As Mental Health Awareness Month is coming to an end…

I pride myself on being an amazing mother, partner, family member, friend, human being etc.-and here’s why…

There was a point in my life where I was more angry than sad. I was sad because I was so depressed and i was angry because I truly felt like no one gave a shit. So much so that I tried to take my own life (this was years ago) and I wrote a suicide note, and turns out I kept it.
I’ll be honest I didn’t even know I kept it until I stumbled upon it yesterday digging through old journals.

And so I sat down and read it- I bawled. Y’all, I was so angry back then.
It broke my heart to read a letter I left behind for people who knew me and yet it was filled with so much anger and then there was part for Kannen and I told him that despite what anyone tried to tell him, his momma loved him.

Reading a note that was telling my son goodbye- whew, that hit different and it just…
It just really broke my heart.

My point being that as #mentalhealthawarenessmonth comes to an end, I want my family, my friends, other human beings, etc. – I just want you to know I care, I’ll always care- even when I say I don’t…I do.

I will be your vault, your shoulder to cry on, your person, your safe space-I will be what you need in the moment you need it the most.

It’s important that we remind those that we love just how much we love them.
You never know what people are going through.

I love you guys with everything I have and then some.

✨🖤✨

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masked before.

i’ve been wearing masks long before the pandemic started
i have them in different designs and a few different colors
the lipstick shade of brown and red mixed together works
really well for avoiding the are you ok questions
and if i follow the curve of my lip well enough
i forget which mask im wearing

my eyes serve as walls that barricade tears
and i tend to avoid eye contact with anyone
for meeting in the middle leaves me powerless
and just like now i wear my mask to protect not only myself
but i wear them to protect you too
who knows how my words would you hostage if i let them flow freely

and on the rare days i feel safe enough to leave my mask behind
don’t worry i make sure to stay 6 feet away
far enough that the scent of depression doesn’t make anyone curious
and if by chance i cry without my mask on
i’ll be sure to bury my head into my hands
i’ll quarantine for as long as i need to
and i’ll emerge when i feel better
and maybe by that time, masks will no longer…
who I am kidding..

mask off.

and all this time the smoke screen i stood behind
you never knew existed
you held me in your arms and the smile i wore drifted
and for the first time ever, the oceans that lived in my eyes pushed out streams that flowed down my cheeks

my knees grew weak
love dressed up as a spell
and suddenly i am compelled to be nothing other than me
i am not who you think i am
is this face still worthy of you
unmasked and riddled with imperfection
and on some days, depression
now that you see me
do you see me

a door.

frames sealed shut by words meant to hurt
there are no apologies that will loosen these hinges
there is no forgiveness that could open these locks
no passageway
no entrance

sealed shut this door will remain
for opening it undoes nothing but the sacrifices i gave to close it in the first place
words were the weapon you kept ready in your holster
and i no longer look good in a bulletproof vest
so no thanks but i have no interest in seeing what lies behind door number two

Just in case

Hiding this heavy heart proves more difficult with each day

Laughter, in fact, does NOT cure all

I’m preparing for pain even though I’ve yet to be hurt

Like clockwork my mind works, nonstop all day

Under and overwhelmed

In and exhale

Don’t forget to breathe

Don’t leave

Please

It is easy to jump from A to Z when everything in between makes no sense

Body aches from pain that settled into my bones weeks ago, I am past tense

On the fence between two feelings, seems there is in fact a thin line between love and hate

Forever turned into never, infinity right side up, I am nothing but your number eight

And just in case you understood this, and even if you don’t

I looked into your eyes to try and change your mind but it looks like it won’t

I am running out of moves for this dance we do and I have no clue on what is next

Just in case I don’t finish first, just know I tried my best

Just know I gave my all

Just know I didn’t finish where I started

And no matter how you read these words

They are words from the broken hearted

i can’t write for you

I came across a post on Facebook a couple of days ago and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. It was posted by another writer and I remember reading it and immediately thinking, I wish more people would get this. 

The post was a quote and it read, “I wasn’t born to convince you to believe me. I choose to show up in this space for me and for the ones who find comfort in my art. I talk about the dark parts of my childhood because those stories are worth telling. It’s my way of giving a voice to my inner child. It is okay with me if my art doesn’t resonate with you. I didn’t create it for you.”

I think the reason those words are still with me is because I didn’t always think that way. As much as I agreed with these words, it forced me to think about the time in my life where I felt the complete opposite. 

Are my words good enough? 

Am I good enough?

This was a constant thought. I would hesitate to write anything in fear that my words and experiences wouldn’t be good enough for those who would actually take time and read it. It was exhausting quite honestly. I would analyze experiences that I went through trying to word in it ways that would satisfy OTHER PEOPLE.   Crazy right? 

I would become obsessed about who was reading my work, or if anybody was reading it all. I focused more on what others thought of my work instead of my actual work. 

It wasn’t just in my writing either. I sought approval and acceptance in just about every aspect of my life. I needed to be loved. Loved by anyone and in any way just as long as I wasn’t alone. My mother had died, and my father had chosen not to be a part of my life. Can you imagine for a second what it is like hearing adults as a young child who just lost her mother conversing back and forth on who would be able to take in two kids that are now motherless. It isn’t what I would describe as comforting, lets just say that. 

I grew up desperate for attention but was always too sad and ashamed to ask for it. It was a war I fought internally and alone. So I started to write. I wrote poems, I wrote stories, hell I wrote diary entries hoping an adult would go through it and find my cries for help. And when I didn’t get the response I thought I would, it sent me even deeper in the hole I dug for myself. It was a type of hell I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. 

If I’m being completely honest, it wasn’t until roughly two years ago that I truly saw how dependent I was on the approval and acceptance of others. I wanted to be loved so badly by others, I totally forgot about loving myself and knowing that loving myself can be enough. And I’m still a work in progress but it’s IN PROGRESS. 

I’ve come a long way. 

So when I saw that post it just made me think about how far I’ve come, and the roads I’ve traveled. Made me realize that I used to write to be right, and now I write because it’s simply what I love to do. I write for no one other than me. It’s how I express myself. It’s how I survive. To be able to write down and free the words and thoughts that have held me back for so long is a feeling I may never be able to describe but it is MY feeling. 

I guess what I am trying to say simply put is that I used to force myself to color inside the lines because I thought it’s what everyone would like. I thought a perfect picture is what would make me worthy. And now? Well now, my focus isn’t staying inside the lines. I draw what I want and how I want. Some people love my artwork, and others don’t. And while it’s okay for people not to like my art, just keep in mind, I no longer draw for anyone but myself. 

Isn’t it crazy what feelings can surface from things we see on social media?

One of those.

Woke up overwhelmed and anxious with a hint of sadness.

Trying to rein in my emotions always seems like an easy task until it’s a task I have to complete.

The tears are falling faster than I can wipe them away.

Which could only be natures way of telling me it’s easier to swim with the current than swim against it.

Who wakes up feeling anxious?

What could I have possibly dreamed about to wake up at home and not feel at home?

Trying to act as if all is well while my kid tells me he is bored and wants breakfast is the equivalent to watching a slightly cracked vase be filled with water.

You know the vase isn’t in its best shape, but holding water is what it’s made to do…so FILL.HER.UP.

And with every drop that is added, water slowly seeps through the cracks.

Is there a thrill in testing the limits of fragile items?

Does tragedy let out cries that only attract the hopeless?

Looks like it’ll be one of those days.

You know the ones.

Unexplained and unexpected.

Unheard and unseen.

The picture unhung.

The song unsung.

The medication that doesn’t exist for my current condition.