Sitting alone trying so hard to understand my life and how this came to be. Searching for someone to understand how living with this emptiness feels to me. Living so alone missing so many memories not knowing which way I should go. Why can’t someone help me find my past a past that I know had hurt me so.
Why can’t someone turn the key and unlock the terrible secrets buried deep. Please can’t you find all the missing pieces and return my memories for me to keep. No one should live in darkness wondering what had happen or how their life was shaped. These missing years were mine and mine alone and not for someone else to so cruelly take.
I walk alone down a path of darkness with fireflies casting little drops of light. But then there are so many secrets scattered on the pathway hidden from my sight. It’s all so overwhelming trying to stop all the thoughts that scream inside my head. There are no answers for me just pain and confusion trying to sort out the life I lead.
I know from what I can remember my path has been filled with much hardship and pain. I know I seen many days of sunshine but mostly I have faced the bitter cold and rain. What did they do to me that caused me to hide and protect myself by blocking out the past. Without knowing all these answers I know my need to search will remain and my pain will always last.
I need someone to take my hand and walk with me for I must never be alone. Although I need and want to find these missing years I must not do it on my own. This lost and innocent woman needs someone when the past resurfaces to dry her falling tears. So please come and let me lean on you and walk slowly while I search for my missing years.
©KathBaiR ……From Lost of Innocence
What if I told you that I was professionally diagnosed with all my symptoms and it really pisses me off that you people who are having a bad month and wants pity will self diagnose yourself with depression, anxiety disorder and even PTSD?
Do you really think that its great having those illnesses and it makes you look cool? Ask someone who was diagnosed by a doctor to have these illnesses if they feel cool or want pity.
What if I told you it hurt me and insulted me every time you say I’m so depressed when all you are feeling is down over something that happen?.
What if I told you about a day when my depression is at its worst and how my day would go, would you even care?
My day begins when I awake at 4am with a million thoughts consuming my mind and still tired because I didn’t really get any sleep except for a few times my sleeping pill left me to choice but to pass out. So I get up so I won’t wake my husband and toss and turn in the guest room for two or three hours until my husband gets up to go to work.
Then I go back to my bed and watch the news or check out Facebook until 11am. Then I will get up with my PJs on and wash my face and go out into the living room and close all the blinds my husband had opened before he left for work and sit until I am forced by the dropping of my glucose to get something to eat. I will go back to bed several times that day and get a bath where I lay there on really bad days and like I said before think about being dead. I don’t think about killing myself all the time mostly just the thought in my head how death wouldn’t be so bad.
Shortly before my husband gets home I will try to look as nice as anyone can with PJs still on at 4pm, sometimes I will open the blinds again and prepare a meal.
On these days when I am feeling at my worst my husband will usually come home with some take out food and we will eat and then go lay on the bed where I will put my head on his shoulder and he will tell me about his days and I will tell him about mine and then he will tell me all the reasons why he loves me and how I am the most wonderful person alive because I will say “tell me baby”. He will tell me how sorry he is that I have to live with pain and depression and I will tell him how being with him makes me fight everyday of my life so I can have more good days than bad and give back to him when he’s in need of comfort and encouragement.
What if I told you that was my depression
I just got through, no, got through sounds like some kind of victory. I just crawled while crying and begging for death through two of the most painful days I have had since I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. I can honestly say I know how it feels when every fiber of your body is hurting, not something I wanted the distinct honor of proclaiming but I know nevertheless.
I have to confess when you are laying in bed and the only thing that is mildly working is your brain and its reasoning and facts are somewhat distorted, you come up with a lot of crazy shit. For example the few minutes I sent myself in a free falling panic when I thought about how having a terminal illness would be easier to deal with because at least there was a foreseeable ending.
Although there are rare days when I can actually make it through a day without the aid of pain medication or when walking down the hallway to the bathroom doesn’t seem like a hike on the Appalachian Trail, days when I act like I’m a normal overweight fifty nine year old who has slowed down a little with age and extra padding, there are actually hundreds of more days when I cry, get angry and flip off a maybe existing god that could be so cruel to let the remaining of my days be so painful.
I have so many start over positive days I’ve lost count. I try not to let the pain get the best of me and send me into a depression but it seems the fight is getting harder everyday. I fight to hang on to my life and on days when I feel maybe thirty percent of a person my age and extra padding level would feel, I work like a son of a bitch to prove to everyone around me and of course to the maybe existing god and myself that I am normal, so fuck you!
Then the next few days I am sent to my bed to cry and hurt while I think about all the things I did wrong on my somewhat good day.
Living with fibromyalgia is not easy, its a struggle everyday even *good days* and when you see me and I can carry on a conversation and shop at a thrift store for an hour or ride in my car as a passenger of course for a couple of hour or go grocery shopping, please know I am trying my best and before I left home I prepared for my day by taking double doses of pain medication, put on a bra that doesn’t feel like its digging into my body and will have to be surgically removed and nine chances out of ten no panties because I can’t stand the feel of the elastic on my skin and a handicap sticker so I won’t have to walk as far back to the car. ……………..