Day Three: Work

A poem about work. I skipped yesterday, but today I’m on track. I hope you enjoy.

I look out the window

To a world far away

The sun is shining

What a nice day to play

The air is brisk

The sun is warm

But something is looming

It’s dark like a storm

The hours they pass

To quickly to hold

I must go to work

Or so I am told


A Little Taste 

When I have time, I write small portions of a book taking space in my head. It is in first person and it is meant to look like an authors account of true events, or rather my life story. When I put it all together, it will be about a woman who struggles to cope with mental illness in a world that constantly judges. She copes in other ways too, but that’s the voices talking.


When I was young, I would question my existence. I would ponder the meaning of why. Why did we bother to do anything if we were just going to die in the end? What was the point? Why try?
I managed to press through the thoughts. I sought out other ideas, hobbies, and allowed myself to live a little.
Once in a while, the thoughts come back.

When I was younger, I wasn’t aware of the state I put myself in when questioning why I bother to live. What a sight it must have been for others to see me sad; so suddenly.

I’m better at hiding it now. I work, I form relationships, I seek some sort of happiness. It looms, the agony, the dread. But I’m better at pushing through – sometimes. Lately, it hovers longer than I’d like. Often, it clings and I can’t shake it, wash it, peel back its decaying skin. It hangs like the air on a humid day.

I become stuck. I stick to my thoughts. They control my fighting mind; the part of my mind that resists the constant question – why are you still here? Why hasn’t anyone found you in a pool of blood?

I’m not sure, but my resisting mind wants to know why these demons keep lurking around? What is their purpose? Why did they choose me?
When you think of yourself, others don’t find themselves into the equation. Depression, for me is a one way street. Ahh, but that isn’t really true because the anxiety in me only cares about others, and the looming psychopath in me wants to murder every soul I see.
Mental illness isn’t cute anymore. It never was.

I grew up in a time where it was a growing trend of weirdos who dressed in black and were always sad. They made depression somehow glamorous and soon nearly everyone I knew wore eyeliner and combed their hair over one eye. But what about the people who were trying to act normal because they fought real demons? Not ones that pretended to just so they could fight the establishment and in return draw attention to themselves because no one at home gave a shit.
I had parents who gave a shit, they just didn’t know they had to. To them, I was normal. I did normal things, had normal friends, and had a normal mind.
I actually wanted to be normal. Instead, I fought to live. My mind wanted my soul and it almost won, more than a few times. I prayed to die and hoped I wouldn’t make it past 25. In fact, I was certain I wouldn’t live past then. I was so sure, I started doing things to speed along the process. It never happened. When 25 came, I cried until I nearly went into a psychosis. I took some pills to wash away the pain, and I woke in a heavier dispair. I was with someone then. Someone who saw my crazy. They seemed to embrace it and I’ll never know and never want to know why.
At this point, I gave in. I stayed with this person and just became someone I wasn’t – normal. I thought I should so I could at least stop the voices. I had to stop the demons.
But they were still there. In fact they came on full force. I started taking meds. It was a tragic sight. I changed. The voices stopped. The demons stopped licking the gray matter, but the claws never retracted.
I started living. I went to therapy. I was normal. But we’re not really normal, are we? We just turn into zombies.

I made cakes, made friends, cooked dinner, and went to parties. I was a wife. Sometimes I was really good. Sometimes I really sucked.

The demons played sometimes. They broke the med spell and when they played, the voices were worse than before. I would cry until I lost parts of me that I’ll never see again. I broke. After I broke, I broke again and again until the meds were gone and I started to sabbatoge my existence. If I was miserable, so was everyone else. No one was safe.
My unstable life made the voices more active. I had boughs of hysteria,as the old school doctors would say, more often than boughs of sanity. I longed to be institutionalized. I joked about it. That’s what you do. You joke about how crazy you are so you can deflect your problems. People laugh with you and it reinforces the behavior until even you start to believe the lies. They are just jokes, you tell yourself. You’re not crazy.
So you live your life. Like normal people do, but your thoughts are more demented. So you hang around people who are almost the same. It makes you feel better about yourself.
They don’t know the truth. No one knows the truth. When you confide in someone, they disregard you and just say things that they think will make you feel better because in reality you’ve made them feel uncomfortable and now they don’t know how to act around you and you find your list of friends getting smaller and smaller.
Don’t worry, you have the voices.
I do. The demons are nice as well. I enjoy their powerful hold. Their tight, crippling grip of despair. In fact, I’ve grown so accustomed to their presence I’m not sure I’d know how to be without them -which actually scares me to the core.

Finding A Lost Dream

Today started like any other. I woke, prepared for the day, went to my vehicle, and opened the gate to leave. As I unhooked the chain, my thoughts transcended to that burning, perplexing question, What am I doing? 

I’m going to work. I’m slaving away. I don’t like what I’m doing and I have to change it. I had a vision of waking early, but it wasn’t to pay the man. It was to feed the horses, play with the dog, and write. 

I want to write. Instead, I am focused on making a dollar. I thought about all the excuses I make for not putting pen to paper. I thought of all the famous writers who made time. They made it happen. It wouldn’t just happen for me, I had to make sure it happened for me. 

I’ve had enough of wanting. I had to want it so bad it became a necessity. 

As the day wore on, my mind changed once again. Just because I wasn’t fond of my current job, didn’t mean I had to purposefully make it miserable in order to justify, or rather co-sign, my own bullshit. I had to make my current situation just as wonderful as the thought of my proposed future situation. 

Not only do I have to make changes so I am able to fulfill my dreams of raising a horse, playing with a dog, and writing for a living, I have to make a change within my mind so I don’t sabotage my current situation. 

Who cares if it sucks. And does it really suck? No. No it doesn’t. I just think it does. I make it suck. 

So as I continue to learn and grow, I let today’s revelation transform me. I tell myself to work harder at perusing your dreams. It will never just “fall in your lap”. 

I tell myself to stop making current situations horrible. Even though it isn’t what I want, it’s what I have and I must make the best of it. 

Let this be the year we strive harder, live more, and follow our dreams with the wildest of ambitions combined with a strong desire to see it through because no one knows exactally how to make them true but yourself. 

Hello, Monday. 

I haven’t posted a picture in a while and I feel it’s time. More often than not, Monday’s can be very depressing. At one point in my blogging career, I sought to make Monday a day for inspiration instead of a day where the thought of drowning yourself instead of work seemed more enjoyable. In light of a brighter Monday, I give you my dog. He always makes me smile even when he steals my socks and decides he wants to play a fun game of chase. Happy Monday and may inspiration find you. 

The Sacrifice

It’s a sacrifice. The things we commit to. They drain our every being and we keep going, thinking it will all work out in the end – it will all be worth it. When it’s over, we are broken. Our spirits are damaged, possibly beyond repair. We give up the things we love. We put our dreams on hold.

It was foretold to me – one day I would have it all. The best job and my paychecks would take away all my troubles. They lied.

I gave up everything I wanted for them. I cut ties with priorities. I severed my relationships. I did it for them.

I look back on the things I lost and the things I demolished. It wasn’t worth the sacrifice, the drain, or the sanity I desperately need.

It will be over soon. The struggle still continues, but the finale is on its way.

I lost sight of what I really love – family, writing, and art. I would dabble in its pool from time to time, but I would never fully submerse. It saddens me.

I often feel I can have it all, but my one true flaw is not knowing how to juggle everything I want without losing bits and pieces of myself.

So the sacrifice continues, but at a lower speed. I am hoping to repair all the things I destroyed. I don’t have a plan – I rarely do, but I have a slight ounce of determination. It may be all I have. It is a struggle to maintain. It fights me with claws and fangs dripping with doubt.

I write this today not to dig for self-pity, but to release part of the burdens holding me down. This demon that wants to see me perish under my own right. I write this to purge the putrid in my veins. If I am lucky, I will stop smothering my flame and bring it much needed oxygen – for we all have something worth fighting.

We may not find it in the near future, but the future awaits for us to continue our journey.

Look on your life and ask yourself if the sacrifices are worth it. Truly take a personal inventory. If the cons outweigh the pros, take back your life. It is only one life and the time ticks away.


It’s been a while. Almost too long. I have some priorities now and I’m not sure about things anymore. While I try to grasp some perspective, here is something I wrote. It’s rhythm reminds me of a dark, smoky, slightly crowded room with a fading spot light. I’m on stage and something is pressing to come out. They are a mix of words I can’t quite string together and behind each sentence is a person full of sadness and anger. Enjoy. 

 I work

 I don’t live anymore. 

 I don’t breath anymore. 

 I’m tired. 

 I’m stressed. 

 I can’t see. 

 I can’t be. 

 There’s no space. 

 There’s no time. 

 There’s only fine lines

 It’s consuming – this place

 This confining place

 This deafening place

 This shrinking space

 There’s no sky

 No air 

 No birds

 No sea

 No cascading mountains

 Watching over me

 I’m here with papers

 With notes

 With deadlines

 With false hope

 I used to smile

 It was real

 The life I used to feel

 It’s gone

 I stopped chasing my dreams

 I started chasing what’s green

 But it has me ripping at the seams

 I work. 

You Don’t Know Me

Happy Freakin Wednesday!

It’s that time of the week when you’re not sure if you’re going to make it to Friday OR you’re so amped that you may burst before Friday. Either way, there’s still half a work week left so don’t get crazy.

I, however, only work three days a week. Two more days of 13 hour shifts and I celebrate with a nap.
Naps are good. They give me inspiration to take more naps.

(And you were certain you wouldn’t see that word in this post. You were wrong. I’m an unpredictable animal)

Have a great day. Here’s a picture of my dog, in case you get bored.


He certainly is bored.

Take A Deep Breath, The Craziness Is Arriving

Friday! For most, the weekend is a few smoke breaks away. I volunteered to work tomorrow so….
I don’t have much to say. It’s really early and I’m just trying to get back into my groove of blogging again. So enjoy this photo of my gorgeous dog, and have a happy f@$&ing Friday.


This is when Einstein was just a baby. He’s 8 months old as of yet. If this photo doesn’t bring a smile to your face, you may need meds.

One Last Time

There are many things I have come to realize while working a weekend job.

1. I took my time for granted. Every Saturday before I started this job, I did errands and chores. On some days, I would lie around and do absolutely nothing. Ok, so this isn’t an atrocity. It is typical of a person that works all week. Usually things get put off until Saturday when you have time and some energy to do them. I have had to manage my time differently with the weekend job. Chores and errands are done in the week and not saved for one specific day. I want to make it a habit to explore more of this beautiful state. I have learned that one day of the week should be saved for friends, family, or just time alone. Since I enjoy ample time alone, I want to pick a destination in the week, and venture out every Saturday.

2. I have learned what I can handle and what I can not. I have learned more about myself in this five months then some people lack to learn in a lifetime. This knowledge will help me grow and really become a better person.

3. The more I hang around people with mental issues, the more I want a dog.

For real, I need a dog.

This is my last weekend of working. Fridays will soon become a day of rejoice and not remorse. Mondays will hopefully remain inspirational and Wednesdays will be freakin awesome.

It is amazing what can be taken for granted, what experiences, pleasant or unpleasant, can teach us, and how life is more precious than all the money in the world. (but I do like money) 🙂

I hope your weekend is fabulous. I will be working, but secretly or not so secretly rejoicing my last swipe of adult poop before a new diaper. My weekend job is disgusting.

I’ll Go With That.

I picked up a few small books over the weekend. A nice gift for myself for working 7 days. Since it is Monday and I have to work today, I suppose the madness will never end. Anyway… One of the books is the opposite of the Be Calm and… series. This book’s wonderful title is, Screw Calm and Get Angry. This is just my sorta book. So today, from this book, I give you a quote about work. I find it suitable for a Monday, and for my working situation that never ends. Enjoy, and Happy Manic Depression Monday. (yes, I changed the name. I can do whatever I feel necessary)

One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important. – Bertrand Russell