Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Sharing the journey, even if it hurts . . .

Sigh. One of the hardest things I've ever had to write about . . .

I've been trying to blog about participating in the THIS IS MY BRAVE NYC show. It's a non profit organization that uses art to share the many brave journeys of those living with mental illness.

Yes, you guys. I have a mental illness.

Depression, most likely genetic + post traumatic stress disorder, most likely from the trauma of molestation = my chaotic, yet creative, yet colorful, yet complicated brain.

It's taken me some years to embrace this. I'd done just about everything to feed my internal angry denial bitch: booze, self-hatred, more booze, food, lots of food, other substances, sleeping, angry poetry, and an ocean-load of crying. And, yes, even carnal choices that I didn't see coming, absolutely no pun intended. I've spent years trying to suffocate the opportunity to face what the hell makes me hate life sometimes, and what makes getting out of bed absolute torture.

I think it started when I was 12, when, as a child, I was violated in such a way, that still makes me question humanity. Also makes me not want to have kids, because I would cut the dick off any sick twisted piece of shit that hurt my children. So my kid would be traumatized and with a mother in jail. Sounds like a telenovela waiting to unfold. While I love me some "Mari Mar", I ain't trying to make a baby resembling that kind of unfortunate life.

Anywho, I digress.

For the last 22 years, I've seen just how debilitating depression is. I've had to leave jobs, take a few hiatuses from school, lose friends, cancel trips, lose a sickening amount of money, all the while lying about it almost on a daily bases. You see, one of the worst things about telling people you are mentally ill is the blackened, emotional curtain that overcomes their eyes as they look at you with no understanding. Judgement, cynicism, ridicule. Just some of the forms this particular curtain takes on. Because you can't really expect those around you to understand what depression is unless they walk it themselves. Or at least I made that decision early on, that I'd rather people think I'm a lazy lying piece of shit than for them to know I had a mental illness.

Fucked up, isn't it?

Within the last few years, though, I have felt encouragement and love from those on my corner. And thought it was time to start sharing the journey, even if it hurts. I am still not 100% forthcoming about my walk, but day by day, I am becoming a raw and severed soul, refreshingly portraying and exposing my very humble experiences that have lead me to the light.

I would love to share the many positive outcomes of my journey, and even more of the dark ones, just to prove to someone who might be going through this, that it will be ok.

And that is the beauty of This Is My Brave. It was an outlet, an opportunity for me to share, not only with my loved ones, but with fellow survivors, my most intimate words.

So I leave you with the youtube link of my piece. And hope to one day share more with you. For now, I am going to cuddle with my 3 kitties, and thank God for another day and a more developed laugh line  from all the smiling that happened today. Today was one of those days :)