#Anxiety and Depression

[selfloverainbow]

Today is a high-anxiety day. So I'm celebrating the little wins today like getting out of bed. 🧡What's your little win today? This message is brought to you by an adorable tree kangaroo.

[april-is]

April 12, 2025: Instead of Depression, Andrea Gibson

Instead of Depression Andrea Gibson

try calling it hibernation. Imagine the darkness is a cave in which you will be nurtured by doing absolutely nothing. Hibernating animals don’t even dream. It’s okay if you can’t imagine Spring. Sleep through the alarm of the world. Name your hopelessness a quiet hollow, a place you go to heal, a den you dug, Sweetheart, instead of a grave.

==

Also:  + Bathing, Allison Seay + To Myself, Franz Wright

Today in: 

2024: A Small Psalm, Catherine Wing 2023: How to Do Absolutely Nothing, Barbara Kingsolver 2022: Miss you. Would like to take a walk with you., Gabrielle Calvocoressi 2021: I saw Emmett Till this week at the grocery store, Eve L. Ewing 2020: Day Beginning with Seeing the International Space Station And a Full Moon Over the Gulf of Mexico and All its Invisible Fishes, Jane Hirshfield 2019: Flores Woman, Tracy K. Smith 2018: The Universe as Primal Scream, Tracy K. Smith 2017: Soul, David Ferry 2016: Turkeys, Galway Kinnell 2015: He Said Turn Here, Dean Young 2014: I Don’t Miss It, Tracy K. Smith 2013: Hotel Orpheus, Jason Myers 2012: Emily Dickinson’s To-Do List, Andrea Carlisle 2011: Now That I Am in Madrid and Can Think, Frank O’Hara 2010: The Impossible Marriage, Donald Hall 2009: The Rider, Naomi Shihab Nye 2008: from Homage to Mistress Bradstreet, John Berryman 2007: This Heavy Craft, P.K. Page 2006: Late Ripeness, Czeslaw Milosz 2005: A Martian Sends A Postcard Home, Craig Raine

[anxietyfrappuccino]

why does no one care to help me manage my adhd? why does everyone insist i can do things just because it's possible? what if it's not possible? what if it could have been better and fulfilling instead of half-baked and disappointing?

at the end of the day, when i fail at succeding and meeting standards, they'll blame me for not trying hard enough when it was them who never even tried to help me help myself... no matter how many times i asked. when i eventually cry about it, they come back to me later to ask if i'm feeling better so that they can go back to ignoring the issue without guilt.

what is so hard about caring? what is so hard about believing in my struggle?

i want to want to give up, but i can't. i want to give up because none of this makes sense, and i'm shit at it, but i can't because it won't make sense either way.

life, i don't know how to fit into it, but i'm here. i have to figure it out little by little. even if that unfortunately means disappointing everyone and myself. even if it means getting looked down for being something they don't want to understand.

[applejewel-and-pinkamena]

The Supreme Creator overlooked his cheapest creation yet, a landscape containing a world but a pale imitation of other worlds, and he frowned

"I miss my wife Accord, i miss her a lot"

"I see, and do you feel this way often, Lord Discord?" Asked Accord, who was writing this conversation down in a notepad, really trying to depict every single detail of Discord's pained expression on the paper.

"I feel this way constantly, i am as tired as a mule" and so he summons a very tired mule to express his feelings "no offense", the mule trots away in fear.

"Would you say the exercises i suggested to you in our last session have had any effect?" And so Discord summoned a flashback of his week.

Flashback 1: Discord tries yoga! And why, he sure feels pretty relaxed stretching himself into infinity, and turning himself into a chakra and cosmic energy and whatnot, then he checked out the Kamasutra, and began crying uncontrollably at his crippling loneliness.

Flashback 2: Discord begins meditating, he falls asleep for a year, thankfully he wakes up just three hours later for supper, and promptly falls asleep again.

Flashback 3: Discord tries making clay vases, he has quite a great time, and a good time it is indeed to make clay sculptures, he makes a sculpture of Fluttershy, and after finishing it, he cries uncontrollably for 7 hours.

Flashback 4: Discord remembers nice moments in his life, hanging out with Fluttershy-

"I think you get the gist"

"I do, you are in severe pain because Fluttershy-"

"The only pony to have ever lived, died, and it was my failure to stop Grogar that killed her, and ever since i have had to recreate her and the world around her just for it to be wrecked again each time. That pains me, Accord, i am in pain, do you know pain?"

"I-"

"Of course you know pain! I MADE you out of my pain, your purpose is to put me out of my misery! You are my misery! I HATE YOU ACCORD!" Discord begins crying uncontrollably tiny versions of himself, who join in his pathetic display, that's right, pathetic display, Discord is pathetic.

"WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY?!?!?!?!?! I'M SORRY I AM SO SOOOORRRYYYY!!!!" Discord's contrast is lowered and his tears smell like imprisonment

Accord sets the notepad down and gives a handkerchief to Discord

"For today, that will be enough, i am sorry to have bothered you, for what it counts"

"The feeeling is sobbing mutual"

And so Accord went back to his Order dimension to pour over his notes and manuscripts for the one billionth time. Discord just stared at the landscape again, and at a clay sculpture he can't bear to get rid of, he wipes his tears into a very slow and distressed mule, and he appreciates that, at least, this world may know salvation if he works hard enough. Why if he just bears the weight of the world in his shoulders over, and over, and over and over again, he may finally be of use to somepony! God knows he has not been of any use before the world ended, and that merits judgement, and Discord knows very well how God judges him, judges him spoiled and rotten.

[liahleeh]

O fato da depressão/ansiedade ser silenciosa, me deixa aterrorizada. Você pode estar no seu momento mais feliz, em questão de segundos, a chavinha vira e você se encontra num lugar escuro, muito difícil de se sair...

[darkness-falls-tarot]

Hey everyone I just wanted to jump on and give you all a little update on my life.

For the last two weeks my anxiety and depression has been incredibly intense, I won’t go into the specifics but it’s been difficult dealing with this and I’ve been trying to keep my online presence down to reduce stress.

So trying to do the readings hasn’t exactly been something I was able to manage since this started. I also am not taking personal readings for the time because of this.

I’m hoping soon I can get myself the way I was before this mess started. If I don’t post often I just wanted you all to know; I’m not avoiding you or the blog I just need time to heal.

I still have the requested readings in my list and I will do them when I feel it’s best. For now I am going to try and tend to my mental health overall and make sure I can get through this hell I’m facing.

[smiles-on-a-rainy-day]

[april-is]

April 19, 2024: Dear Proofreader, David Hernandez

Dear Proofreader David Hernandez You’re right. I meant “midst,” not “mist.” I don’t know what I was stinking, I mean thinking, soap speaks intimately to my skin every day. Most days. Depending if darkness has risen to my skull like smoke up a chimney floe. Flue. Then no stepping nude into the shower, no mist turning the bathroom mirror into frosted glass where my face would float coldly in the oval. Picture a caveman encased in ice. Good. I like how your mind works, how your eyes inside your mind works, and your actual eyes reading this, their icy precision, nothing slips by them. Even now I can feel you hovering silently above these lines, hawkish, Godlike, each period a lone figure kneeling in the snow. That’s too solemn. I would like to send search parties and rescue choppers to every period ever printed. I would like to apologize to my wife for not showering on Monday and Tuesday. I was stinking. I was simultaneously numb and needled with anxiety, in the midst of a depressive episode. Although “mist” would work too, metaphorically speaking, in the mist of, in the fog of, this gray haze that followed me relentlessly from room to room until every red bell inside my head was wrong. Rung.

--

Today in:

2023: The Socks, Jane Kenyon 2022: Ode to Friendship, Noor Hindi 2021: Heartbeats, Melvin Dixon 2020: Sunday Night, Raymond Carver 2019: Virginia Street, Jennifer Hayashida 2018: What Seems Like Joy, Kaveh Akbar 2017: Aunties, Kevin Young 2016: For the Union Dead, Robert Lowell 2015: The Cambridge Afternoon Was Gray, Alicia Ostriker 2014: Spirit of the Bat, Peggy Shumaker 2013: Thanks, W. S. Merwin 2012: Sweetness, Stephen Dunn 2011: I Remember, Anne Sexton 2010: Letter, Franz Wright 2009: 23rd Street Runs Into Heaven, Kenneth Patchen 2008: HOUSEHOLD ACTIVITY NO. 26, J.R. Quackenbush 2007: from Briggflatts, Basil Bunting 2006: The Chores, Frannie Lindsay 2005: Direct Address, Joan Larkin

[astrinde]

I greatly appreciate the option of masking in public. Concealing my face allows me to employ my primary coping skill, which is hissing “fuck!” under my breath whenever anything goes wrong.

[liahleeh]

Sou uma pessoa que quando acordo não gosto de falar nada... Preciso ficar uns 15 minutos calada esperando Deus colocar meu espírito de volta no meu corpo!!!

[darkwingsnark]

I know this is the depression talking, but sometimes I legit feel like people don’t care for me outside of the work I do. It might be because I’m stressed out from the fact I’ve been taking so long to work on the next chapter of MIM-- health and been too tired from taking care of kids being the reason. But lately I’ve been trying to talk about the fic with people, share tidbits to try and pump my energy up beyond the physical fatigue, but it feels like I get radio silence. Could be my fault on timing, but it’s been happening for a while now so my anxiety can’t help but go ‘oh, guess I took too long and peeps have moved on’.

Eh, it won’t stop me from working. But let me tell ya, I’m feelin’ it now Mr. Krabs.

[smiles-on-a-rainy-day]

It seems simple enough!

[april-is]

April 7, 2024: The First Line is the Deepest, Kim Addonizio

The First Line is the Deepest Kim Addonizio

I have been one acquainted with the spatula, the slotted, scuffed, Teflon-coated spatula

that lifts a solitary hamburger from pan to plate, acquainted with the vibrator known as the Pocket Rocket

and the dildo that goes by Tex, and I have gone out, a drunken bitch,

in order to ruin what love I was given,

and also I have measured out my life in little pills—Zoloft,

Restoril, Celexa, Xanax.

I have. For I am a poet. And it is my job, my duty to know wherein lies the beauty

of this degraded body, or maybe

it's the degradation in the beautiful body, the ugly me

groping back to my desk to piss on perfection, to lay my kiss

of mortal confusion upon the mouth of infinite wisdom.

My kiss says razors and pain, my kiss says America is charged with the madness

of God. Sundays, too, the soldiers get up early, and put on their fatigues in the blue-

black day. Black milk. Black gold. Texas tea. Into the valley of Halliburton rides the infantry—

Why does one month have to be the cruelest, can't they all be equally cruel? I have seen the best

gamers of your generation, joysticking their M1 tanks through the sewage-filled streets. Whose

world this is I think I know.

--

Poetry nerd extra credit: How many repurposed bits from famous poems can you find? I count 7 and I'm probably missing some!

Also by Kim Addonizio:

+ For Desire + Mermaid Song* + Onset + My Heart

* (Weird fact: this is about her daughter, Aya Cash, who starred in the sitcom You're the Worst. What!)

Today in:

2023: Insha’Allah, Danusha Laméris 2022: To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall, Kim Addonizio 2021: You Mean You Don’t Weep at the Nail Salon?, Elizabeth Acevedo 2020: Let Me Begin Again, Philip Levine 2019: Hammond B3 Organ Cistern, Gabrielle Calvocoressi 2018: Siren Song, Margaret Atwood 2017: A Sunset, Ari Banias 2016: Coming, Philip Larkin 2015: The Taxi, Amy Lowell 2014: Winter Sunrise Outside a Café Near Butte, Montana, Joe Hutchison 2013: The Last Night in Mithymna, Linda Gregg 2012: America [Try saying wren], Joseph Lease 2011: Boston, Aaron Smith 2010: How Simile Works, Albert Goldbarth 2009: Crossing Over, William Meredith 2008: The World Wakes Up, Andrew Michael Roberts 2007: Hour, Christian Hawkey 2006: For the Anniversary of My Death, W.S. Merwin 2005: The Last Poem About the Snow Queen, Sandra M. Gilbert

[destroyedonthegroundx]

its been awhile since I posted something intimate here.. but it's getting bad again and it's hurting