Shattered

things i thought
held me up
and help me up
i found out are shaky

i am thought odd one
guilty of excellence
called by the many
unreasonable girl

pieces are breaking
from the mosaic
but where they hung
there is nothing but grey

all around me the bricks
that I thought were solid
turn liquid and broken
and leave me hung, shattered

Stepping Into The Minefield (To Those Who Love A Depressed Person)

Totally great article about a hard thing.

Thank you to the one who loved me thru, and the new friends who are present for me to feed the new lil chick within.

john pavlovitz

mine-field1

Life with depression is precarious business.

It’s like living full-time in a minefield.

You never quite get comfortable with your surroundings, even when things seem quiet. You always move gingerly, knowing full well that any step could blow it all up and send you reeling again; a bit of bad news, a difficult moment, or worse seemingly nothing at all. And every single time something triggers the sadness and that inner detonation occurs, parts of you get ripped up and shredded—and losing a bit of yourself in this way never gets easier.

One of the things most people don’t understand is the way mental illness isolates you, how it forces you to the periphery of all of your relationships because you know how unstable the ground you walk on each day is and how quickly everything can get ugly. You desperately want to avoid the collateral damage to people you love, so you learn to keep them…

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A Thunderstorm in Town

I am reblogging this post by a friend of mine…

It’s a brilliant piece of writing in its simplicity and lack of pretension. I love when a really good writer just types her heart and doesn’t try to “write”…in my own writing I have found that some of my best poems are the ones that just scamper out while “I” am not looking.

Be sure to read the Thomas Hardy poem at the end.

It’s enough to make you cry for a year.