- The Ramblings of a Madwoman
Hello, I AM.
To get f*cked or to get f*cked over– is that the new question?
We live in a time where you pick your partners by a swipe of the finger. We judge based on looks and most interesting bio. We live in a world where “Netflix and chill” is now considered a date, instead of someone coming to pick you up to do some fun activities and then drop you off at your front door with a kiss (where the hell did the butterflies go)! We live in a world where our real life meet-cutes are, “I met them on Tinder, haha” or “I was so drunk that I just literally fell into them” or “I was twerking at the club and they said I looked hot” (how romantic).
We live in a world where marriage has turned into just a legal form, instead of two souls becoming one. Where loyalty is a word from the past, because cheating is as easy as going online or to the gym or to a bar to find your fuck. Because that’s what it is isn’t it? No one makes love anymore; no one sticks around long enough to know if this could be the one. They stick around for only right now…and people wonder why we get so “crazy” as they put it, or they are pissed because you have trust issues (oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to ignore the world around me and how fucked it is?).
I live in a world where you are either cheating on someone or you’re getting cheated on. It doesn’t seem to matter how long a relationship has lasted– if someone catches your fancy and you get the urge, people act! No control. No one seems to think, “I’ve been with this person for 8+ years. I have 2 beautiful children with them and I have built so much with them. I can’t throw all of that away!”
I once saw a married man ask a girl, “do you want to go out to my car and fuck?” She replied, “if it was a Mercedes, sure, but it’s a Ford Fusion and your car seats are in the back so, no.” (my jaw hit the floor ladies and gents because this was an actual conversation).
I’ve seen two married people fucking around with one another, not giving a fuck if their spouses found out. On social media, he was the perfect husband: praising his wife and how much he loved her. But then he’d message this other woman saying how he wants to fuck her, asking if she can come over on Saturday because that’s when his wife will be out of town (this makes me truly sick when I see things like this).
I’m genuinely dumbfounded by it all.
I miss the concept of true love with a person, accepting them for good and bad, building a life (with them a start, middle, and end), with no fucking around, with no one cheating or having wandering eyes or leaving just because it got a little hard. But this hardly exists anymore and it is so rare to find someone with the same mindset…
So I guess, “To get fucked or to get fucked over?” really is the question.
-The Ramblings of a Madwoman
The Ramblings of a Madwoman: Panic
Panic.
This world isn’t against you, but it sure feels like it sometimes doesn’t it? It’s like, as soon as one thing goes wrong, everything else starts to fall apart. Little by little, your world feels like it’s crumbling around you.
I wear stress like it is a coat, except I wear it even when I don’t need to. It’s infused into me. Let’s be real, stress is a bitch. It is mentally and physically draining to have everything piled on top of you. If you’re lucky, stress brings along its super fun friend, panic attacks.
Panic attacks are when your body and your mind have HAD ENOUGH. For me, panic attacks feel like:
the world
is
crashing
down,
like the floor beneath my feet has
disappeared
and I’m free-falling
and I can’t catch myself.
There is nothing to focus on
except all that is wrong,
and my heart feels like it’s coming out of my chest;
my lungs feel like they don’t get enough oxygen
and at any moment,
the little air I am getting is going to stop;
I’ve lost control.
I have hidden in many closets, bathroom stalls (gross), showers…anywhere that I think I can get a minute,
where I can let go,
without someone watching me break down and apart.
My favorite part of my panic attacks is when people tell me, “YOU JUST NEED TO BREATHE” (if you guys could see my face, you’d notice that my eyes just rolled into the back of my head).
Absolute gold, this advice! Why didn’t I think about breathing?
Other than breathing (DUH), the things that seem to help me are:
- Being in a area away from prying eyes
2. Trying to think of anything else I can focus on, even if it’s dumb (unicorns??)
3. Writing
4. Listening to music
5. Screaming like a crazy banshee out in a field (don’t judge until you try)
6. Axe-throwing (a Rage Room will be something I try at some point)
You could also try the crazy idea of talking to someone about what has triggered you.
Maybe these ideas won’t work for you, but sometimes just knowing others are going through something similar helps in a way. If I could at least let you know that you are not alone in your mental health struggles, then I did what I set out to do.
The Ramblings of a Madwoman: A Body.
It breaks down all of the time.
How am I suppose to love something that is always betraying me?
My hands stab–
myself in the back
that breaks with each thrust of the blade.
My legs give–
under the weight of my world
and my own problems.
My face, morphing–
a stranger stares back at me,
“who the fuck are you?” I scream
with tears running down,
drowning me
but the face doesn’t make one single sound.
I don’t make a sound.
The Ramblings of a Madwoman: You Are Not Alone
Living when all I want to do is die.
This topic is a little gloomy, I must admit, but living in a time where everyone is depressed or has anxiety, I know most can relate.
I do not have a bad life, actually the opposite. I have a family who loves me and supports me, friends who are there for me always, and a boyfriend who will tell me I am beautiful every single day, and even plans our future. Maybe it is a chemical imbalance (no shame in the medication game), or things in my life have just been piling on me or my emotions are just too damn strong. Who knows why I deal with the things that I do? I just know that I do and I know others do too.
I just want you all to know that I see you and that it’s not all in your head and that I don’t think you are just seeking attention (as the ass-hats out there will tell you).
I live with severe depression and I’m not ashamed of it. If you ask me, I will tell you the truth: I do not want to be on this earth anymore. I think about death the same amount a pubescent boy thinks about boobs or sex, but unlike the horny boy who could find a quiet room to find his release, I shall never find mine. How is one suicidal but not at the same time? Well, it is something I ask myself everyday.
I joke with everyone about my depression because if I didn’t, it would be too damn sad. Most believe it is just a laugh because I am my own personal comedian, but to me it’s real; it is something I live with every single day. Thinking, “if I took this medication with this one, maybe it would work” or “if I let go of the wheel of my car at this speed right into oncoming traffic, will it be enough?” I’ve even thought of sitting out in the garage with my car on, only doped up on tons of drugs so that maybe I wouldn’t change my mind at the last minute.
Don’t worry boys and girls, I am finding a new therapist as we speak.
Also, even though I fantasize so often about my own death, I would never be able to do these things. I have loved ones who I would leave in so much confusion, in so much grief. I’m not so (trigger word alert) “damaged” or “broken” that I don’t think about those I would be leaving behind.
I live my life day by day; some days are better and some days are dark (i.e. doom, doom, doom). Those days are hard but I find it an accomplishment that I make it to my bed at the end of the day. Breathing on these days seems like a chore. Listening to others speak is a hardship. Sometimes the dark days can last a few days…or weeks, even a month, and the longer the darkness lasts, the harder fighting gets for me. As I write this, I am going on a week and everything is weighing on me: work, relationships with friends, family, the one I love, health issues. All of it feels like a pair of weighted balls (giggles like a 12 year old) attached to each of my limbs and I’m in the ocean trying to hold myself up and the longer I hold myself up the heavier the weights get–ohhh and there are sharks in the water (’cause it sounds badass).
But I also know that my depression doesn’t just affect me, it affects everyone around me. People count on me to be there and when I’m not, they are left confused as to why they think they have done something wrong (you haven’t; this one is all me). I know they worry, and it doesn’t help that I’m an open book:
“How are you today”
“Oh you know just wondering if I can pay a personal assassin to take my ass out.”
I will not lie. I will not hold it in, because if I ever get so bad that I don’t think I can fight anymore I need someone to look at me and say, “Girl you are scaring me and we need to get you some help” (don’t I know it, imaginary human in my head).
I never want anyone to think they are alone, and if you are dealing with the same things out there that I do, I SEE YOU. Look for help, be it a professional or a friend or family member. Just open up. In this day and age, it’s not weird or different to be dealing with the things we are dealing with. It might scare those around you that you feel these things but this is life or death we are talking about and people need to see the awkward uncomfortable parts to it. Don’t scare those around you without seeking help. They cannot help someone who doesn’t ask for it. Be open, be honest and be alive. Because even though my dark days are currently upon me, I know this can’t be it for me…or for you.
If you or someone you know is in immediate danger due to depression, contact 911. If you or someone you know is in need of support, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255); En Español 1-888-628-9454 or text “HELLO” to 741741 the Crisis Text Line.
Peachy Keen Collective 