Life’s Rubber Band

Major life events become

Rubber bands wrapped

Around our life time.

As time passes

It can stretch

To make it

Seem like forever

And when it relaxes

The event

No matter how long ago

Seems like mere days

Have gone by.

Years may pass

Before the band

Loses its elasticity

And the event eases

Itself into real time.

Until that happens,

Humanity is stuck

In a limbo of

Push and pull

On our conscious memory.

Time seems to move fast

And slow all at once.

And we just drift with it.


One year ago today, my mom went into the hospital, for what would turn out to be, the last time. It’s another one of those firsts that I’ve had to face since my mom passed. I’m running out of time to have those first moments though. In five weeks it will be a year since she died. That in and of itself seems impossible. That day, her last in this house seems so long ago, yet it seems like it happened last week — such a strange sensation, to bounce from one distance of time to another. Somehow, I’ve found the strength to get through my first summer without her, the first fall, her birthday, holidays, all without her here. There have been moments of unbelievable pain and moments of peace where I’ve found some kind of acceptance. Even though pure acceptance has yet to materialize in my heart, I still can’t believe she’s gone and in some ways, now that so much time has passed, I can. And back and forth I go.

The Fat Fellow on My Shoulder

I live with depression every day. It has been a part of me since college, a fat little fellow who sits on my shoulder and whispers lies in my ear constantly. Kind of like the whole devil on one shoulder and angel on the other. But for me I have a deaf ear so I can’t hear the angel whispering in my other ear. I don’t even know if I have one on that shoulder. Anyway, he is always there, always talking to me and I fight him every day. I fight his influence over my psyche. I fight against the things he wants me to do. Don’t blog, you don’t have enough people reading your work, and it’s a waste of time. Don’t write, no one’s ever going to read it and if they do they won’t take it seriously. And never talk about me. People don’t care. Everyone has problems they have to deal with, they don’t have time to deal with yours. People tell me to just “get over it” or my favorite “there are people in wheelchairs, your life isn’t that bad.” While that second sentiment is true, all hearing things like that does is devalue my feelings. And it makes me frustrated and angry. Until you walk a mile in my shoes, don’t judge me. Don’t think you know what I’m going through. And don’t think you can empathize unless you have gone through the same thing. February is a tough month for me. My father died on the 6th and my oldest sister died in late February 2016 so her 2nd anniversary is coming up. However, this year I’m feeling defiant in the face of my depression. So I’m going to keep blogging, I’m going to keep writing, and I’m going to talk about my depression on my blog because I know realistically that I’m not alone in this daily battle. I’m part of a community with millions of others who are living despite of their depression.  And if I can embolden at least one other person to open up and talk about their depression and help them in some way it would make my struggle worth it.