Thursday, March 25, 2021

What anxiety and depression in a pandemic is like

 I wrote this to show a different side of mental health struggles. This is not a cry for help. It is a plea for solidarity with those of us who struggle even if you can't understand at that exact moment. And maybe ask us if you can help us check anything off our to-do list that day.






Just think happy thoughts. You’ll believe them eventually. That’s what we’re told. That the key to anxiety and depression is just a matter of finding the right combo of positive thinking and medicine to find your way to the other side. While it’s true both of those can help, no one talks about the harder issue. The constant fight.

I wake up every morning and have to remind myself 100 times that my life is worth living, that my friends are sincere when they say nice things about me, that hope still exists. Two hours into a given day and I’m already exhausted. So I take a nap, which makes me feel lazy since naps are looked down upon. I wake up and work on my homework in between zoning out on the internet, hoping the next video will tamp down my anxiety enough to make real progress.

On a good day, I go to a therapy appointment and tell my long suffering psychiatrist all this. She looks on kindly, reminds me to practice self-compassion, and adjusts my meds for the 3rd time this month in hopes of moving the needle a little farther to the positive side. I log off the appointment, put the remainder of my homework off til the morning, and play some video games in hopes of calming my mind enough to sleep.

It doesn’t often work. I spend the night worried about every possible misstep, sure that every bad thing that ever happened to me is sure to happen again while every good thing was just a fluke. It is morning again. The cycle continues. That is my daily reality.

I say all this not for pity, but to say that depression and anxiety aren’t always about mental breakdowns and staring off dramatically into the middle distance. Most days they’re about fighting your own instincts long enough for better ones to take over. For, one hopes, lack of trust to be replaced by cautious optimism. But I’ve gotta be honest. Most days, I’m too tired. I ran out of steam months ago. Now I’m just here. But I’m still here at least.


Sunday, March 7, 2021

The Wolf

 I wrote this for myself as a short prelude to a larger story I'm working on. Maybe some of you will like it?


The wolf saved her

She walked into her grandmother’s house to see the hunter, with his greedy eyes, ransacking the place

Of course, he’ll never be accused of anything

He’s handsome and strong and looks like everyone else

Much simpler to blame the wolf than to suspect one’s own

She knows the truth

She remembers the wolf rushing in and knocking the axe out of the hunter’s hands, telling her to run

She remembers how her parents lapped up the hunter’s story about what happened

That’s why she decided

She decided to run away some day

Let the village keep its stories and its villains

She’s off to the forest

To find a certain wolf with an axe wound