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

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

The Long Road Home

It’s been awhile since I’ve walked
this dusty road,
but I remember it well.
That spot there,
where the sun never quite reaches,
is where I found myself
on my knees
praying to a God
I didn’t believe in.
Bodies upon bottles
upon razor blades gleaming
with self-harm and a cocaine glow
fill the ditches beside me,
and the trenches of my memories.
In this place the hills are alive
with the sound of sudden drops
and last gasps,
and the air is thick
with the stench of shame.
This is a long road,
and east is west
and north is every failure
I have ever eaten.
South lies,
between humility
and every lie I have ever
sworn in blood.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

Breaking Beautiful

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Photo Source: Pinterest

Show me what
it looks like,
the beautiful part
of the breaking.
Describe it
to me in a way
that lets me feel
it down deep
where madness
decays in my bones.
I need to know
there’s beauty
somewhere in all
of these pieces
so I can believe
in something again
and know this
isn’t all for nothing.

© Stephanie Bennett-Henry 2016

It’s the held breath
burning against
walls of lungs
sighing into ecstasy.
It’s the terrified scream
burning the backs
of throats ripping
pain into pleasure.
It’s the storms
and stillness
we are made up of.
When the chaos
comes calling
the calm answers
her call,
and without one,
we have no other.

© Nicole Lyons 2016

Oblivion – Nicole on FC

Thank you to Feminine Collective for publishing Oblivion. It was written for a Creative Nonfiction challenge and it had to come in at under 1500 words, and it was by far one of my hardest writes to date, but I am extremely pleased with the end result.

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Never Leave My Side – Abbie Zebrowski

Never-Leaves

 

It’s a war

that can’t be won

only fought

It’s a pain

that burns fresh

and it burns deep

It’s a disease

that hides behind

pretty smiles and

sparkling eyes

It’s a silent scream

with bloody talons

tearing through the soft flesh

of my still beating heart

It lurks just beneath

the surface of my

serenity

The darkness that

overwhelms my light

The fear that wakes

a child at night

It

Never

Leaves

My

Side

© Abigail Zebrowski 2015

 

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Abbie is a published writer and poet who creates with passion and conviction. She doesn’t shy away from the truth and often writes about her personal journey with depression and anxiety. Abbie is a fierce mental health advocate determined to promote awareness and fight stigmas, which inspired her to start Depression: Catalyst for Change. Connect with Abbie on Sidereal Catalyst, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest.

Crazy, Cancer & Chuckles

Last month Stephanie Bennett-Henry and I wrote something together that touches on Stigma. I was reluctant to post it for (get this) fear of offending people. How ridiculous is that? Pretty ridiculous considering the disgusting comments and jokes that people are making today, in regard to Sinead O’Connor.

I swear to God, some of you need to pass a test before using the Internet.

It’s May, which means it’s Mental Health Awareness month, and I tell you world, you fucking need it.

How funny would it be if I laughed as your daughter lay dying from cancer? What about your mother as she pukes up any strength she has left after dialysis? Maybe we could make a video that pokes fun at everyone who struggles to breathe in the middle of an asthma attack, bet we’d have a viral sensation on our hands there.

Your ignorance is showing, cover that shit up.

Stigma.

 

S&N illness

Clusters

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It is as if some sort of cosmic energy
is continually pulsing
through my veins,
cascading along, dancing
with my white blood cells, finding
a home in every organ
of my body.
I hold the universe
inside of me
and I delight
in the idea of that for days
on end,
but when I hit blackest of holes,
the galaxies
that live beneath my skin
never cease.
Bone deep
exhaustion near cripples me,
the melancholy damn near swallows
me alive,
but still, the stars erupt
with every
ba bump of my heartbeat, and shoot
through my system.
This world is a cruel place
for a mad girl
with stars falling
under her skin.

© Nicole Lyons 2016

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For more of my poetry and prose you can check out The Poets section of the site or follow me at Nicole Lyons.

Anchored

Until you’ve tethered your madness

to someone else’s sanity

in order to keep breathing,

you don’t know vulnerability.