Today my thoughts are:
“Not everything is as it seems.”
“Not every post has to radiate positivity.”
“Dreams are really telling.”
I’ve been sitting in depressive episodes just about all week. I say just about because there have been peaks of happiness, but the melancholiness that sits in my shadows continue to persist. I refrain from writing some days because I tell myself I don’t want to ‘harp on the negatives’, but then I find myself even deeper in a rabbit hole or worse, feeling extremely numb. I think our bodies and brains are beautiful things because I know that they compartmentalize the things that trauma or trouble us, just so we can be strong enough to see another day and not worry. But I think, eventually, it all starts overflowing.
Sometimes I’m all knowing of the things that haunt me, sometimes I’m so oblivious that it leads me to moments of anger. Anger because I feel this way, still.
Anger because I can’t remember the last time I felt free. Anger because I can’t go backwards to the moments that actually felt good. Anger because I don’t understand how someone who felt like the sun, moon, and the stars, can now feel like car exhaust, dark clouds, creepy chills.
Crazy as it may be, one of my first callings back to poetry was through reading Sylvia Plath. She always harrowed in her madness, sadness, and turned it all to art in words. Painting pictures in my spirit, mind, and soul. Painting pictures that felt familiar even if I had no idea about the specifics of whatever body of work I was reading. I felt seen reading Sylvia. So, I guess that’s why I keep writing too. I want to be heard and I want to bring voices to those that feel unheard.
But, what if? What if you don’t hear me? What if you don’t feel me? What if you don’t like it? What if you chose to spite it and spit on it? What if? It’s human nature to worry about the uncontrollable factors, and even if we can’t change anything – we burry ourselves in it. At least, I do.
A woman working out of her inferiority complex.
I had a dream that woke me up in tears.
In the dream I was experiencing a lot of loss. People cursing me out, pointing fingers at me, turned backs to me, chin high, nose higher, very “I don’t give a fuck about you” to the umpteenth degree.
I felt the dream in my chest. The emotions that I was experiencing and expressing within the dream became outwardly as I moved away from my REM. Face frowned, whimpering. Chest tight, heavy, and simultaneously hallow. Like full breath could finally move in, but there was still heaviness and clutter around the spaces of my heart.
It felt like a warning, but it also felt like my worst fear. Reminding me that nothing is as it seems because no matter how clear the picture there can still be chaos in the structure. To be a 20something, first-generation Dominican-“American”, free thinking, young woman in a country that pours hate from every which way. And when I make my scope smaller, I am a 20something culturally domesticated, first-generation college graduate, fighting off generational trauma and society evil, to break the shackles of my ancestors’ and predecessors’ pain, so I can birth my own lineage into light.
So no, my love, this won’t always feel like positivity. Cheers to the next time words engulf me. As always, whatever resonates with you – is for you.
Do With Love // LA.B