The Emotional Paradox

If I were required to keep a consistent blog schedule to save my life, I would have been dead months ago. It feels almost foreign to be writing on this page, but here I am.

Why have I been absent?

As a writer, and someone who deals with mental health challenges, it’s not always the easiest thing keeping up on my responsibilities and I can easily admit this is one I’ve let fall to the wayside. I’ve also been struggling with some horrific bouts of writer’s block.

These last few troubling weeks has got me thinking, really thinking, about what it means to heal, how long that takes–or how short–and what kind of work goes into the aspect of healing. Healing from trauma, healing from emotional pains, physical pains, imaginary pains. Are there stages of healing? How do you know when you’re in one stage and out of the other? Can you even keep track by yourself? How helpful is it to have someone by your side in the process of your healing? Do you ever actually¬†heal?

These are questions I’ve been asking myself because I find myself in this ambiguous position of being someone people come to during their healing, and being someone who hasn’t really healed yet. And for the people who say “this is why you don’t help others if you haven’t helped yourself yet”, yes, I get it. I’m aware.

But this little mental purgatory I float in is an experience that perhaps needed to be experienced for the healing process to continue. Without feeling that ambiguity, I wouldn’t have ever focused on the subject of healing–perhaps things do happen for a reason.

This doesn’t take away from the fact that I feel completely unsatisfied in life and horribly unwelcome in my own skin. And that’s why I haven’t been posting.

This doesn’t mean I want to give up on this website, it’s still something I wish to nurture and foster, it’s just something that’s going to have to go along this little ride with me, much like the earlier version of my blog did. It went through my ups and downs and all of you followers who have stayed with me from the beginning have been absolutely amazing.

I’m thinking, if there are stages of healing, I’m still trapped in the beginning. I haven’t yet developed the skills I need to surpass the stage and enter into a realm where I can really handle the under-the-surface emotions. I haven’t yet encountered a therapy session, or two, or three, that has managed to break the wall I’ve built around myself. I can’t even break it, it seems, or else I could move onto stage two. And yet my intuition involving other’s pain is pretty spot on. I can feel their emotions and understand their hurt, and empathize with their feelings, all without being in touch with my own. And that’s an emotional paradox.

This isn’t the kind of posting I want to be doing on here, but the only thing I know how to do is be real with the readers who take time from their day to click on this little article. And this is part of being human, we all struggle, and this is what it can look like: ditching responsibilities, feeling drained of all forms of peace, being unsatisfied with every aspect of life.

This isn’t depression. I’m not hopeless, I don’t feel worthless, and I’m generally a jolly person throughout the day. This is a much larger beast that’s been feeding off my mental capacity since the day I was born, and that’s not supporting an ‘I was born this way’ genetic view of ‘mental diseases’. It’s a reference to how my environment influenced my silence and my withdrawal. And it seems that no matter how aware of these things I am, the awareness just hovers and nothing gets done.

And so I drown in this feeling of being inauthentic, because the people around me never really experience¬†me.¬†Some people take my silence or awkwardness as rudeness, stupidity, a lack of interest, or boredom, or sometimes they just think I’m not all there (which could be argued either way). I’m not even sure if I experience me, I’ve never been to “me”. I’m silent towards myself.

And I’ve never quite spoken to someone who experiences this similar to me. I’ve had people say they do, talks with people with social anxiety, regular anxiety, but this is so much different than that. It’s not easy to explain to your average person, and that’s why therapy has never worked for me. All of this, too, is why I haven’t been posting.

So I’m not quite sure where things will go from here. I may need this site as an outlet again, and tie these experiences back to the reason why there needs to be improvements in the mental health system. That’s what’s on my to-do list.



The Sound Of Silence


After the events of the last couple days, and of the last few weeks in general, I went on a search for a place to find solace.Class is not one of them, so I did not attend classes today.

There are several national parks where I live, open to the public and free.Why I never explore them is beyond me.

But today I needed to be in nature. I needed to hear the trees talk to me and the moths tell me everything was going to be okay. The more I think about it, my manager from work is 100% right: moths are totally fairies.


I’m terrified of things that flutter. They are loud and erratic and stress me out. But if I think of them as fairies my fear dissipates. It reminds me of my childhood when a neighbor girl and I were obsessed with them. We went fairy hunting and bought each other fairy accessories (like magnets) with stories about the different types of fairies and the different types of good wills they bring with them. They watch over us, almost like little angels of nature. Ever since my stress has reached monumental peaks and I’ve been cracking at the seams, tons of fairy-moths have been huddling on my room door, outside of my apartment, and laying themselves flat all over my car.

There was one this morning that I talked to for a little while and he rode with me until the wind got too intense and he fluttered off to take care of someone else. They’re busy little creatures.

Anyway, I dragged my boyfriend and his sparkling white shoes and clean clothes into the dust and ruckus of the forest seen above. He hates when I do that.

The picture above was the main road because there are some people who live up on the tip of the mountain.But when you veer off onto the dirt paths through the trees there’s nothing but silence, fairies, rushing water, and the realization that life is more simple and beautiful than we let it be.



I go into the trees when I want to kill myself–not to kill myself, but to not kill myself. See how that works?

Nature and I have a special pact with each other. We understand each other on a metaphysical level. It speaks to me and I speak to it and we both realize we’re in this journey together for the long haul. I feel both good and bad for the redwood that stands for hundreds or thousands of years. That’s a lot of change, a lot of pain, and a lot of time.

As much as I would like to take a bullet to the temple, when I sit next to a stream and listen to the water and all the thousands of years worth of knowledge it has, and when I sit next to a broken stump of a tree twice the length of my 5’7 body, and listen to the pain it’s endured from tree rot or loggers or whatever, it all tells me not to take the bullet.

None of these feelings are gone. But I know the universe is there advocating for me if no one else is.

We came across a large tree stump that my boyfriend thought looked like a large bone of an animal. I said that was because trees are the bones of the earth.


They also–hold onto your hats–receive messages from the universe. That’s how I see it, at least.That’s why they talk to me in the silent way that they do, and they hug me in the non-tangible way that they do.

That’s why the leaves were as bright as they were today. That was a message in itself. That’s why there was as much silence as there was today in those woods. The universe knows where I am this moment, it always sees it coming before I do, and it’s sending its condolences through soft breezes and fairies across my car.

I have not recovered yet from my shutdown or my meltdown. Everything aches. My mental health and my physical health. I can barely lug this body around from my room to the bathroom and the nausea is killing me; it’s always the same. I do not feel well. My classes are suffering once more and I’m sick of falling into the same old cycle without any insight into why.

I might consult the trees again tomorrow morning, if I can wake up early enough.

Some people were walking their horses through the trails and I almost fell into tears because I could not give the horses a hug or a pat. Their eyes are always so telling and I know they had a message for me too, but I couldn’t get close enough to them. They were beautiful though.

I jumped on the tree branches, I climbed some, I sat in the dirt and I got us lost. We went further down into the depths of the mountainside, away from the residential main road where the real silence was.

An aerial view of the park, courtesy of Google Images. I’m probably someone in one of the grooves, swinging from a tree branch.

If we paused we could hear a creek trickling downstream and the distant hooves of the horses.

I feel bad I did not spend this time getting caught up on all the homework I haven’t done, as well as all the studying for my test tomorrow. I feel like I am an expert at wasting time in these frilly states of mind. But I also feel like they are necessary. They’re how I understand the world. They’re the only way I know of, besides hospitalization, that would keep me from blowing away my skull. They are the only reason I’ve never been hospitalized.

If I didn’t think the universe held me on a pedestal, I’d have killed myself long ago.

So the nausea is still rampant, both my hands are sore and a little swollen from all the hitting and punching and throwing things, my skin is irritated from all the self harm, and my mind/body is exhausted. My homework is left undone, my participation points in class have probably plummeted, and I’ll probably fail that test tomorrow.

But I’m alive.

I’m trying to figure out of any of this is worth the effort I’m putting in.

I’ve always wanted this blog to be informative. I’ve also always wanted it to be real. And this is as real as it gets. Fairies, voices of the universe, and a bullet in my head.