#Anxiety and Depression

[liahleeh]

Que eu me torne invisível a toda alma mal intencionada... Amém!!!

[nicolesanabriaart]

Survivin’, Vibin’, and Avoidin’ Unalivin’

[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 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

[midnight-love-song]

Anyone else just randomly feel immense, soul-crushing grief for no real reason???

[mjn-air]

This post has no other purpose than - hm, you know that thing where you need to say something out loud to make it stick? Like, when you wanna stop smoking, you tell your peeps around you so you gotta stick to your word

So, this is me telling you so I won’t forget and to make it official. I left the house for the first time this entire year for...funsies. I have severe depression and anxiety and lately, it got harder and harder to leave the house until in the end, I panicked just at the thought of leaving the house. I still had to leave the house once a week - grocery shopping with my beloved elderly neighbour lady and I can’t back out of that one because she would....she’s not the generation who immediately is like “oh, yeah, the anxiety, got it”, you know? when I really really couldn’t I would tell her I’m sick. So I just always (luckily! man, you gotta leave the house!) would go with her because...yeah, I didn’t know what to tell her what’s up with me AND I knew where we were going and how long it would take and everything. The reliability of elderly people, you know? They stick to a routine, it’s awesome. Never any unexpected adventures :D

But today, I don’t even know. Ofc my mum asks me (I say that as if it’s....nothing. but I gotta keep this story short. ofc she doesn’t just “ask”, she’s worried, so so worried, she doesn’t just “ask” now and then, she offers, makes suggestions, everything you could think of. She’s a mum, you know?)

So, today, my mum asks me if I want to join her to drive to the next city and I say YES and then we realize we don’t need to drive to the next big city for the thing she wanted to buy we can just stay in our small city and she asks if I would come with her and usually I never would but....I did. I absolutely did and let me tell you the world is a beautiful place. We also went to her garden and I saw flowers and ate those tiny wild strawberries and I am legit crying again because the world is so beautiful.

This is my sticky post to remind myself that...I can go outside. and it’s good outside. There’s a whole beautiful brillant world out there full of miracles and trees and just....yeah. I forgot how lovely a rose bush is. And I need to post this so I don’t convince myself that I better stay inside because it’s “safer inside” and if I don’t say this among witnesses I know I will not believe myself next time or talk myself out of leaving the house next time if that makes any sense.

[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.

[arulens-least-horny-jongleur]

finding out books you read at a comparatively young age are considered “YA” or “teen” is incredibly strange. i read full novels by the age of 7, and i had no idea that was in any way different from what other kids my age were doing. maybe i was lonely as a kid, but reading novels cover to cover on my own with minimal assistance was very normal, and even expected from my family. i read The Hobbit at age 8, all by myself, and i know several children aged 7 who can’t even read Dr Seuss with confidence. i read The Secret Garden, Oliver Twist, several full series of books… and i never though it strange that i’d read them before the age of 10. and now i’m looking at my cousins and other kids around me wondering if literacy rates have fallen that drastically or if i was a complete anomaly.

[haley-harrison]

washing down Xanax with an energy drink has got to be in the top ten most neurodivergent things I've ever done, lmao

[destroyedonthegroundx]

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

[your-heart-is-a-treasure]

“You are not a drop in the ocean, you are the entire ocean in a drop.”

- Rumi

[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...

[selfloverainbow]

Again, as with anything your mileage may vary but these are some things that anxiety makes it hard for me to do. I can spot several that are in the 'past' category but omg did it take some work to get there. Also - I don't drive, never have, never intend to, and have absolutely no desire to learn. I used to feel super ashamed of that but my brain just nopes out on the idea altogether.

[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

[mandispersonalblog]

Update on my hobbies: possible career if I am successful:

So fame isn't in the cards for me as of now. But success is definitely a must in my future composing business. Someday I want my own record company I would call it Violet Skye Music and my stage name is Violet Skye. I would be an independent classical composer and musician. I wouldn't be doing tours or crowds because it would make me uncomfortable. I wouldn't even do interviews because yeah total discomfort of being seen on TV would freak me out. I would rather make music at home alone with my musical spirit guides than be in a concert with a lot of people. If I made the money from my music I would have a decent home with staff and cats for company, like Enya. Live the reclusive lifestyle of my dreams. I would build my own house and make it spacious as fuck. Get a couple of cats. And have a pool where I can swim. it would be a cool glass house. I'd also have a panic room to hide when shit gets ugly. Have security in case shit happens. Life would be good. I may not care for riches but I would at least be stable for money. Not have a care in the world.

[mandispoetryblog]

Your eyes are like the ganges where your ashes lie resting and sleeping sweetly. Sweet man of mine I love you even still. My heart breaks thinking of your sudden passing. Now you are my angel sitting beside me.