bendingnotbroken-blog

[bendingnotbroken-blog]

Someone so short term took over my place and had me losing my pride at a time not long ago. She had me questioning everything about myself.

His heart was hers, his money was hers, his mind was hers, but his marriage certificate was with me. His children are mine. His love was supposed to be mine.

Every. Single. Day. It's on my mind. And every single day I am trying to heal from it all.

She wasn't worth the trust that was lost. She wasn't worth my tears all night long. She wasn't worth the feeling of not being good enough.

I was worthy of feeling comfortable and happy, but that was taken from me by both of them and now I'm trying to get over that hill. I'm trying to recover from all of it.

Divorce wasn't an option for me. It's not something I chose to do. But now as we all continue on with our lives, I'm constantly in fear that what happened may not be over.

"Trust me" but I did for years and you still broke it. It's not just something that is said and followed anymore. Not for me.

[bendingnotbroken-blog]

You see, people like me, we self destruct trying to find a reason to be. We want so badly to smile and laugh, but we find ourselves consumed with sadness.

Tired of people telling us it will get better, when in fact, it hasn't. This gloomy cloud that follows us around is not asked for or decided upon.

We are mistreated by our own brains. How fucked is that? We lie and say we're fine because truth is we don't know how to explain what all isn't right in our heads.

This crippling feeling that we will never be enough, and then somehow it intensifies with others' lack of understanding.

They don't take into consideration how our brain tells us that basically every human action is a jab at us. What they do in a split second can be something we go over and over and over again, leaving us wondering what we did wrong. A stranger's passing glance has us up at night. A different tone in someone's voice because they had a bad day resonates so hard within us that we circle back over it for the 13th time in the same shower span. As our flesh burns with the hottest water we can run, our minds are preoccupied with what was slightly off 3 months and 2 nights ago. We relive, rethink, and mentally redo all over the meetings and conversations and awkward steps in our days trying to decide if any of it even mattered to the outsiders.

We will never be able to overcome this and you people don't even see it.

[bendingnotbroken-blog]

My head is a little dysfunctional, I won't lie, I can't lie.

It never stops coming up with new ideas and thoughts and reasons to make me cry.

I could fill an ocean with all the tears, I'm a crybaby, I just cry.

I hate myself most days, the face my face makes, I dont know why.

Between the depression and anxiety and all the voices, they strangle me but I won't die, I can't die.

All of me is dysfunctional, yet somehow I get by

[bendingnotbroken-blog]

You are not a question to be asked, but the answer would be fireworks.

You are not a picture in a frame, but if you were, "Starry Night", for all the times I've lost myself gazing into those golden brown irises.

You are not something to take a break from, but a person who takes my breath away over and over again. Don't you know you give me an arrhythmia I can fix with pills or surgery?

You are not "less than" like you may have been taught. Instead, you are everything I have desired from that very first day when your eyes met mine.

When you touch me, play with my hair, accidentally brush up against me going into another room, its explosive. My skin momentarily bursts away from my body and I smile wide enough to cover both shoulders.

You are no thorn in my side, but instead that feeling that everything will be alright.

You are my favorite color, my perfect day, my "stop and smell the roses" moment.

You are my my moon and I intend to gaze upon you every night before I close my eyes.

[bendingnotbroken-blog]

I am not beautiful, or at least not how they show in movies, TV screens, or pictures in magazines. I am not beautiful

I am not graceful, or, I am lacking the same grace as those who walk in their high heels for hours at a time, those who are pressed and proper, those who are royalty and never have a hair out of place, waving with the slightest kind smile.

I am not nice, or if I am, it doesn't match up to those who are giving to charities all of the money people like me make in an entire year. I am not judging pro bono, or a doctor without borders.

Who am I?

I am the woman who has been up and down for 3 nights with kids. I am the one who listens to cries and wipes tears and tushes. I am "grab a handful of fruit loops and get in the car" because we are going to be late if we take anymore time. I am yesterday's leftover makeup because I couldn't muster up the energy to remove it all last night. I am "seriously? I just cleaned!" And I am "it's right here, right where I told you it would be."

I am overworked, understaffed, and often times unappreciated.

I am still trying, though it may be the last ounce of strength I have to give.

I am also "you are worth it", "I love you", "good job", and "I'm so proud of you."

It's not easy being who I am, but who I am is exactly who I need to be.

[bendingnotbroken-blog]

Anxiety's Persona

Hello again, it's me, anxiety.

Today I'll appear in the form of deep thought over miniscule mistakes and make you feel miniscule too.

Are you ready?

I see you love to sleep. Let me fix that for you as I creep into your mind and remind you that when the Walmart greeter said "thank you for shopping at Walmart" you said "thanks, you too!" Ha. Of all the words in your vocabulary, you said something like that and you are going to remember it and let it echo in your brain because of me.

Today, I'll make you feel like your existence is meaningless. As you sit and focus on the one thing you did wrong all day, pay no attention to all you did right. As you ponder the thought of what you said to that employee... you target in on it.... allow me to remind you, you meant nothing to that greeter.

He sees hundreds of people each day. You think you meant anything to him? To anyone you crossed paths with in the last 24 hrs? No. How could you. You aren't important.

Allow me again to remind you, without me you are nothing, and with me, you are nothing more.

My name is anxiety and this is one of my many forms. I belittle, I embarrass, I am stingy, I am clingy, I will make you fear everything.

[bendingnotbroken-blog]

Some days I scream "motherfucker!!" At the top of my lungs because my brain cannot differentiate a pot hole from a crater. A hiccup in my life can often times feel like a stroke. I can deal gracefully with the big problems, but God forbid my pen not write or I step in a wet spot with socks on. Some days, I cry because I can't find the match to that one sock i really want to wear, but I overlook the fact that my laundry pile is done.

I overthink, more so, I overreact. I over give. I over love. But I'm working on it.

[bendingnotbroken-blog]

My War on Terror

My war on terror has been going on as long as I can remember. I do not have soldiers to fight my battle, instead I am a one woman army combatting voices inside my own head.

I have constantly been told you have to love yourself to truly love someone else, but that's a lie. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, I may hate myself. I may loathe my very existence, but that's 3 more days of the week in which I love my kids and my husband.

It's been recited to me that you are only as strong and your weakest link, my all of my links are weak, yet I have soared above and beyond what has been laid in front of me.

Doctors and therapists that have never fought my fight and struggled my struggles, have told me medication is the only way to conquer my demons. Maybe so, but my demons aren't my enemies, instead they are the friends I've made while alone.

Medication makes it worse. When I am medicated, I want to end my battles with friendly fire. One shot, I'd be gone. But I love my life and my endless need to fight, so why would medication that makes me want to throw that away be the best idea for me?

When I am low, I don't want to get out of bed. Every small task drains the spirit from my eyes. I work as hard as I can to remember to feed myself, brush my hair, get dressed, shower....

The things that most people do out of habit, I seem to have to manually control my body to do. "Sit up. Put your feet on the floor. Right. Left. Right. Left."

When my soul is high, I am free. I am outgoing. I am a rolling wheel that can not be stopped. I get so high with the feeling of power.

Snap. Reality. I'm low again. Snap. Reality. I can't do "life".

I am an endless amount of spirit, commotion, and battle scars, though mental, not physical.

I don't dare allow you to see my weakness till I overcome it. Till I'm high. I cannot be weak, I cannot rise above it. So if I disappear or I NUST. CAN'T. TALK. know that I am only trying to fight in my war on terror.

#depression #hopeful #imokay

[bendingnotbroken-blog]

Raise them right, boys and girls alike

🚨🚨TRIGGER WARNING🚨🚨

I was a curvy girl from a very young age. I dont mean I was slim thick, I was slim and slender. I had long legs, wide "child bearing" hips, and as you can imagine, a large chest.

Growing up, I was taught that there are things that girls just don't do. You know, to keep them safe.

I remember being cat-called in Walmart around age 11. That may seem absurd to some. That's because it is. I was 11 for fucks sake.

I remember being in a bowling league around age 12. And there was this boy... only this boy was 17. I was infatuated of course and above my head were little hearts, you know, like the ones on that one snapchat filter.... I sat in his lap one day and my grandmother scolded me. "Mercedes Marie, you are going to give him the wrong idea. Its inappropriate to sit in boy's laps." Oh, but if she knew about the kiss that boy gave me in the hot tub.

Around 13, I went swimming at a friends house. Her mom and dad were off to the grocery store as soon as I was dropped off. Don't worry, her uncle was there. Her uncle was there in a pool full of girls ages 10-14. Her uncle was there to slip fingers in my swimsuit and grope my chest. When her parents got back, I told her mom what had happened. "That's just how he is. You shouldn't have worn a 2 piece." Oh okay, I get it now, I'm sorry for provoking.

A year later or so, I went with a friend of our family to a place down south, where there was this boy. He was quiet and shy. He was 3 years older than me. I felt special catching his eye. After all, everyone knew him and he was a pretty cool guy where I was from. He kissed me, right there in the pool. I was told it was time to go back to our hotel room by the lady who was watching me. There, I was scolded. That's not what little girls are supposed to do. I apologized, but when I got home that summer, he drove around the block with his friend at least once a day till school started up again.

At 15, I gave it up. My first time having consensual sex. He was 17 and my best friend loved him. He was 17 in the messages we wrote back and forth on Facebook. He was 17 when I sent him suggestive pictures, asking for his attention. But when I went over to babysit some kids in Pampa, and he showed up, I was 15, and he was 24. And when I got caught in bed with him, it was my fault for sending him that type of stuff. I'm sorry I teased him. He was 17.

When I was 17, my grandpa let me go on one of my first dates ever. The kind with no chaperone. He drove me out into the middle of the country. He turned the music up. And we danced. Right there in the middle of an old country road. This was new. This was romantic. So when he tried to take off my pants, I should have let them. "This is what you wanted, right?" You were being romantic, so I was taught through movies and songs that it should be what I wanted, but it was not. So when I kicked you in the groin, I was deemed a "dumb bitch" for not rewarding you for being nice. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, sir, that I sat on your lap. I'm sorry, sir, for wearing something that made you look my way. I'm sorry, sir, for kissing you. I'm sorry, sir, for sending you pictures. I'm sorry, sir, for not taking your romantic advances.

Most of all, I'm sorry that while I was being told these things were inappropriate, sir, that you weren't. Instead, you were being taught that it's fine because I sat on your lap. It's fine because men have urges and I was wearing the wrong swimwear. It's fine because I kissed you and it was in your nature to kiss me. It's fine because you were being aroused by someone begging for your attention. It's fine because you at least tried to be sweet.

We are taught that when something happens to us as women, or young girls even, that it's because we didnt take the right precautions. But why are young men not being taught that these are the things young men arent supposed to do?

I'm sorry, sir, that I grew up with everyone teaching me that a woman must think through every single situation, when a man should get a free pass specifically because he has a penis.

And I'm sorry, sir, that you believe that penis makes you entitled to whatever you want because you, sir, were not taught any better.