Wildling Child

A Must Read from Our Lady of Lust and Grace

Source: Wildling Child

Depression is Real and So is Ignorance

It’s suicide prevention month, and as most of you know, suicide is the second leading cause of death in children and teens, second to motor vehicle accidents.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up at 3am (I rarely sleep when I am beginning to swing) and went to twitter and saw the following from this ignorant fool:

Now we know that this guy is clearly lacking any sort of empathy, but my issue is that in 2017 we are still having to battle this ridiculous fucking mindset – ignorance – and with these people who have these platforms and followers who struggle with mental health themselves.

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It is never okay to discount an illness, not fucking ever, that is the stuff that stops people from reaching out for help, and that is never okay.

 

Unkind people are usually that way because others have been unkind to them, but there is no excuse for ignorance or complete denial of mental health issues, that is a dangerous thing.

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When ignorance is given a voice, ours must be louder.

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Tate goes on and on in his Twitter rant stating, “Sure I’d be depressed if I was broke. Fat. Lonely. With zero life goals. Do I need pills or a reality check? You propagate the excuses.” and then I think about the well known and much-loved souls who have died by suicide and seemed to have been living everything Tate praises and I get furious.

Kurt Cobain
Robin Williams
David Foster Wallace
Chris Cornell

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According to Tate, “Pretending depression is something you catch and absolving all personal responsibility while downing pills and complaining is BS.” and that, my friends is fucking staggering to me. Because this guy can not wrap his tiny head around facts, he’d rather admonish anyone who struggles and then kicks it up a notch with words like these, “Everyone’s a depressive now.  Oh, you’re all so special and have such hard problems those in Syria are glad they aren’t  you boohoo.” 

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Trolls the likes of Andrew Tate are a dime a dozen, people struggling with depression and other mental illnesses are 1 in 5, and while Tate discriminates, Mental illness doesn’t. Let’s all hope the black dog is never nipping at this motherfucker’s heels.

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The Andrew Tates of the world are part of the problem, you aren’t. You are a badass every damn day, because not only must you struggle with your own thoughts, you have to fight against this misinformed Andrew Tates of the world. Rock on with your badass selves, you’re the winners here.

If you are struggling at all, reach out, it is hard to do, but it is one of the bravest and best things you will ever do. Never be ashamed of your illness, it’s not your fault. Never let the unkind words of another stop you from seeking help because regardless of what fools say, they are only that: fools, fools who are looking for attention. You matter, your life matters, and you are never alone.

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If you are struggling please call The National Suicide Prevention Hotline

Something Pure

I am tired and I just want
something pure, something
beautiful to burst
from the filth of this sickness,
this tragedy that is
devouring my mind again.
And all at once I feel
nothing but the shriek
of my soul being
ripped from its bones.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

Another Season

The shadows are making
their way to my door again,
and my stoop has been painted
in grey, but I know that soon
the grey will give way
to the blackness and I will
spend another season crushing
bricks and sprinkling salt
in every corner of my
fragile mind.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

The Good Girls Are Always Found

I have broken my own bones,
splintered them
and placed them into bags,
dozens of bags of me,
and I have thrown them
from the windows of speeding cars
in hope that you will find me
after the crash, somewhere
where the good girls would never go,
littered between back alleys
in the dark parts, the places where
the good girls are always found.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

The earworms in a Ghost

I am heavy with the weight
of the world, a ghost
of the girl
I used to be.
Where is she?
The one with the feet
that skimmed the ground.
I can hear her
still, deep within
the walls of my mind,
drumming her knuckles
to the beat
of dying dopamine.
Oh how it wails
over the strumming
of her airy melody.

© Nicole Lyons 2016

The Truth About Living On Borrowed Time – Peter Olsen

If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of suicide and/or self-injury, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at (800) 273-TALK (8255).

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I’m not good right now
I’m not well at all

But here I am!
Right over here
I’m still alive

Beating the odds
As I’m holding on by a thread.
Walking a tight rope 50 feet from the ground wishing the wind would blow me off
Onto some rich douchebag’s BMW.
Splat.
Fall down go boom.

And yet within this self-destructively suicidal wish….
I hope that a magical safety net would fly from out of nowhere to catch me as I fall.
And I wish someone was there.
Anyone would give a fuck enough about me to hold me as I break the fuck down.

But yet here I am
Alone
Me against the world
“Fighting the good fight”
Trying every day to walk away from the darkness toward the light

Functionally suicidal I guess
As I try to live a “normal life.”

I still go to work every day
I pay my bills
I file my taxes
I write these blog posts

I try to remain as hopeful as I can.
But I’m crumbling inside.
I’m drowning
In a sea of self-doubt and regret
I’m sucked into the unrelenting quicksand of my blackened mind
Choking.
Suffocating.

I continue to willingly live with the darkest recesses of my poisoned mind.
The darkness is slowing overtaking the light.
In here everything stays the same
And nothing will ever fucking change.

I can’t fucking take this shit anymore!

So the eternal question still remains:
Should I stay or should I go?

The continually running juxtaposed narrative of wishing I was dead
Yet by finding too much beauty in the world I’ve made at least one excuse to live.

The bitter pill of truth says
I am just as worthless as I was when I was at age 16.
The sweetness of the nectar of lies says
I can survive to fight another day.

This is the co-dependent duality of my fucked up so-called life.

I don’t know how I’ve made it this far.
I don’t know why I’m still alive.

But I am.
I’m still here.

I keep going.
I keep moving.
I keep living.

And I’m still fucking standing.

I’m not sure if I’ll make it to age 65.
I’m not sure if I’ll make it to this summer
I’m not even sure if I’ll make it to tomorrow

Living on borrowed time in this temporary shell of skin and bone and blood.
Functionally suicidal I guess.

But I can try
To stay alive
To live to see another day

I have to try
To stay alive
So I can see another sunset
Or see anther sunrise.

I need to try
To stay alive
So I won’t die.

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After graduating from Washington State University with a B.A. in Humanities, Peter M. Olsen found his true passion and became a blogger. He has written for Feminine Collective, Rachel Thompson, and Hasty Dawn Words.

Peter is also a mental health advocate dedicated to helping people with mental illness.

In his free time, Peter is in search for the greatest taco trucks in the Pacific Northwest. Peter is a raver and PLUR warrior, video game junkie, coffee addict, and an all-around pretty cool guy. Trance, house, and techno music keeps Peter a very happy guy.

Peter lives in the greatest city on Planet Earth. The Emerald City…Seattle, Washington

I Live Days

I live days in defeat,
beaten down
by my own mind
and the lies
it whispers to me.
But I have learned
to put my feet up
and rest easy
on those days.
For without that respite,
I could never dance
wildly when I live days
in the sunshine
of my victories.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

I Have Surrendered on This Night

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Tonight I will unpack my worries,
tuck them gingerly beneath my pillow
and lay my head upon them
so that they may feel safe.
When I close my eyes against
the violence of racing thoughts
behind them, perhaps it shall see
the red streaking the white of them
and know I have surrendered on this night.
As I sink down into the darkness,
strength drifts out and away from me,
to take first watch at my feet.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

You are never alone – Sarah Jean Bowers

Depression and anxiety
Encompass more than sadness,
Fumbling hands,
and racing heartbeats.

It’s missed deadlines,
Canceled plans,
drawn blinds to block the sun,
prayers to make it to dawn.

It’s silence
after breakdowns,
Bruised knees
From praying
for peace.
It’s lying in the fetal position,
drowning in a sea of tears.

It’s succumbing to grief
And the lies it sometimes tells.
It’s heartache
holding you down.
It’s searching for answers
at the bottom of the bottle
when you sometimes hate
the taste of air.

But it doesn’t have to be permanent.
Your strength is stronger
than that which holds
you down.

You know the taste of
resilience and perseverance.
It’s as sweet as
the sun when
You finally step outside
and she kisses
your face.

You have touched hearts
with your bravery,
Unknowingly healing
others’ wounds
when they realize
they are not alone.

The stigma is fear’s best friend.
Don’t let it paralyze you.

This world has
hands to hold,
With journeys and
breakdowns
Similar to your own.

You, beautiful soul, are never alone.

© Sarah Jean Bowers 2017

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Sarah Jean Bowers is a poet, old soul, and resilient warrior.

At the age of eight, she lost her mother in a tragic car accident. She self-medicated with poetry and began to put words to the feelings that held her down. Twenty years later her father died in an accident. She attempted to soldier through, but PTSD and anxiety forced her to take a step back, slow down, and start to heal her wounds. She listened to her body and finally took the time she needed to find steady ground and a purpose to live her life to the fullest.

She has turned her tragedy into poetry with the intention of empowering and healing others with her words. You can find her poetry on Facebook and Instagram.