I feel like crying And I don’t know why There’s a sadness inside me That just won’t die.
I wrote that almost 20 years ago, when I was fifteen. I don’t remember exactly what prompted it, just the words pouring out. Even then, I knew that there was something inside me that wasn’t right.
Even all these years later, I think of these words. I’ve never come up with a better way to explain how I feel on days like this. I might be having a good day. I’ve laughed at jokes and stuff on TV. But I feel like I could burst into tears at any given moment and there is absolutely no reason why.
It’s been going on for about a week now. A few tears slipped while I was cleaning my closet this morning. I don’t know why those ones fell and others don’t. I cried during Avengers: Endgame, but who didn’t? (Only a monster wouldn’t cry. *glares at nephew*)
It can be frustrating, but I’m mostly just annoyed. Because there’s nothing to do this time, just wait and try to be patient.
I won’t let this undefinable sad cloud stop me from my life. I’ll put together my IKEA shelves for my desk and keep planning my trip to Ontario this fall. I still want to clean my apartment and go to Free Comic Book Day this weekend.
But I’m tired. Physically and mentally. Sometimes I push myself, like this morning, other times I let myself curl up under a blanket and play on my phone (like this afternoon).
Hopefully it will pass soon.
Until then, I’ll keep hearing those words from so long ago repeating in my head. Reminding me that while the sadness doesn’t die, it does go to sleep.
There was a time when I wrote fanfiction every single day. I sat at my clunky old Windows 95 computer and typed away for hours.
In those early days, I didn’t have access to the internet in my home. Unlike now, when I am writing this on my phone (and could publish this entry on it as well), I would put my new chapters on a disk and bring that to my sister’s house where I could update my website. My website was hosted for a time on Angelfire (I feel so old) and Geocities, but eventually had its own home at pink-moonlight.net . (Yes, if you really want to see my beginner attempts at web design there are examples saved at archive.org. Go ahead, I’m only mildly humiliated. 😍)
I had originally set up my website for my original fiction. I posted a few short stories and the first chapters of a few longer works. It’s kind of like the old saying, “if a tree falls down in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?” I have no idea, because no one read that stuff.
But I had discovered Hanson Fiction with a friend earlier that year and the people who wrote those had hundreds of readers. I decided to give it a try and the next thing I knew, I was getting dozens of messages from people who wanted to read more. I was hooked. I had fun writing and people actually wanted to read what I wrote!
I eventually moved on to other subjects, mostly focusing on the show Gilmore Girls, which played a very important part in my life at the time (subject of a future blog post). That was where I really blossomed, writing more than I ever had before. In the world of GG fanfic, I wasn’t a superstar or anything, but people knew who I was. For a socially anxious girl in her late teens/early 20s, that was pretty heady stuff.
I learned a lot during those years. My friend Leigh proofread some of my stuff and yelled at me about tenses. (I will never forget to check my tenses that thanks to her.) I learned how to keep readers interested, how to put enough suspense in a serial novel to keep them coming back week after week. It taught me how to play to my audience, how to make my readers believe the unbelievable.
During the Depression Years, I slowly stopped updating my fanfiction, although I never intended to. Those were the years I barely wrote at all.
When I started writing again, the first thing I wrote was a piece of NCIS fanfiction. I had been binge watching the entire series from the beginning and a story began forming in my head that I just couldn’t shake. Finally I opened up Scrivener and began to type.
I wrote about 65,000 words before I got distracted by another NCIS idea and began writing that. I began building fans in a new fandom. I participated in a challenge where I wrote a story for another writer based on their prompt, even though the deadline nearly killed me (deadlines and I don’t get along).
It’s been several years since I posted that first story. I still get emails about once a month from someone expressing interest in it. Because of that, a year ago I wrote 40,000 more words on that story, to finish up a major plot line. (Now if I can just motivate myself to edit and post them…).
These days I mostly work on my original novels. I read much more fanfic than I write. It’s a great way to relax before falling asleep and there are some truly talented people out there, writing stories for free, for no other reason than their own enjoyment and others. And many have used fanfiction as a stepping stone to careers in writing (and no I’m not talking about E.L. James).
I don’t think most people who haven’t been involved in the fanfiction/fandom world really understand what an important part it can play in a young (or old, there are lots of 30, 40+ writers out there) writer’s life. For me personally, I gained a self confidence in my writing that I hadn’t had before. I learned how to deal with people who disliked my writing. I made lifelong friends who cheer me on to this day.
Writing fanfiction may just have saved my life.
Have you ever written/read fanfiction? If so, for what fandom? Do you know anyone who has? Did reading this change your mind about any preconceived notions about fanfiction? Inquiring minds (ME!) want to know.
I started keeping a mood chart in the back of my planner three years ago and I love being able to look back at the entire year and see many good (and bad) days I’ve had. Anyway, this year orange is the color for an anxious day and February was completely devoid of orange. Instead it was filled with turquoise (for a ‘meh’ day) and blue (a happy day!).
I’ve been feeling disturbingly good mental health-wise the past few months. Disturbing because some days it just feels weird and suspicious. Unnatural even.
For the first time in, probably a decade, I feel like I’ve really got my life on track. I can finally focus on my physical health more. For so long I had to put my mental health at the front of the line because if I didn’t have good mental health, my physical health didn’t really matter. But now I’m at a point where I can focus on eating more nourishing foods and getting more movement.
I’m having fun.
It’s always scary when I start to feel this way because I know it won’t last. I could wake up tomorrow and have a bad day. I could have a series of Bad Days. With Anxiety and Depression there is just no way to know.
Over the years, I’ve developed a routine of sorts. When those Bad Days come (and they will), I know what to do. And that makes them just a little less terrible. For me, I know nothing but time will make that terrible feeling go away. I just have to survive each day at a time until it runs it’s course. Having a routine makes those days a little less scary and reminds me that it will end, just like it did the last time it happened.
Here is how I cope on the days when I wake up and know instantly that things are not all right:
I use television as a coping mechanism a lot of the time. I find the background noise comforting while I do other things. When I am anxious, the distraction becomes even more important.
I have two main shows that I use on Very Bad days: Psych and Castle. Both are light hearted shows that always make me smile, even when I don’t want to. They are well written (at least the early seasons) and the characters are like good friends that keep me company when I’m sad.
On days that are a little less bad, I have others I add into the mix: The Mentalist, Bones, Rizzoli and Isles, Elementary. You’ll notice these are all police procedurals. I find the predictable format reassuring and they all have clever and quirky characters that keep things from getting too serious. (I love Criminal Minds, but that one has to wait until I’m much more emotionally sound!)
When I’m a little anxious, I might eat a pint of Ben n Jerry’s to cheer myself up. But when I’m a lot anxious, I’m too nauseated and sick to eat. However, I also know that if I don’t keep something in my stomach I will only get sicker feeling as my blood sugar gets low.
So what do you grab when you’re nauseous? Ginger Ale and crackers. Sipping Ginger Ale (Canada Dry being my preferred brand) and nibbling on crackers doesn’t make me feel more sick and it keeps me from feeling worse because of not eating anything. There have been weeks where I drank nothing but Ginger Ale because it was a simple comfort to cling to and remind myself that things were going to be okay.
I even have a specific type of cracker for the occasion. My current ones are Tollhouse Foccacia crackers in Rosemary and Olive oil flavor. I buy them in bulk and always have a box on hand. Over time, I’ve come to associate these crackers with the comfort they provide. Not to mention they are delicious.
This can be a tricky one. I need something complex enough to keep my brain engaged but also fairly simple. (TV isn’t enough, I need something to do with my hands.) Bad Days bring brain fog, which makes it hard to focus or concentrate, which is why reading doesn’t make the cut. I also shake, especially my hands, and find that I’m more clumsy and prone to dropping things.
Very basic knitting projects have made the list. One year I joked that you could tell the status of my mental health by how many dishcloths I had knitted. (I made a lot that year) The kind of project I usually find tedious and boring is all I can manage on Bad Days.
One year when a medication change left me really messed up for a couple months, I sorted buttons. My mom who is a professional seamstress, has always had huge jars of loose buttons. As a kid I remember playing with them. That year, I spent the better part of those two months sorting buttons by color and type, stringing like ones together on pieces of yarn. Was it a useful project? Eh, that’s debatable. But the act of sorting and organizing was a simple job that kept my mind occupied.
More recently I’ve added puzzles to the mix. I buy mostly 500 piece puzzles from the dollar store (and thrift shops too) that are small enough to assemble in the top of a copier box. That way I can sit on the couch while I do the puzzles. I buy colorful ones and sort the various colors into special puzzle sorting containers before I begin assembling the pieces. (Any small plastic container work just as well. I used them until I decided to treat myself to the “fancy” version.) For me, the sorting is just as enjoyable as actually putting the puzzle together.
Phone apps cycle in and out of this routine as well. I don’t like anything timed, nothing stressful. Solitaire is always a favorite. (I did grow up in the 90’s with a bulky desktop that only had solitaire and minesweeper on it after all.) Other puzzle games cycle in and out depending on the day.
Those are the three things that I primarily use as coping mechanisms on Bad Days. I’m sure other’s look different, especially people who don’t have the ability to stay home as much as possible when those terrible days come. In many ways I know I’m very blessed, although staying at home has it’s own disadvantages.
What do you do on those days that nothing is going to make the darkness better? How do you power through to the other side? I’d love to hear from each and every one of you.
I know some of you are thinking, “And?”. Completely understandable. You have to know the background to realize what a huge thing this was for me.
I am possibly the least athletic person in the world, and no that is not an exaggeration. The last time I’d gone ice skating was in my teens (many MANY moons ago) and all I remember is gripping the boards so tightly that my white gloves turned pink from the red paint.
In 2018 I started to get interested in watching Ice Dance. In November I actually took a trip to New Brunswick, Canada to attend the Thank You Canada tour where I got to see a bunch of amazing Olympian skaters including Elvis Stojko and three time Olympic Gold Medalist Ice Dancers Scott Moir and Tessa Virtue.
Somewhere along the line, I thought it might be fun to try ice skating myself. You see, the danger of watching Ice Dancing is that they make it look so easy you delude yourself into thinking you can do it yourself. (Spoiler alert: You cant.) I discovered a few instagram accounts of skaters who began in their mid to late twenties and started thinking my thirty something body might actually be able to do it.
But nothing is that simple when you have an anxiety disorder.
Learn to Skate lessons would be nice, but before I invest I want to make sure I actually like skating. That it isn’t like how I wanted to garden and homestead and planned how I was going to do it for years and when I finally had the chance to try it turns out I hate gardening.
Due to the fact that the weather can’t decide what it wants this year (snow one day, in the fifties the next) the pond next door hasn’t frozen over (my first choice) so figuring all this out requires going to an actual ice rink.
In front of PEOPLE.
Those of you with social anxiety see my problem.
Due to my lack of athleticism, I have a lot of insecurities about my abilities (or lack thereof) when it comes to anything active. My brain began swirling with horror stories. What if my ankles couldn’t support me? What if I couldn’t even stand in the skates? What if I couldn’t stop falling? What if I fell and I couldn’t get back up on my skates? (my therapist asked me about the worst possible scenario on this one, which involved me crawling off the ice and literally dying of humiliation.)
Needless to say I had a lot to work through.
I bought a cheap pair of skates at a thrift store and a pair of skate guards on Amazon, my thought being that I could try them on and hobble around the house on them and practice standing back up. So I laced them up and tried to stand.
It didn’t go well. I now know that is because my skates are a size too big and I didn’t have them laced tight enough, but on that day the humiliation (even alone in my apartment) was crushing. This was a disaster. My body was just as weak and pathetic as I’d imagined.
Thankfully, my desire to give ice skating a try kept me determined to persevere. I talked to some skaters, did a lot of research, and started trying to recruit a friend to go with me so I wouldn’t be alone in my shame and humiliation. (My mom and sister both refused. They are dead to me now.)
Enter my nephew’s wife Amberlyn, who gamely agreed to go with me despite her own anxiety and fear of skating. (seriously, she deserves all the cookies, she’s awesome) I’d researched the local rink and knew when the public skate times were. Amberlyn actually drove out from NY to go with me (I told you she was awesome).
With my sister in tow (still refusing to skate, instead she was there for moral support and to take embarrassing pictures and videos, as sisters do) I swallowed down the feelings of terror. I was going to do this, even if it was only once. I was not going to let my fear stop me.
We got to the rink. I rented skates and paid the session fee for both of us. My sister helped me lace up the skates so I could be sure they were tight enough. I stood up. So far, so good. I walked to the side of the rink and stepped on the ice.
THE WORLD DID NOT END.
I was as surprised as you are. My knuckles were white as I gripped the boards and shuffled along, VERY SLOWLY. (The boards were very hard to hang onto. Seriously, can’t they take the hockey guard off? I’m trying not to die here)
I began to be certain I’d made a huge mistake. The rink was HUGE. There was no way I was going to make it all the way around, but I had no choice. It wasn’t like I could turn around (seriously, how do you turn around?!). So I kept going, a very determined (and terrified) look on my face. I know this because there are pictures (that I am NOT going to share) where my jaw is clenched and I look fairly constipated… thanks sis!).
About halfway, I felt a little better. There was no force on earth that could get me to let go of those boards but I no longer felt like I was going to die, and there had been no falls or close calls with falling so I felt more secure. About two thirds of the way, my feet began to protest.
I have plantars fasciitis, so I was expecting pain. This was a whole different kind of pain. I had no idea there were so many muscles in the ball of your foot and how much they could hurt. I took a break in the penalty box where my sister asked how I was feeling so far.
I felt good. I was actually having fun. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to make more than one loop around the rink, but if I could I thought it would go well. When my feet stopped throbbing I got back onto the ice to complete my lap. My sister took video (not posting that either). She said I looked like I was doing better. I made it back to the beginning an exited the ice.
I did it!
I paid $18 to do one lap around the ice. And it’s been a long time since I was that proud of myself. I’m going to go back, this time by myself. But not until I do some ankle and foot strengthening exercises.
My last couple therapy appointments left me stunned with two revelations that were pretty simple.
1. I’m Bored
My mother always described me as a kid as never being bored. I always had a thousand things I wanted to do and never enough time to do them all. That never really stopped until my mid-twenties, when Depression took away my ability to act on those things.
Almost four years ago (with the help of therapy and medication) I was able to dig myself out of that depressive rut. Recovery from a depressive episode that long is a weird experience, but that’s a whole other blog entry (Coming Soon!).
So when my therapist suggested that I was bored, my first thought was, “Yeah right.” I’ve never been bored! But the more I thought about it, the more I realized just how right she was.
I love routine, and mine had been pretty stale for a long time. I binge watch a lot of television shows, read voraciously, and have gotten way too obsessed with a few game apps (I’m looking at you, Dragon Merge, Klondike, and GSN Solitaire!). I’d become complacent and the variety in my life had been non-existent.
I took her words to heart and made an effort to fight this boredom head on. I learned some basic origami. I started making jewelry again. I bought a few puzzles and kits to put together. After a month of solid rain, I started taking advantage of every sunny day and got out to swim and soak up some vitamin D. Basically, engaged my brain in new ways and worked at getting back to my old self who never allowed herself to be bored.
2. I Need To Decide What I Want Out of Life
My second session ended with a question I haven’t thought seriously about in too long.
What do I want out of Life?
The first few days I reeled from it. It seemed like such a simple question, but so very hard to answer. I’ve spent a lot of time this year thinking about all the things I SHOULD change, but I never really stopped to think what I WANT.
When I was sixteen, it was an easy question. If anyone had asked me, I would have immediately rattled off what I wanted out of life. I wanted to get married, have a bunch of kids, and write traditionally published romance novels. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind I would have those things. If someone had told me what my life would be like at thirty-three, I would have laughed at them.
My life is nothing like I’d planned and different in many ways. I live with my parents (I don’t mooch, I pay rent and live in the upstairs of the house). I don’t have a driver’s license (by choice, I never wanted one). I’m pretty cool with being single (I’m bringing Spinster back!). I’m not sure I would want children anymore if the chance came up. If and when I publish my books, I have no desire to traditionally publish.
Figuring out what I want out of life is going to take longer than I thought. But I’m on the job. I see it’s importance now and I’m going to get going. One thing I do know is that I want to post more on this blog, so I’ll keep you updated as I figure it all out.
Has someone (friend or therapist) ever said something so simple to you about your life that you wondered why you didn’t think of it yourself? How did it affect your life? How do you fight stagnation and boredom? As usual, I love hearing from my readers (all four of you, lol).
NOTE: I wrote this entry about a week ago and couldn’t get it to post. My symptoms disappeared as fast as they came after almost exactly twenty-four hours, which I really hope is a pattern that will hold for my next reduction in dose.
It’s been about four days since I took my first lower dose and I feel like crap.
It’s not unexpected. When I was a teenager I was prescribed Paxil, which has a bad reputation but was a miracle drug for me. I decided to try something else after a couple years because I let people get in my head about the side effects, which didn’t really bother me all that much (because, for the first time in my life, I felt AMAZING). Withdrawal from Paxil is INTENSE. I remember feeling like a drug addict detoxing. In a nutshell, it sucked.
After a few tries, my psychiatrist finally ended up putting me on Effexor, which works similarly to Paxil. It worked great, and I’ve been very happy with it until this past year when it stopped treating my anxiety effectively. Many anti-depressants poop out eventually, but I’d been on Effexor for about 15 years at this time, so it was a good run.
I knew getting off Effexor was going to be long and unpleasant, and so did my doctor. (I cannot stress enough to go to a psych doctor for your medication. General Practitioners just don’t have the training and education to keep up with these specialized meds and often have people go down in dose way too fast.) I was prescribed a new medication which has worked wonderfully for my anxiety and I’ve been feeling really good for the past couple months, but the time had come to start the process of giving up Effexor.
My doctor knows I had a hard time getting off Paxil so she’s taking me down very slowly. The plan is to get me completely off by the end of the year. So four days ago I went from taking 300mg to taking around 250ish milligrams.
The first couple of days were uneventful, but yesterday I felt my first ‘brain zap’. (if you’ve never experienced them, you lucky dog, I describe it as static electricity to the brain/upper body) Shortly followed by minor nausea and dizziness, as well as a mild headache.
All in all, it could be worse. It’s like when you’re getting over being sick and you don’t really have any symptoms anymore but you generally feel like crap. I just have to rest and be kind to myself while I ride it out.
Hopefully the symptoms won’t last a long time, but they will likely reappear every time I lower my dose. I’m ready, I’m prepared, and don’t have to worry about my anxiety symptoms coming back because I’ve already got other medications on the job. It’s not fun, but I’ve got this.
The hardest part for me is to balance not pushing myself too hard with getting out of the house regularly. My first instinct is to be a hermit and never leave, but that’s my social anxiety and agoraphobia talking and I won’t let them win.
Mental Illness has left me feeling hopeless for long periods of my life, but despite the general sick feeling I’m dealing with today, I feel hope. Hope that things will slowly improve.
So take that, Effexor withdrawals. You’re not going to rule my life.
**DISCLAIMER: I am NOT a medical professional. I am merely a patient who has been treating my mental illness for many years with medication. Nothing I say should be taken as medical advice; go to your doctor for that. I am merely sharing my experiences with others.
Have you ever had withdrawal symptoms while going off medication? How did you deal with it? (If you’ve never had the pleasure, feel free to ask any questions you might have about the process. I’m happy to share my experiences.)
I feel like such an idiot. It doesn’t happen often. Being on antidepressants for over a decade kinda drills the routine in your head.
But it happens. My routine changes, something knocks my world off it’s axis, just a minute amount, and it slips my mind.
I wake up the next morning and something is wrong. My stomach twists and my arms are tingly and cold. I feel the panic begin to rise. My heart beats faster. Hands shake. I haven’t felt this in some time and I begin to struggle to breathe. I feel the anxiety attack rising.
There’s a nagging feeling in the back of my head. This doesn’t make sense. I’ve been better. I though I was stable. I want to sob. I don’t want to have one of these days. I have weekend plans, for once.
An idea drifts to the surface. I did take my pills yesterday, didn’t I? I can’t remember, although that doesn’t mean anything. But the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.
Breakfast holds no appeal, so I grab the bag of mini donuts I keep for this very reason. Two tiny chocolate covered pastries help me swallow the five tablets in my pill case. I say the colors to myself as I take each one, to make sure I don’t miss anything. Two maroon, then blue, white, yellow.
I’ve developed a routine for days like this. Step one is a comfort show. I choose Castle, putting the first disc into my DVD player as I think once again how much easier it would be if it was streaming somewhere.
The first season has 13 episodes and I know all of them nearly be heart. The familiar theme plays and I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling my anxiety recede just the tiniest amount.
I drink my coffee, more out of routine than for pleasure. The pilot episode plays and I can’t help but smile at Nathan Fillion’s antics as the playboy novelist Richard Castle.
I know how this goes. At best, I will feel “off” for the rest of the day. Periodically there will be little zaps to my brain, unpleasant but not painful. That will ease as the day goes on. I probably won’t get much done. It’s entirely possible that I’ll finish season one by tonight.
I struggle to not yell at myself and call myself names. I know it won’t help. I’m not perfect. This has happened before and it will happen again. I know what to do. I take deep breaths and pull out a coloring book while Castle quips on the screen. With any luck, by tonight I will feel normal again, or at least my usual baseline “normal”.
(This post originally appeared in my personal Instagram account, but it’s message is still utterly accurate so I wanted to share. There may be a few more like this.
Having depression means when you wake up happy, it’s unsettling. Instead of enjoying the feeling, you’re suspicious. You wonder why you have a smile twisting the corners of your mouth. Why is it here and when will it go away?
(Because it always goes away.)
It makes happiness hard to enjoy because you’re constantly questioning it. Constantly accessing it. Is it just a fluke or did you do something different? Was it that good therapy session? The new Vitamin D tablets you started taking? Is it the result of a normal upward swing in your serotonin levels?
Unsettling though it may be, one thing you do not do is waste it. Depression sucks, but it does make you more appreciative of the good times. You cherish them, make the most of them, because you never know what the morning will bring.
When I was a kid and a teen I had a huge imagination. I had so many story ideas I couldn’t write them fast enough. I kept
lists of novels I wanted to write, ideas that I wanted to explore.
I loved going to bed at night. I would close my eyes and daydream, usually about members of boy bands meeting and falling madly in love with me. Or I’d pretend I was one of my characters and mentally write scenes that were yet to come and exactly what I would write down the next day.
But when I got depressed, that all ended.
I stopped writing, except during November of each year, for Nanowrimo. But I never wrote new ideas, only ones I had come up with years before. I chipped away at my list of novels I wanted to write. When November ended, I turned off my laptop and never went back.
I didn’t daydream anymore. I genuinely couldn’t think of anything to daydream about. My life was so dark and colorless that daydreaming was pointless. Instead, when I went to bed I read fanfiction for endless hours. The familiar characters comforted me. I didn’t like reading original fiction anymore. The idea of reading about new people made my stomach twist into knots.
When I finally admitted my depression and went on medication to fight it, everything started coming back. First was my motivation. I wanted to do things again. I cared about my surroundings. People didn’t have to drag me out of the house. I had things I wanted to do.
When we moved here two years ago, I made a rule for myself that I could only read fanfiction at night. No more going back to bed after meals and doing nothing but read fanfic and nap. I had the ability now and I was going to take advantage of it.
Then came reading. I’d never stopped buying books, but they’d sat unread on my shelves. I bought books I knew I’d have wanted before I was depressed, and they were all sitting on my bookshelves, dusty and waiting to be opened.
Lastly, my imagination came back.
For the first time in years, I have new novel ideas. In fact, I’m starting to build up a list again of things I want to write. As I read, ideas pop into my head I need to jot down, complete scenes, characters, little blurbs for future books.
It hit me today how much I’d missed my imagination. Depression had come like a dark cloud, covering up all that was beautiful in my life. It had done so so slowly that I didn’t even realize what was gone until I came out on the other side.
Every day I see a little more of ME come back. And I swear on everything I love that I will never forget to be grateful. Because when the black days come back, I know that the bright days will return.
And the bright days make everything else bearable.
I have to be honest, I’m not a poetry fan. I don’t read it, I don’t write it, I just don’t particularly enjoy it at all.*
*with a couple of rare exceptions, such as Charles Bukowski, Sylvia Plath, and ysome Dorothy Parker.
Last Sunday I took a bathroom break while reading the book “Every Last Word” by Tamara Ireland Stone (if you enjoy YA at all I strongly recommend this book)and when I sat back down this popped into my head and I had to write it down.
So, without further adieu, I present the only poem I have written since my teen years.
Things Left Undone
sometimes I look around
and all I see
are things left undone
books to be read
crafts to be finished
kits to be sold
a storage box I never filled
mugs never put away
folder laundry sitting there waiting
dresses that should be hanging
a yoga mat gathering dust
oh the dust
there’s so much dust
projects I haven’t started
pictures never hung
paper that needs to be filled
notebooks never defiled
a planner I do not write in
a shirt I will not keep
outfits I have yet to wear
canisters just sitting there
everywhere there’s a place to start
a step to take, a move to make
instead I sit here typing
I cannot seem to move
I cannot seem to do
I shared this with my therapist yesterday and she found it insightful, so I thought I would share with my readers. If the mood strikes you, I’d of course love to know what you think.
Do you write/read poetry? Have you ever felt inspired to write poetry, even if it is not usually something you write?