Floating in a sea of blue,
grey days have come to pass.
Sunshine feels unreal, exquisite on the skin.
Feels like I’ve missed too many days,
slumbering in my depression.
Like a choke hold, only smothered and pressed.
No release until it passed,
now I’m floating in a sea of blue.
I read something by another blogger about happiness. A few key points they pointed out were ideas like:
negative attracts negative
positive attracts positive
space from those who are negative is crucial while we focus on those who are more positive-minded
allowing us to stay true to ourselves
being able to express our negativity and finding the positive, because it is there, we just have to find it
I really liked the piece because it hit home for me. I have been in such a dark and crucial point in my life where I feel I’m only now, and very slowly, starting to crawl out of it. I focus too much on the negativity in my life and it seems everything is all wrong at once, when in reality there is an equal list of things going right that are being brushed to the side and forgotten.
It’s a small list, but it is an extremely attainable goal for now.
Do you have anything you’re currently working on? I’d love to know so leave me a comment.
Hazy and dazed,
helpless and hopeless.
Down and out,
Means of self destruction,
think think think.
Starry and glazed,
dew drops on the blades.
It’s easier to wallow in one’s self doubt.
Twilight brushes dusk with it subdued glows. The air is warm and moist from an evening shower. Birds flit and tweet. Crickets chirp and the river roars, unwavering. Serene and peaceful, the world prepares itself for sleep, but not yet an eternal slumber.
How many hours is it?
Days, weeks, months?
The sky will come crashing and Mother Earth will awaken. Crushing and bruising, her path will be painful and destructive.
The birds do not know so, they will continue their dance. The crickets do not know so, they will continue to chirp. The river does not know so, it will continue to roar, unwavering.
When I feel like I have nothing to write and everything to write at the same time. So many ideas but only half-ideas because my brains already off and onto the next one.
So many half finished ideas, all stuck together like glue waiting to be brilliantly unfolded and revealed. But I cannot do it. There’s nothing left in me to finish what I started and I feel like I need to but I cannot.
Even when I do write I hate it, I feel as if everything I write is juvenile and repulsive, the more I look at it the more I hate it. It is so hard to write when my brain won’t let me write because it tells me I do not know how to write and I’m terrible at it anyway.
But I write, and will continue to write, because it stills me if only for a minute; my brain is focused and no longer on edge. It calms me, if only for a moment,
I will continue to write.
How to have hope when everything feels like a spiraling pattern.
Actions repeated until they blend one into the next and then it’s gone.
It’s the new normal. The same hell to bear wrapped in disguise as hopes and dreams.
But it is waiting for you.
For that one small trip-up that sends it all spiraling again.
Up and down, up and down.
Around we go on the grandiose merry-go-round.
There is so much
more to being than what we’re led to believe,
But what is it that
makes us more?
The cosmos that lives within us? The stardust?
We are atoms set and
bound together to create this being, this form. Is it rare?
it can’t be,
Honest in that each
form is unique in some way, no two completely and irrevocably alike.
That is the more,
We are atoms that make up this inhabitant we use and that is the unique stardust of being.
I’ve never been this happy, it’s as if I’m in a dream,
help me, it’s a fervent fever dream.
I’m wrestling with some demons who won’t seem to let me be,
If anyone is
listening, I’d expect some sweet relief.
I’m very, very tired; I’ve been up all night long.
I’m fighting off the
devil with everything I’ve left to spare,
this fever hasn’t
broken and the battles hardly fair.
I’ll take a rest now and give way to weary bones,
I will not see you
in the morning but that, I’ve always known.
Washing over me like a spark at an electric fence, no words come out; gasping and begging for air I am gripped tightly.
No release, no comfort, only tendrils of doubt; smothering.
I am wading a pool of uneasiness and overthinking. Shivers in my bones tell me its all wrong, all of it.
But what is it?
They won’t tell me, they just coil like vipers ready to snap. Ready to swaddle my being with a hundred ton rocks, crippling and crushing; weighing me down
I am gasping and reaching, but the parachute is always too far.
Always too far.
Days meld together like ice cream on a hot sidewalk. Feelings are heavy, too heavy and they drown.
They drown me, they drown him, they drown you.
There is no lighthouse, no buoy. Only pressure, only suffocation, only struggling to the surface. But that’s the tricky part, there is no surface. Breaking free like action glass in a movie in unattainable.
Stuck in cement, your whole body immobile. Stuck in the depression, cuddled with the monsters under the bed.
I am the monster under the bed.
It’s cozy here, the demons know the best secrets. They whisper their tales until they’re louder, and louder.
They’re screaming and it won’t spill out, but there’s a back-up and it’s building.
My head is filled to the brim with whispering and the screaming and why won’t someone just yell
No one’s there. No one heard.
I am alone,