All tagged Mental Health

What Does It Mean To Be An Empath?

It means I pick up your shit and won’t let it go.
Carry it throughout my day 
Integrate it into my being
Until I can no longer distinguish the line between you and I. 
It means that I’m still thinking about that ragey driver who cut me off and flipped me both birds through her tinted SUV windows this morning. 
Not because I’m pissed that she cut me off,
But because I’m worried about her…

I Want To Be A Morning Person

I can’t even count how many times I’ve said, “I’m tired,”
And expected that to be enough of an excuse, an exemption, an explanation, for all of my behavior and perceived shortcomings. 
How many times I’ve negotiated with the screaming Mimi’s in my mind, Telling them that the day wasn’t wasted. That it’s OK for me to sleep in. 
Finding faith in inching towards some semblance of balance. 
Blurring the lines between self-care and self-sabotage, not being able to trust my own instincts because I’m. Just. That. Exhausted…

Hide & Seek

You’re not lost. Not yet. 
You’re just waiting for someone else to find you. 
You want them to recognize what you are, and relay the message. 
Music and movement open you up for seconds, minutes, maybe even hours…
And then you return to your oyster. Safe. Closed. Clamped shut. 
Your friends call it turtling, because the world is a scary place, and burying your chin into your shirt collar makes you feel safer. 
You are terrified. And that’s okay. 
You have no idea what comes next, but you expect the worst. 
Stuck in your ways, burrowing into your blankets with quiet despair,
I see you. 
I want you to know, no matter how alone you feel, how small, how unsettled and unmoored,
You know better.
You will remember, in time,
That you are worthy of all the things you don’t believe you deserve. 
And the only way you will ever find out exactly what you are made of,
Is by making something new, and having the courage to share it.
Seek openness.
Lean into fear. 
Question judgement. 
You’ve got this, little one. 
It’s safe to come out now.

Lift Me, Oh Please, Lift Me.

I want to be saved.

I want to be helped out of my morning coffin by gentle hands that usher me through my day.

I want someone to monitor my thoughts, press into my aching bones, and whisper away the fatigue.

I am constantly wrestling, and I could use a water boy.

I want to be treated like an infant, like an octogenarian.

Feeble and foolhardy,

Spoon fed only what I need to thrive.

Carry me, then force me to move my tired body,

Even if it hurts.

Place my hands on the keys, and whisper exactly what I need to hear.

To get through the day, and back into the night,

Without judging that it was wasted.

Take control over my every choice and consideration,

For I am not fit to rule.

I experience my slow ruination, and do nothing to alter my course.

A jaded, selfish monarch in need of a minder.

I am my disease, along with the ones that came before in other bodies, and other lifetimes.

I inherit the depression, the addiction, the codependence, and retreat further inward as they creep onward.

Be my savior, and lift me out of this self-proclaimed grave.

Dig me out of my self-made puddle.

Place my feet back on solid ground, and pry my eyes open to take in the light.

I want to be brought to my knees.

I want to face my fate.

Teach me how to fish by holding my hands as you scrape away the scales.

Lay my broken-down catch in front of me and make me ask how it was done.

Show me what it is to be lifted,

So that I may seek the hands outstretched,

Waiting to pull me up by my untarnished palms.