So I wrote this poem for my therapist blog;
Coming from a place of pain, all I can do is sleep. It hurts to be.
It hurts to write.
It hurts to know pain won’t end tonight.
It hurts to talk.
It hurts to be still.
It hurts knowing relationships have changed against my will.
It hurts not saying the words
Letting them know I am through.
Having them wonder what went wrong is such an unfair thing to do.
Yet words left unsaid
Ultimately spares them more pain.
There’s no reason to stay when I have no way to explain.
It hurts I’m a stranger
to the girl in the mirror.
And it hurts so intensely
merely being here.
A few days ago, a life-changing experience happened. I am not ready to talk about it. My identity is in question. Relationships are over. I don’t know who I was, who I am, nor where I am going.
My truths have been disproven. Life has been a lie. Everything is in question. Except who I am in Christ. That will never change. I trust a few friends. Two know where I am… and their responses assure me my feelings are valid.
I am in a major clinical depression.
A serious episode where I sleep without meds, days spent staring into space, I don’t want to talk to anyone except a few individuals. My memory wax and wanes, meaning situations long forgotten are now vividly sensationalized. I feel, hear, see, and go through the motions of years past.
Am I losing my mind? What was in my mind is unreliable.
I am starting from scratch, with no foundation to stand.
Jesus, help me.