yarrow

i put myself to bed early last night, you know? wiped the tears off my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater. and i dreamed of something strange, and cold.

got lost. in these long, winding roads, lined in an endless funeral procession of cornflower and yarrow.

and as the tendrils of smoke start to tighten around my throat, the chickadees beg for help. and i will try to let go.

try not to listen too closely. as the walls press in around me. and the monsters under my bed to scream, and shout, spittle dripping off their hungry, serrated mouths.

the riptide lashing against my flimsy island of blankets and pillows. a thousand empty sentences, and mismatched syllables.


Ever since I stopped seeing my therapist, I’ve had to do a lot of coping on my own.

I know that sounds sad, but honestly, I feel like I’ve learned a lot about myself, and I feel a lot more confident just knowing that I can manage myself, even when my friends are off their phones, and when I don’t have a mental health professional to turn to.

On a good day, I can do it. I can care for myself the same way I would a small child, with compassion, and patience, even when my brain is at stubborn and slow. But… on a bad day; when I’m so deeply consumed in my own mind, well, that tends to go out the window.

This is the thing with depression: you have an army of supportive, loving friends and family surrounding you, and yet still–it has this way of making you feel so alone; distorting your reality in whatever way it pleases. I’ve heard people describe depression a loss of interest in things they used to get pleasure from, but for me it’s more like I can’t remember, in the moment, what those things even are–and nor do I care enough to try and remember.

For the record, in no way would I recommend just trying to cope on your own before having seen a therapist. I tried using small mental health blogs (rather like this one, now I think about it) as a substitute for therapy for a very long time–and the fact is that reading this post will not help you manage your illness. Working really hard with a professional, for a really long time will help you manage your illness. I spent about two years in therapy before I started going it alone. I’m not writing off therapy forever, just taking a break for the foreseeable future.

Even if you can’t afford to see a therapist–which is totally reasonable–there are always crisis lines you can call to talk anytime, anonymously, for free. Here’s a masterlist, which should have something in your country. 🙂

Lots of love,

dragonwritesthings

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