Mental Health Warrior: Hastywords

I have been following Hastywords’ blog and Facebook page for quite some time now and I am completely in awe of her honesty, sincerity, and compassion. She is a beautiful person inside and out. Hastywords is beyond talented and writes with such courage and a soul stirring voice. She opens her heart and shares her fears and what she considers her flaws. Her poetry has not only helped her with her own journey through depression and anxiety, but it’s helped many others as well. She celebrates others, and often features many amazing people on her remarkable blog. She is full of gratitude and graciousness.

Hasty has encountered venomous comments from people who would try to shame her for simply being, open, honest, and herself, yet she doesn’t let that stop her from continuing to use her powerful voice. As a member of Stigma Fighters, she has shared her story, lending others her voice as well. Hasty is an empath, someone I can relate to, and I am blessed to have crossed paths with this lovely soul. A published author and online gallery owner, Hastywords has a deep love of art in all it’s splendid forms, one that she shares with her beautiful daughter. A devoted mother, genuine friend, compassionate advocate, and an empowering woman; the world is truly a better place for having Hastywords in it.

TEARS AREN’T ALLOWED HERE

By Hastywords

Tears fall from our eyes like stories screaming meaning into existence.

I spent my life trying not to cry. “Stop crying or I will give you something to cry about” was a childhood anthem. Not just mine. An army of parents use this phrase. Even I have. But I don’t use it anymore. When I see my daughter cry now, I embrace every single tear. Because they are all, every single one of them, valuable. Like diamonds falling from her eyes, they are valuable.

I was afraid my tears would label me as weak, immature, or as a person who lacked self-control. I would never be taken seriously as a professional woman if I didn’t learn to control my tears. I learned to suppress them with smiles. I learned to hide them inside jokes. I learned to drown by myself in them.

There is a downside to avoiding your tears. They build up and become the knife in your hand, the rope around your neck, the pills spread out on your bedspread.

People don’t realize how much damage the stigma surrounding tears has caused. We are ashamed of our tears. We hide our pain inside the scars we mark upon our skin. Inside our alcoholism. Inside drug addiction. In the abuse we dole out, or accept from others.

I used to spend my life trying not to cry, and it almost killed me. I’ve learned to let myself cry, and I turn my tears and my laughter into words because my emotions have something to say… and each tear is a fucking diamond. Each one saves my life.

Tears are a healthy expression of pain as well as joy. I want my daughter to see the beauty of tears. How powerfully healing they are. I don’t hide my tears from my daughter. Her mom cries sometimes. As a result she isn’t afraid of tears, she understands them, she listens to them and most of all she isn’t ashamed of hers.

I will never say, “stop crying”.

I will never say “your tears aren’t allowed here”.

TEARS AREN’T ALLOWED HERE

Paper cuts with razor blade technique
Spelling screams out of torn echoes
Unhinging every single past mistake
Marking them like tallied days on a wall
Makes you want to cry…
But don’t you dare
Don’t you fucking dare
Tears aren’t allowed here

Flat iron streaks grilling anguish
Into smooth innocent skin made of linen
Silk turned puckered under the heat
Blistering bubbles just waiting to speak
Makes you want to cry…
But don’t you dare
Don’t you fucking dare
Tears aren’t allowed here

Pills scatter on the bathroom floor
Fall into sinks, down drains, catching air
Before being grappled in fisted handfuls
Restraint putting most back in the bottle again
Makes you want to cry…
But don’t you dare
Don’t you fucking dare
Tears aren’t allowed here

Screams die behind open eyes
Heartache beats like a drum
Tears are re-purposed into will
Into knives, ropes, and self-defeat
Makes you want to cry…
But don’t you dare
Don’t you fucking dare
Tears aren’t allowed here

Special thanks to the countless people in my village who aren’t afraid of tears but especially to Byron Hamel and Lizzi Rogers who made sure this post made sense.

Hastywords is an anxiety driven over-analyzer. With a mind full of rainbows and devils she began giving her thoughts a way out of her head by writing poetry. Writing began as therapy for her depression and helped her gain perspective by putting her tears and laughter into words! You can follow her journey on her personal Blog Hastywords.

You can connect with Hastywords on Twitter, Facebook, Google+, Instagram and Goodreads.

She has written two books The Darker Side of Night and Depression’s Dance which can be found on Amazon.

Darker Side of Night – Modern day poetry from the shadowy corners of an overactive imagination. Whether we embrace the night or we fear it, one thing is for certain: almost anything can be hiding in the dark. Take a peek at what is hiding in wait.

“I found this extremely raw and emotional and at times even haunting. The writer has no shame or hesitation in sharing her vulnerability with the reader. It’s endearing and inspiring. Loved it all. A must read!~ Anthony Ortalano”

Depression’s Dance – Depression has a way of sneaking into your life and before you know it you are caught in a dance you can’t cut away from. This is about my dance with depression complete with the moments of desperation as well as the moments of hope.

“In Depression’s Dance, depression is also given a voice, “I have convinced you to believe you are broken beyond repair.” It speaks throughout the book as an enchanter, luring Hasty to walk away from those she loves, from her desires and things that make her happy, and essentially her life. Hasty skilfully creates the voice as if it is spoken just under the surface of the conscious, sensed, but unheard. It implants negative perceptions and sabotages the ability to dispel them. While depression is an underlying influence which aims to destroy her, Hasty’s own voice is shared through her poetry. ~Sage Doyle”