot twists may come your way. 

But how the hero of the story (that's you) reacts and conquers those obstacles is completely up to you.

You are awesome because you have an awesome story, and everyone around you is awesome because their story is nothing like yours,

and yours is nothing like theirs. 

Be happy to be you. Because you are awesome. 

The earth population is a living library.

And you should never judge a book by its cover.

Fireworks

The phrase "the human experience" has been stuck in my head the past couple weeks (I get words and phrases stuck in my head, just like songs). I've been considering the beauty, joy and happiness that is intertwined with stress, heartache and sorrow of this life. There are things that you can almost always count on bringing tears to my eyes. They include, but certainly are not limited to: curtain call of a really good musical or play, the sound of children's voices singing, witnessing someone overcome struggle, army families being reunited, little kids celebrating after winning a sporting event, great speeches, fireworks. These all evoke great emotion in me, and make me grateful for the human experience.

Call me a sap, but yes, even fireworks. You all know the moment. We've all been there before.

Sitting in a fold up chair under a blanket, laying flat on your back next to friends or family, or pulling your knees up to your chest sitting on the curb in front of your house. We wait in anticipation staring up at the dark summer sky. Then comes the tiny streak of light racing upward, and suddenly the night sky is lit up with pops of red, yellow, green, purple, bright white. They rise and fall, crackle and burn, they burst and they fade, one right after the other.
And magically for those 5, 10, 15 minutes-- it's like the world pauses. Each person watching has the same reflection on their eyes as everyone else. We all smile, ooh and aah in subconscious unison. It's like suddenly everyone in that park, baseball field or parking lot are friends, all there together to watch the sky light up. For the duration of that firework display, there is peace. There is optimism and there is unity. Whatever sorrow, contention or stress that had been felt prior, is temporarily or entirely forgotten under the glow of fireworks.

And in that moment, yes, I get teary eyed. Overwhelmed for a moment over the beauty and excitement and total trip of the human experience. That we're here, living lives, experiencing super awesome things. Life isn't always a firework show, but everyday can be a wonder and a marvel, if you watch for it. And aren't we a bunch of lucky ducks to get to witness it? Goodnight, my friends. Be kind to one another.

Old Words

What makes the cogs in a clock turn?
What makes a wick continually burn?
What makes these feelings so hard to unlearn?
As I sit on this couch
Scrawl out these words
Waste this ink
While the clock keeps turning
and the flame keeps burning
the only thing I'm learning
is that things
           take
           time.

Million of letters
within millions of words
within millions of sentences
upon millions of pale blue lines
upon thousands of pages
and what?
You can't make a beach with a jar full of sand.
You can't hum on a kazoo and call yourself a band.
You can't break your legs and then rise up and stand.
Things
take
time.

So all these things keep going
but my pen is never slowing
my problem is with knowing
when to life my hand and
stop.

I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE

Okay, you guys. I have to get out of my brain what has been festering there for the past couple days. This is to no one specific, (and at the same time it's to every individual person I know) because we all see it happen to people all the time. Don't take this post personally, or do take it personally. I don't care. I'm not here to offend, nor am I perfect at what it is I want to talk about, but man I can get passionate about it.

Lookit.

I am sick--SICK--of watching people I know and love sacrifice their values, beliefs, goals, dreams, ideals etc. for something easier and of less worth. I'm not just talking about people who share the same faith as me, I'm talking about any body with a brain and a pulse out there who, for whatever sad reason, chooses to live a life of dull dreams and mediocrity.

STOP IT.

THIS IS YOUR LIFE. What the heck are you doing with it? If you've got standards, uphold them. If you believe in something, stand up for it. If you've got goals, fight for them. If something/someone is in your life that is keeping you from your dreams, aspirations, longings, etc., ELIMINATE IT. Reject whoever tells you that you can't. Remove whoever tries to make you settle for less. As human beings we all have the ability to think, choose and act. CHOOSE to live your life before someone or something lives it for you. ACT! Do not be acted upon. Don't take no for an answer. Give a big you-know-what-hand-gesture to whoever tells you that you can't. This is your life! It is awesome and full of fantastic, incredible opportunities. Dream big! "But Samantha," you may lament, "my parents are losers who don't believe in me," or maybe, "but I really love him," or perhaps the greatest excuse and lie of them all, "I'm just not that kind of person, being successful/happy/great just isn't in the cards for me." et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
Do you see how none of those excuses or sad thought processes matter? Stephen Covey said, "You are a product of your choices, not a victim of your circumstances." So stop playing the victim, man up and live the life you wanna live. 'Cause it's tickin' me right off.

Are you picking up what I'm putting down?

It's about backbone, people. Grow one. Whatever your value system may be, stick to it! Don't bow down to the first numb skull who tries to fool you. I understand how effortlessly easy it is to lower your own values and standards to meet another's instead of upholding your own. I personally am guilty of this. Do you ever feel good afterward? Have you ever said to yourself, "yeah, I'm glad I did what that person persuaded me to do instead of what I morally believe in." No, you haven't. No one has. So stop it! Stop being weak. THIS IS YOUR LIFE. EVERYDAY MATTERS. YOUR LIFE MATTERS. Choose what is important to you, and chain yourself to it. The word is integrity. Another word is tenacity. A metaphor is a backbone. Stop being weak and giving in to things less important, things of little to no value that you choose just because it's easy. Why does everyone want what's easy??? What a boring, flimsy, inconsequential individual--the person who always chooses what's easy. My dad said to me once, "Anything WORTH achieving, is going to be difficult to achieve." He's exactly right. So get over it, people. If you want a forgettable, mediocre life of no lasting value: let every change of the wind affect you, believe in nothing, give in to anything. Best of luck (not that you need luck, because this option is very easy.) On the other hand, if you want anything more than mediocrity, you better pull up your bootstraps and grit your teeth.

The unhappiest people I know are the ones who allow their circumstances to control them. The happiest people I know are the ones that ACT for themselves and create the life and love they dream of.

I guess I'm done with my rant. I love you all. I really do, and that's why I had to get all this out of my brain.

"What will be your greatest work? What will be your most important creation? I will tell you. Your greatest work, your most important creation is and ever will be you. What kind of person will you become? By this I do not mean what kind of role in life you will take. I don't mean will you be a lawyer, surfer, homemaker, engineer, computer programmer, accountant or the like. I do not refer to what kind of car you will drive; what kind of clothes you will wear; what kind of house you will live in; what kind of spouse you will marry; or what kind of family you will raise. I mean, when all of that is removed and there you stand alone, who will you be? I mean, you."

-Lawrence Corbridge