Ode to PMDD

Do you ever feel the chaos in your mind? Do you process it in the same way? Do you feel so chaotic in your mind that you feel crazy?

Branded and accused, manipulation does funny things to you even after the end of the tunnel. Better yet, does your body attack itself,

You feel like your stuck in a perpetual cycle of soul destroying exhaustion, pain, sickness and suicidality, You know the circle, for a while your fine, happy, content, stable,

The next moment the irritability starts, then the burning, stabbing pain, Then the rage, the torture, the wall that creeps up on you out of the pitch black,

Like the wave of depression, pain and just wanting it all to end slaps you in the face a thousand times and more,

And then, I want to die. I don’t want to, in the sane, rational mind, I just want it all to stop,

In those moments, I have wanted and tried to die, and my god I have fought myself so hard in my life.

There were years where I thought I was insane, fighting with the silent grip on my mind and body so routinely.

Being suffocated, battered and bruised, gasping for breath just to do it all over again.

Doctors refused to listen, ‘you have depression, you should speak to someone.’

Until one day, after a suicide attempt, one kind woman, doctor, chose to listen, to actually listen to me,

Put aside weight, age and assumptions, she validated my link between my struggle and my hormones.

It was far from the end but it felt like I could breathe a little easier. Then there’s the tests blood tests, scans, internal exams, pregnancy tests, acknowledgements from close friends I had let in, more blood tests..

A trial on medication. A diagnoses. It’s not gone but it is easier to breathe, the instability is less dramatic, the mind is still a work in progress.

After my attempt I couldn’t bring myself to write again for months, it scared me, if I wrote I’d be tempted to die again. Then one day, the words came and my mind was full, and here I am again.

While I do not always feel stable, I am not living to die all the time ❤️

Scene

The blink of an eye,

The soft caress of fingertips gliding across skin,

The slow warmth heating porcelain,

Feathered echos, thump, thump, thump,

Broken silence by chatters strung across the trees,

Flames calling them home,

Matched slow breaths,

Crisp blanket coating the skyline and beyond,

Limbs entangled in warmth.

You, my home

You are a place that is not perfect,

A place that is safe,

That does not look down upon me,

That does not judge me,

A place of genuineness,

Of acceptance for what is, and isn’t,

A place of encouragement, dreams, and growth,

A place where curiosity is free to roam,

Where fire is to burn,

With only one fundamental rule,

Honesty for honesty.

The place that heats my skin,

From rushed need,

To soft feather light traces of your energy entwined with mine.

You, my sweet, wild being.

You are my home

My heart

I can’t save you,

I know that now,

Not from the monsters in your head or the darkness in your heart,

I know that now.

I can not save you from yourself,

But I can be your light in the darkness,

I can be a safe place.

A place where you can let yourself be happy, sad, excited, angry.

Without fear or judgement.

I won’t promise to be perfect,

I will be messy and wild and free,

I will burn with passion, love and care,

I will annoy you, anger you,

upset you.

More than any of that,

I will love you.

Loyally.

Always.

Soft souls

When the night is long, the day is done and settled on the distant blurr of street lights and headlights.

When she crawls into your embrace, that space where rough, calloused skin meets soft and delicate. Each used to pour out pieces of one’s soul and self, numbed gently in efforts to build together brick by imperfect brick.

When long gone shouts faded into discussions, learning, seeking. Simply souls seeking their others, working in sync as one vs the world. When broken becomes loved, loved becomes self healing…

When the lights come on, will you be one written in the story? Will you become yet another ink blot stained into the page, or a wondrous addition to the masterpiece canvas spilt red with the blood of a healer.

The heart of the woodland

Course bark bit into her palm, the sharp snap below her feet, drifting ever forward. Deeper into the stilled heart of the woodland.

The inky skies embraced her entire being, lost within herself. The welcome breeze caressed her skin, toying with her silky locks as she broached the icy aqua, shimmering rippled below the glittery abyss.

She found a log, gracefully lowering herself to sit before adjusting her cloak around her. Taking a moment to allow time to stop, sucked into her thoughts, duties, necessities, tasks, and hidden truths. Confronting her own mind, searching answers from the trees in the suffocating calm.

Breathing with the wind, drowning delightfully, home surrounding her. Here, a place where she never felt more like herself, the place where her soul had learned to heal itself. It was here that she carried the souls of others to heal them…

Mother Nature……

she speaks of matters of the mind, body, heart, and soul. Of worlds the majority can not see and often wonders.. ‘is she crazy?’

Is this why she never did find home in a place? Is hapiness a dream? An illusion? Is she just mad?
Living in a world where she can feel others pain, see their soul, lives, glimpses, where she can trace energy through another being.

Where she does unexplainable things silently as to not be shunned or hurt. Where her aim lies in her strength to hold the doors open and to let the light in people’s lives, minds, souls? Where she nurtures and fosters the space for rebirths, and growth, in things far more important than that which is visible to a naked eye.

In that she won’t let go or give up once she sees the light, bouncing of the shattered glass of past windows that glaze the floors. She flows with the brave innocence of trust, yet the untamed blaze of love.

Sometimes she feels like she was not the one designed to be truely loved, yet to give her everything in her love, to consume beings and to inspire the flames and stardust. Still she basks in the comfort of the protection of her beautiful creations and adoptions, each silent scar a story mundane to her. Never stopping, never dying, simply growing in the ghost of her own love.

We meet again

Eyes, bright through the endless darkness. Stalking it’s prey, watching and waiting for the time to pounce.

The air shifted, confusing the being, anger withdrawing from it’s clawed grip. Dirt beneath it’s darkness becomes softer. Darting eyes coming to a still on the twig ridden ground.

The glowing orbs met, instantly the power within each soul commanded to be recognized. Soft white flecks creating a blanket over the wood and burying into the warmth of each being. Locked in a silent embrace. Fleeting moments passing.

Soul-searching

They say that the eyes are the window to the soul. What happens when you begin to feel another, one that flows with the ever-changing fires that continue to burn, scar and guide you. It continues to follow you, staying with you despite the changes of life, and much like the moon, waxing and waning.

Just like the phoenix with each discovery and revelation shines a new beauty. In the beginning it is intriguing, terrifying. You push, resist and reject it. Yet somehow, there it is, ever a reminder that you are never truly alone. Encouraging you to heal yourself. To grow in ways the world fails to see and recognize.

Eventually, you find a place, your own place, and it clicks. The reason you were so terrified of it, how it changes the way you feel and think without doing anything, you are still you. This soul, bonding with yours, unspoken.

It was always home. It was always the sunshine to your moonlight, one never ceasing to exist without the other. The calm to your chaos, the fire to the earth.

The soul that can see the worth beyond the walls.

Captive thoughts

A frozen lake,
wind deafening,
distant howling,
trees bowing in the darkness.
One being sat proud among the shore,
lost in a burrow of linen, shivering.
Her face held a smile,
and her eyes closed,
As she invited the deafening silence to consume her soul.
Beware the thoughts that hold you captive in the woods at night.
Distinctly the ones that you lock away.
Pity the fool who steals the keys,
searing the palm that holds them…