Kodaline (song of the week/summer)

this song somehow encapsulates my current stage of life.

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Lexapro and me.

Someone once told me that I was incredibly selfish for not taking God’s creation as enough for me to be happy. That, to be a good person, I had to be joyful all the time every day and the fact that I wasn’t just proved how ignorant and lost I was.

Another person told me that I “didn’t need” medication, that the drugs were a waste of time and bad for me. They assumed I could make it since they had gotten through life just fine without – they’d even been to counseling!

I’ve heard all these and more. That my life isn’t hard enough to merit medication – what have I gone through, really? Blank stares, awkward silences, whatever stereotype they’ve heard or the name of someone they know on meds for depression/anxiety – something SERIOUS, unlike my situation.

The truth is, I am incredibly weak. I can’t handle a single day without feeling like my heart is being crushed by my ribs, I can’t force myself to smile, and I am convinced that I am the single most pathetic and useless person on this planet – that the world would be better off without me. There are times when, out of the blue, fear washes over me to the point where I am physically paralyzed. It is beyond my control, and that makes it all the more terrifying.

I know, your life is not like this. You are stronger than I.

I would do anything to stop these feelings – everything that convinces me that I am worthless, and will never be able to overcome it. It’s like drowning in shadows and darkness, suffocating sorrow not directed from any specific source but overwhelming nonetheless. So yes, I am ashamed of Lexapro and my dependence on it. I wish I didn’t have to take it. I feel unbelievably pathetic for doing so, but not as pathetic as I feel without it.

There are some people who are like glowing pure light in my little dark world and being with them chases every evil away – I will do anything to be as close as I can to them to keep the dark running so I can finally sleep….

All I ask is you not run away from my struggles and stand by my side so that I may have the strength to fight on.

the seat of scorn

Unable to detangle myself from my form, 

what is my function?

I am the mocker. I am the fool. 

(I can’t even remember to be compassionate.)

This narcissistic modernity, our newest delight

is in finding ourselves within ourselves, 

teach the children to find food in their skin!

(God is not loud enough for us, we will eat the people)

Friends are really just mirrors, their voices 

are fuzzy behind the glass, so we will

just tell stories about ourselves over and over and

play with our hair. Maybe we’ll hear it

if they say we look nice today. Glamorous laughter rings.

And yet, inside these cubes of glass, fists are pounding outwards, 

desperate to be truly known and to know.

So many a teary eye is turned inwards again and again, 

spiralling to pieces, rather than

reaching out and anchoring up and down,

finding roots in rot and glory

nourishment through decay and refining. 

in which I express how much I do not understand the youth of America and their social inconsistencies

one night on after a night off, it’s

so frustrating the way each of you check in check out

of my life, our relationship. “You can trust me”

“I’m here for you”, etcetera. You have my number. This

is supposed friendship and connection, supposedly

we are friends, yet when I turned

you down you walked away to find

someone who would say yes.

So when I am spent, broken, wrecked

and hurting so, so badly, I cannot know that you will be there. Many

are not interested, they say I am melodramatic and over-the-top.

“I just don’t know what to say”

as if there is a right answer to this question – Help me?

silence is a no. thanks for that, by the way.

Last night, I am called upon

to wipe up blood, clean cuts

wrap one up in bandages and make a cup of tea

because no one will respond. This

hyper-individualization of self expression makes

introspection a dirty word. Your selfishness

is cowardice, but of course

what you have to say is most important, most relevant, most true.

Ridiculous. Sickening.

The point is, a semi-African girl will handle this

attempt at suicide willingly because

all we have is love and that is enough. God,

find us here and help me survive

these individuals.

transfer

I have two words written on the back of my hand –

“AYONG LO.”  – “I AM HE.

What he said when he accepted me.

when he chose to stand up. Those words inspire me and move me

to stand up and be recognised for what I am and where I need to be.

Regardless of this, however, it seems that my diaphragm

has dropped out and I am melted,

hanging loosely in the frame of bones, my spine is slackened

and everyone says just pray. Just trust. Maybe

I am not spiritual enough, not a good enough

follower of God, maybe if I just knew

how to hear the voice of the spirit

or speak in tongues

or lie on the floor, wave my arms in prayer

maybe then I would be real enough to be recognised

by God?  I do not think this is true. I believe

in more than what we can do or understand, and

these words just cause me to sink lower, feel

more unacceptable and forgotten

am I more of a failure? I know you

mean to encourage me, but the dark

I am battling every day makes it harder

for me to hear you. Please have patience

with my weakness, or stop pretending

and let me curl into the floor

which is God’s heart, where I hear nothing

but the beat of truth.