Isn’t it obvious?

staringWhy can’t you tell that I’m lying?

Why can’t you hear it in my voice?

Don’t you hear the halting speech, the pauses…searching for the right word to convey the illusion of sanity?

Why can’t you see it in my eyes?

Don’t you notice that they rarely look at you while I speak? They dart around the room, looking for an anchor.

Why can’t you see my trembling hands?

Don’t you see them shredding the tissue in my lap? Flittering around, trying to convey something I can’t express in words.

How can you sit there and say “I’m pleased to see that you seem like you’re doing well.”

And why do I hide it from you?

Why do I go from “I’m struggling, I need help” to “Oh yes, I’m fine and don’t need another appointment right now” by the end of the session?

I will share my quilt

 

quilt
‘Contained’ Crazy Quilt at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art

Here, wrap yourself in my yesmetoo quilt made from words that pour out of my heart. Be comforted with the knowledge that you are not alone with whatever you feel. Burrow beneath the warmth from the surety that others have survived what you are experiencing.

Since I’ve started writing, I’ve learned that there are people all over the world that are very different from me yet we have shared experiences. The simple “Yes, me too!” comment is my favorite. After so many years of being told I’m crazy, stupid, or wrong, it’s comforting to know that there is at least one other person that knows exactly what I’m talking about.

So here, wrap yourself in my yesmetoo quilt whenever you need it.

Come out of the dark

light through hands

I see you
I hear you
I’ve felt what you feel
I’ve slogged through the same muck, climbed the same boulders
I’ve been scared (still am at times)
I’ve come through safe, albeit dirty and battered
I’ve survived
I will hold the light for you
I will hold your hand
Let me help you come out of the dark

 

Trapped

mime

depression feels like being trapped in a box which nobody can see

Bludgeoned by awareness

hands in front of face
Trying to sustain my recent ebbing of bipolar depression during suicide awareness month, is much more difficult than I anticipated. Perhaps part of the problem is that I didn’t anticipate the magnitude of the impact from the onslaught of social media posts on suicide. Please don’t misunderstand that last statement. I understand the importance of this issue, and am supportive of the people who are making a difference in this tragically elevating problem. One might ask, “Sheri, why don’t you just stop using social media?” It’s not that easy for me, since that is where the majority of my support network resides. “Sheri, you need to get out more.” Well, yes, that would be lovely, wouldn’t it? But that’s a whole other issue.

My heart aches for people who are devastated by suicide, whether those who have survived, or those left behind. I’ve done my part during the first week of the month, disseminating important information and memes of encouragement. But it didn’t occur to me to don my protective gear before this became too overwhelming. It’s all too raw, too recent, too close to home. I’m just not that brave or strong, and it’s worming into my brain as a suggestion rather than a deterrent.

Last night I was composing a wonderful post about how, after the longest bout of the worst depression in my memory, I am finally beginning to want to live. Hopefully, I will write that post soon. Hopefully, I will participate by reading and commenting in the blogging world once again. Hopefully, I will recharge my own protective force field and continue clawing my way out of the depths of despair. For now I shall retreat back into my protective cocoon of silly cat videos.

I just saw that the word “bludgeon” is today’s (11/02/2016) The Daily Post prompt. I hope it’s ok to link a previously written post.

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