Not Comparing Myself to Myself

I notice as I start feeling better, I add more good things in. When depression is going on, I’m not able to do much, but I don’t get worked up about it anymore. I tend to tell myself it will get done when it gets done. Whatever it is. I tend to set a goal of one thing on those days. It might just be “take care of the kids the best you can”. Which really isn’t a just, but in the list of things I can do in a day, it’s pretty short. This week is an awesome

Week, by contrast, and I’ve been cleaning and organizing the house, cooking meals, practicing at Shanteel everyday, and running errands during the day. A bad week tends to find me sleeping, making sandwiches or leftovers for dinner, and helping with the kids as best I can. Yoga practice tends to be forward folds all day (great for depression) and lots of yoga nidra. It works.

With this being a good week, I’m refocusing on diet. I can only add things in when I can focus, and depression makes it really hard to focus. I started intermittent fasting last week – no eating past 7:00 PM, and smoothies for breakfast (I never eat breakfast) to cut down on coffee and start the day with a vitamin boost. I’m making sure I’m taking all my vitamins because they make suuuch a difference in moods. But again, shit like this is hard when it is. I’m eating Buddha bowls again, and I’m cutting back on cheese and meat. I genuinely don’t like how addicted to cheese I am.

The biggest difference is I trust myself now. I don’t stress if I don’t get to Shanteel, because I know I’ll go back. I don’t stress that I didn’t do anything, because I trust I will. There’s so much less fighting that way and I bounce back so much more quickly. I am getting away from comparing for any other reason then reporting symptoms to my doctor. It doesn’t matter what I did yesterday in context of today. Yesterday, I did a lot, but that doesn’t mean today I have to. I’m not in competition with myself or anyone anymore. Today is a day, and when I can look at each day With fresh eyes, it’s like a whole new level of freedom.

I use the good times to build habits I can lean on in the opposite times. The simple things like basic hygiene can be challenging on days I don’t even want to get out of bed. So, I try to simplify everything then. I take really good care of myself when I can and assume it balances out when I can’t. The end.

Sometimes, it gets frustrating watching these fluxes. I wonder what my kids think

When they watch me go from Supermom to ZombieMom. But I remind myself: what if any of them grow up with similar struggles? Do I want to teach them to criticize and judge themselves? Or do I want to show them

Acceptance and love no matter what? No one is the same day to day, we just tell ourselves that and hold ourselves to standards that don’t actually exist anywhere besides our minds.

It’s amazing how comfortable it is when the good times and the bad times aren’t that big of a deal. The amount of energy I’d waste hiding the symptoms, escaping the symptoms, or lying to myself… I actually can do so much more now just from saving that energy and being myself As I am that day Being comfortable in your own skin and mind is a freedom that so few can enjoy. With or without mental illness.

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Unmold Your Soul

They broke the mold when they made me

They broke it with you too

In truth, we’re all too grand to be

Something common and mass produced

For we are all unfettered

Unbounded and

Unrestrained

None of us have limits,

We imagine our binding chains

‘We were born to love and laugh here

To live our lives un-refrained

Yet years go by with programs

The shoulds and woulds we all are trained

Forgetting our one true nature

As we slowly lose our game

Forcing ourselves into molds now

Hiding beauty behind shame

Trading our unique and irreplaceable

For Barbie and Ken doll fame

We can never make our mark here

If we keep repeating these insane tasks

We subvert to the opinions of others

As we quickly don our masks

Worrying more of family and friends here

We’ve confused their beginnings with our ends

Our focus squandered on fitting in molds

Whitewashing away our rainbow souls

Too confused to see the truth made whole

Blinded to the beauty which we each hold

We have forgotten to look within

We keep repeating our Original Sin

We must escape these noisy liars

We will never quite fit in

Stop listening to others,

Hear your own voice instead

You are more than just your body

You are more than all they’ve said

You are more than all the programs

Running inside your pretty head

Just take a moment and muse here,

A pause from the living dead

If our bodies can’t contain us,

Why are you forcing it to?

If they broke the mold when they made us,

Why hide the way you do?

If there is no mold to restrain us,

When will you be your truth?

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Enjoying what you’re reading? Let’s connect on all social media, I post haiku’s and random ramblings on my other sites too!

Daina (OurBeautifulLies)- WordPress, My personal FB, OBL Blog Page on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, OBL YouTube Channel

Talk About Your Sky

This hits too close to home. I’m crying and covered in chills. “She wasn’t well enough to know how sick she was” is a 10 word summary of my life since 7th/8th grade. I started cutting and being suicidal in 8th. I had full intentions of killing myself in March 1997, at the ripe old age of 14. This didn’t come to me as an illness or symptom of an illness. This was: I’m a terrible person, everyone hates me, and it would be a favor to everyone if I just died. This carried forward til present: it still happens. I finally know symptom versus reality, but it has taken so much work to find that truth. I can’t even say medicine is how I found it. Therapy wasn’t either. It was finding myself, my true self, and seeing I was beautiful and worthy of love. Most especially from me.

People don’t understand that mental illness robs you of the capacity to experience love because it tells you no one loves you. It tells you how awful you are. People say always to “believe in yourself” but what if yourself says everyone hates you? You are evil? No one loves you. You don’t deserve love. God hates you? I believed until I finally learned my brain lies.

This is the analogy I use to explain bipolar. Imagine someone who sees the sky is pink. They call this sky blue, because everyone else says the sky is blue. You don’t know what blue looks like, because blue is pink for you. You don’t know to call it pink, you’ve never known it was a color other than blue. It’s always just been how you see your sky. How can you make someone understand their Sky could be a different color? How can I make you understand I don’t see your blue? How can we ever understand that I don’t have any capacity to understand other skies or that my sky is different? And even if my sky is different, it’s beautiful too.

Life changed when I realized my pink sky is the most beautiful one In the world because it’s mine. It’s me. My challenges made my strengths, and my pain made my beauty. This mother, lost to us forever, fought similar battles as me, and she lost, her husband lost, and her children lost. It’s stories like this that make me care for myself more, and speak louder. Everyone has different skies, none of us see the same blue, but that makes you beautiful not broken. Because all the broken parts of me are all the best parts of me too. My mind works differently. I am a genius, and I am also a person who suffers in her mind.

Bipolar affects every aspect of my life and my relationships. I have lost so many people because of this illness including the man who was my world. I can understand the pain Jon Davis in right now, because I remember the pain Evan and I have been in. Jon Davis and his wife divorced in 2016, and it’s so difficult to convey what it’s like to love someone who can’t love themselves. Medically and chemically can’t feel love. It’s like water in a holey bucket trying to get a drink when you’re dying of thirst.

Mental illness was what tore our marriage apart, and healing mental illness is what brought our marriage together. But not before I almost killed myself – either with my addictions or by my own hand. And Evan helped save my life. I hope Jon doesn’t feel the guilt that he couldn’t save hers. I could have left my kids motherless, even though saving them my pain was what started me realizing I was not well enough to realize how sick I was.

Rest In Peace Deven. You’re an angel who graced the world with beauty, until your broken wings took you home for peace and rest.

If these words resonate, start talking and don’t stop. Don’t keep this pain inside. The most beautiful part of you is everything you hide away, because the people who struggle are the people who are admired for overcoming. Talk, please. Share your story. Share your struggles. You will quickly see how many other pink skies there are. None of us are alone.

From Fear to Love: How my muses saved my writing

Inspiration comes to me like a flash. If I’m not prepared with something to write, I typically end up dropping everything and typing it on my phone. I’ve lost too many good epiphanies otherwise. The tough ones are when I am getting inspired out the wazoo as I’m trying to go to sleep. My muses don’t seem to have a circadian rhythm.

There are three muses in my life who similarly aren’t big on the concept of letting me sleep: my kids. Their inability to give me quiet time or an extra hour to sleep in notwithstanding, they are my everything. They are the reason I write and have been since I started. It was the mantra “My children will never cry my tears.” that started this journey.

I knew deeply if I did not stop my shit, I would pass it on to them. I remember thinking how they couldn’t know what I was doing when I was purging or starving, but the look of relief on my daughter’s face when I suggested we stop and get some food proved me dead wrong. I know how I speak to them will become their inner monologue. I’m human, I screw up, I get angry, I say dumb shit. I’ve always feared I was ruining their lives, I was screwing them up, etc. etc. Hurt people hurt people, and I was so terrified of hurting them. My pain radiated to my marriage until it imploded, it’s a natural assumption to fear what it could do to them.

All of that fear was the impetus to write, because I knew I could figure it out if I just wrote about it. I could have never expected the journey my writing has taken me on, but the more important reality is how much healing my writing has brought. I am world’s apart from the woman who started writing 2 years ago, and thank God for it.

Now, though, fear has no place in my life. Anything brought from a place of fear can only bring forth more fear, which is what happened when my mind shattered under the weight of my own pressure. This obsession with being well took me far, far down a rabbit hole of my psyche and shadows. It was a wonderful blessing wrapped in a curse. Carl Jung said, “Nothing more profoundly affects the mind of a child than the unlived life of the parent.” What he’s saying is we all project our fears on each other, most especially our kids. I didn’t want to project me not following my dreams on them. But, on my road to recovery, I connected with the reality: my writing will never be what it must be if it’s not born from a place of love. It’s only within the past month I’ve been able to write like I used to. Raw, honest, Me. I feel as though the words fall out of my fingertips and it’s meditation in action.

The shift was so simple, I don’t know why it did not occur to me sooner. Before, I wrote to save the children from my biggest fear: myself. Now, I write to save the children from their biggest challenges: themselves, society, and all the well meaning fools that will tell them now to follow their dreams. Then, as my kids get older, the instructions to chase dreams will be recanted and they’ll be told to get a real job. How many of us had our dreams shattered by a well meaning loved one? How many of us have an artist inside begging to come out while we sit behind a keyboard at a job we wish was anything else and make someone else rich, or make someone else’s dream come true?

My kids don’t listen to me worth a damn. I used to think talking about how they can do anything, etc. was enough, but the simple evidence of asking them to clean their rooms shows how well they listen. The same reality spurring my fear is the reality spurring my love: Kids watch and learn by example. If I am secretly starving myself, my kids are learning to hate their bodies. If I am sitting and writing, promoting, and actively pursuing my dream, my kids are learning to believe in themselves, their gifts, and their dreams.

This, to me, is my sacred duty as a mother. There are too many children trapped inside adults who were told they couldn’t cut it. There are too many of us full of doubt, remorse, regret, and confusion. This is probably going to sound weird, but it’s like killing Santa Claus over and over again. We tell our children there is magic in the world, we tell them Santa can do all of these incredible things. Then, when they’re old enough or when a kid on the playground decides to, we tell them it was a lie. We kill magic. Likewise, we tell the kid who wants to be an astronaut, firefighter, or artist they can do anything they set their minds to. When the chips are down, and it’s time to graduate high school, we encourage practicality and mortgage sized student loan debt.

If we starve our inner artist, or our inner child, look at the suffering we bring into ourselves. Depression and anxiety: how much of this is repressed dreams and gifts? I get so much anxiety if I am not writing, especially if I am having lots of ideas and I’m “too busy” to do anything with them. I write as much as I do just to stay on top of myself. Otherwise, I get overloaded, and I start panicking, and I’ll slump in depression. I mean, Christ, depression and repression sound pretty damn similar no?

Why are so many artists diagnosed ADHD, Bipolar, anxious, or depressed? This is our gift manifesting the wrong way. The sensitivity we have to life is our gift wrapped in a curse. We cannot express the mysteries, beauty, and perfection of art without feeling it immensely. We all know words are a pittance to reality, when we express pain or love, it’s nothing compared to truth. Yet our words come close, because of our gifts. If showing my kids the paths to their dreams, self worth, and self love is my sacred duty as a mother, writing about the beauty of reality is my sacred duty to life. Being completely authentic and truthful me, free of the bonds of people’s opinions, free of the bonds of fear, and free of repressed expression is my sacred duty to myself – my true self.

I can’t and won’t put my kids through a journey of trying to reconnect with something that was once crystal clear. When I was in 8th grade, I promised my teacher I’d dedicate my first book to her. There was not a shred of doubt I’d be a writer then. 21 years later, I’m finally “hey I should do something about that writing thing I liked to do…” I had so many dreams when I was younger. I was going to be POTUS, too. Dreams beget more dreams. I’m living my first dream now: I’m (technically) a stay at home mom raising 3 kids. I always saw that, I just didn’t understand the timing. They didn’t need me as a SAHM when they were babies, they need me now. Divine timing works that way, and it’s necessary to trust that. If you make your dreams known, worlds move to make that dream come true.

The people strong enough to step into their dream are the ones who make their dreams come true. The people who repress their dreams are the ones who have the shadows of regret and remorse. The only way I can be an example to my kids is to step into my dream and be a writer. It doesn’t matter the scale, I trust the universe on that one. They just need to see and hear me being a writer. Today. Not tomorrow, not one day. If I want to be a writer, I am a writer. Every time I press publish anywhere, I am a writer. That’s what they see. When my brain starts telling me I cannot, I picture the three of them, and I say of course I can. I have the best inspiration in the world. I have the best fan base in the world. My children.

How many of us are starving artists inside? I’m not talking financially. I am talking we have a muse, we  have a vision, we have a gift, and we are starved for expression. We take that gift, and shove it in the back of our psyche because it’s not practical.  Thank God for my children, otherwise I never would have started trying. I would have lied to myself to my deathbed and wondered where my life went. I have only truly experienced life to its fullest when I saw my dreams were already coming true, and all I had to do was step into them.  I hope, if you are struggling with your dream or believing in yourself, this inspires you to take the first steps. That’s how every journey begins.

What about you? Are you living your dreams? Who inspires you to live your dreams? If the answer is no, are you going to change it? 

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Daina (OurBeautifulLies):

 

 

Marketing Art

The reason why you are struggling in your dream is not because of external forces. It’s because of a simple, logical one word answer: you. You lack marketing. You’re not marketing yourself – to yourself. How you speak and how you interact with the world is your brand, and your number one customer is you. Everyone else will follow your lead.

Coke does not tell you that they can clean a toilet bowl with their product. It’s true, but they don’t advertise that. They make you lick your lips when they talk about how badly you want that Coke and how much better you feel. They do not tell you how much sugar or calories it contains.

Are you following me? If you are advertising this shit to yourself, you will not hire yourself, you will not purchase from yourself, you will not read your poem, blog, article, buy a painting, get a tarot reading. Why would you? Why would they.

Marketing is strategic and logical. It is the left side of the brain and usually the weaker side of the brain in artists especially because they are right brained. Without marketing: internally and externally, you will not find a consumer. Research the law of 7s in marketing. Email lists, social media, everything is crucial, but finding your niche and finding your message is marketing. And you must market your art. You must network. You must be the CEO of your art. It’s balance. It’s analytical and strategic.

But it’s worthless if you don’t do it on yourself first.

Contact me if you’d like to discuss ways to better market your art, if this is of interest.

Feel free to follow me on Facebook, Blog page, I’m @mahbuttitches on Instagram and @ourbeautifullie on twitter. Let’s connect!!

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

Would Buddha Take Medication?

This has been a question I’ve been ruminating on for well over a year. I am curious if there are others in a similar spot: for me, my alphabet soup of diagnoses led me to spirituality as did working through various addictions. Yet, I’ve found myself in a conundrum of: can I be spiritual and take medicine? Would Buddha have popped pills?

I began studying Buddhism when I realized modern psychology is basically renamed Buddhism. I figured I’d just go to the source. Buddhism is not a religion; it is a philosophy. The focus is disciplining the mind.

When I started meditating, I lived in fear of my mind. It was noisy, chaotic, nasty, and full of should have/would have/could have. I had always felt there were at least 2 me’s in existence. The mask and the fucked up girl behind the mask. When I came to meditation, my life had become a confusing blur of lies. I didn’t know who I was anymore because I lost track of the lies and reality.

In this journey, I’ve flip flopped between believing I am seriously ill and in need of help and believing there is nothing wrong with me, it is society making me sick.

The psychosis I had over a year ago was the great leveler. In that, I am forced to accept both answers to every question. There are things I saw and experienced that are so real to me even today, I shudder at the memory. Yet, no one else saw or heard these things. No one saw melting faces, or had any reason to believe the weird weather was all my fault. I can’t find the things I read anymore, yet I swear I read them. It’s a case of accepting what is: I cannot explain this, but it happened all the same.

The harder thing to accept is this absolutely started with meditation. I experienced something that I can not describe in words, and from that point on, my life was turned upside down. I did believe I was God, so it could be full delusional grandeur and mania. I also believed I was here to help people, and that too could be mania. I don’t know. The problem and solution always is: I don’t know. I’ve researched it endlessly. Kundalini awakenings resonate with what happened to me. Jung’s concept of the shadow is almost a verbatim account of the 3 or so weeks I was in psychosis. Everything, and I mean everything I was afraid of, worried about, hiding away, etc. came into my reality. It was as if my life was a Stephen King novel.

I still struggle talking about this, because I couldn’t write out everything that happened in those weeks if I had a lifetime to type. If I can one day, it will give Mr. King a run for his money.

After begging to be taken to the mental hospital, knowing if I didn’t go, I was going to kill myself: I’m still left with fear. There’s still a part of me worried I was wrong. On bad days of depression, I can worry I should have killed myself then, because at the time, I was convinced someone was going to kill my kids if I didn’t kill myself. I’ve never been more terrified of my mind. Yet, I had two choices, I could either get back on good terms with myself, or spend the rest of my days terrified of me as I had been.

It took me a long time to come back to meditation. Buddhism obviously teaches meditation, but I learned in the mental hospital. No one told me about needing a guide or a teacher. No one told me what meditation could unlock. The experience I had is very similar to what has been described as Kundalini awakenings, and there are warnings abound that this should not be undertaken without serious inner work to clear your demons. Me? I was obsessed with meditating because it made me feel good. I didn’t really know chakras or anything spiritual then.

Was it spiritual? Was it psychological? Those questions have plagued me for so long.

In reality, the only thing that did happen is all my worst fears did come true, and all the things I repressed came to the surface. I was terrified I was crazy, so I went crazy. I lost my mind. It doesn’t matter what was real or not real, because in my world, it was all true. In others, it was not. For me, I created a self fulfilling prophecy. I believed I was crazy, so crazy is what I was.

This is the nature of life. My truth is something only I have. No one sees the sky the same way, and we have no way of proving or disproving it because we can’t describe blue. This leads me back to my question. The Buddha taught how to discipline the mind to alleviate suffering. I believe he used the complete power of his focus, by watching his thoughts and choosing where he gave his focus.

The Buddha believed all suffering exists in our minds. We cling to the past and reject change, we chase the future and lose the present. We create huge expectations to bring disappointment. We live in extremes and reject reality. I have to wonder, though, how would Buddha deal with now? Look at the world we are in. He’s long gone, and many follow his way, yet does it resonate now? Ancient wisdom is wise, but does it make sense in a culture so vastly different? Would he need Effexor and Latuda to stay centered?

The world is so obsessed with labels and words. Everything has to be specifically characterized and in a box – we’ve turned ourselves into nouns and forms of grammar instead of living breathing constantly changing verbs. God is now an iPhone, I think. It’s very different from a monastic lifestyle in India. In the present, I think suffering is caused by our obsession with the word “or”. My suffering with the puzzle of my psychosis is an easy example of this. The reality is “and” not “or”. That is to say, everything I experienced was completely real, completely caused by meditation, AND bipolar. Why must they be mutually exclusive? Does mania make it false? I used to believe mania made my happiness a lie, and I would use analysis to rob myself of joy with the fear of being crazy.

In reality, to me, bipolar is a description of a particular form of suffering: attachment versus non attachment. I flee the bad days and run for the good days. Medication has helped, meditation helped, yoga helped. I don’t fear my bad days, and I enjoy the good days as they last. Non attachment.

The psychosis is forcing me to accept “and” because it’s the only plausible answer. It’s all of the above. Yet, strikingly, this is precisely what the Buddha taught in non duality. Everything in this life is a process. Sadness is necessary so that happiness is experienced. Rainy days are needed to grow flowers in the sunshine. All of the cliches. But it is truly everything. All the mental anguish I go through attempting to pick a side can easily be avoided by accepting both and sticking to the middle. Any extreme is bad for our minds. Moderation is key in everything.

If you can think about the most painful situation in your life, I am willing to bet there is an “or” you are struggling with. “Did he cheat on me because I wasn’t good enough or is he a shitty person?” Both. It’s both. He believed you weren’t good enough and that does make him a shitty person. It can be everything because it’s all part of one unified process. It’s up to us to decide and move forward. Obsessing with the why, and trying to label it disconnects us from reality and keeps us in fear of the unknown. The reality is: it is all unknown and known. Every moment is exactly as it’s meant to be, and suffering comes from constant ruminating and questioning thoughts. The only reality is action.

The rising diagnoses seem to flag this problem. As we all attempt to force ourselves in one particular box at the loss of another, trying to encapsulate ourselves in neat words and labels, we are losing our minds. Our sanity. Our obsession with words and thinking is making us insane.

Isn’t it interesting that modern psychology and Buddhism are so closely aligned? Why is meditation so crucial? Why did meditation help me go crazy? I appreciate it now, because now I have the opposite – I know what it feels like to lose my mind. I no longer need to analyze myself for crazy indicators.

Meditation is the art of doing nothing, because we all do too much. It is rare we have that counter balance. Like pushing do not disturb on a cell phone, meditation can create the space for truth and reality to shine through. The truth that we always need both. We need activity and we need stillness. We cannot be healthy in any one or the other situation.

What is the truth? What is reality? I don’t know anymore. I think that’s the most truthful I can get. This journey started whether I wanted to or not, but I’ve been holding myself back by shifting my fear to medication. I finally connected I’ve been so stifled in everything because I’m terrified the medicine I am on is changing my brain.

When I started meditating, I saw colors. So many colors. It was like hanging out in a kaleidoscope. Now, I can tell you this is called a siddhi and means very little. Since I started the medicine, I stopped seeing colors. I’ve been worried about this for so long. Yet just last night, I asked that question: if Buddha was here now, would he take medicine to help with the journey?

The answer is: why do I care what Buddha would do? This is what I keep missing. At the end of the day, it’s only me that can move my feet on this path. Buddha may be a guide, Watts may be a guide, but I’m the only one who can choose. If I believe the medicine is hurting me, of course it will. Self fulfilling prophecies are reality. I take supplements and I take medicine. Why not both? Both help me. I have a stigma against myself with the medicine, and I’m tired of bullying me about it.

No sooner did I come to peace with this – after 1.5 years of struggling and fighting with this choice to medicate, I saw colors again. Brighter and more vivid then I remember before.

The Buddha taught me to stop fearing my mind by embracing the beauty of my mind. Meditation taught me how powerful all minds are. They can create beauty or suffering, depending on your focus. In each of us is this power to create or destroy our worlds. Most of us need to destroy before we learn to stop creating our destruction with the stories we tell ourselves.

Are you pondering similar questions? Let me know in comments, I’d love to pick some brains.

If there’s no solution, it’s not a problem.

The hardest part of any challenge is thinking about it. The way I see it, inside my mind is very small relative to the world. The world is expansive and limitless, but my skull isn’t. When I get caught in ruminating or anxious repetitive thoughts, it can feel like a cacophony in my head. And whatever problem

Seems so insurmountable, and I couldn’t possibly handle it.

The simple act of writing it on paper, saying it out loud, or just tackling the problem inevitably shows my problem was far bigger in my head than reality. The mind creates the problem, action always diminishes problems. Sometimes, I make a list of what I’m

Anxious about and I pick “low hanging fruit” i.e. the easiest thing I can do to handle something. And I work my way through it.

The most powerful thing I learned with my psychosis came from a random encounter:

If you don’t have a solution, then it is not a problem. Later, I found a Buddhist quote: “why worry? If you don’t have an answer; you cannot solve the problem, and if you do have an answer; your problem is solved!”

My mind loves to say can’t. I can’t handle this that or the other thing. I used to try to change it to can. The problem with can is, it’s still future state. I will and I am are much more effective in retraining the brain. I will do this, I am doing this. Your mind calms and becomes focused on the present as opposed to dancing in future and past.

But at the end of the day, suffering comes from thinking about problems. Life comes in action. Life, experience, love, God, and humans. We are all actions, not nouns. We are beyond words, so don’t let the words in your thoughts control your limitless potential. I will. I am. The two things to change your life.

Shades of Truth

Words are weapons

Words are tools

Like chains of infinity

Like sun to the moon

Black and white runs us blind

Up vs down controls the mind

We’re baby birds flying

No wings, we’ve crashed

The power within disposed like trash

Our eyes see blindly

Wont reflect on the mirror

We think up obstacles

In place of what’s clear

Words now weapons

Praise the new God of Fear

Have you ever felt deeply

This must not be me?

Have you ever questioned reality?

Do darkness and demons sneak ’round every corner?

Temptation, addiction crush your own willpower?

Why are tears so easy, but smiles hard won?

Is it truly so crazy to look at the son?

Did you ever look at the sky and see

the beautiful painting God made for me?

The me is you and you is we

Connected together in gravity

The blue, those clouds,

They’re yours, they’re mine

Breathe in and out, love is divine

Everything, everything is won with us

Yet we only see what mind thinks is best

We’re tied in shoelaces

We’re chained by a feather

There’s nothing to fear,

Our guards aren’t that clever

Just look at the sky and remember you’re soul

Embrace your own heart

Express your soul

Just look at the sky and remember this well

The best days here are the worst days in hell

God painted the sky just for you

God sparkles the grass with tears of dew

Every color you see is how you perceive it

We’ve outgrown this nest

When will you leave it?


I actually wrote this with a song playing, check it out and see if it adds to the poetry. Escape Route

Check out my other poem, also produced by 33 pyramids China white

Creativity and Anxiety

I’ve loved writing poetry since I was a teenager. I remember my parents sent me to a poetry workshop in elementary school and I was so excited to read my poems out loud. They told me I had a gift, and I didn’t really believe them. I only recently started writing poems again, and even then I struggle with telling myself I’m not good or whatever. It’s resistance from me to me. I get random inspiration constantly, and I can usually write a poem in less than 20 minutes. But I fight myself.

I am finally coming to understand how art works. If my focus is on me and my problems, I’m wasting my creative expression with creative oppression. The creativity is the same: i am either inventing a story about my life or I’m writing a story or a poem or whatever. I read somewhere anxiety is repressed creativity. Art lying inside of you that cannot come out so it creates anxiety.

This is what I do know: the more I have accepted myself, my life, my problems, and my successes, the more often I get random bits of poems that need to come together. This poem here is clearly about an ex and it was built around the line “your love is like rainbow sprinkles and I’m starving for a feast.”

The only way I know to connect with my heart and intuition is to take these bits and paint them into poetry and let whatever happen happen. The only way that happens is when I stop focusing on my bullshit stories and stare at the sky, or a tree, or meditate. Then I stop squandering creativity by inventing worst case scenarios and projection.

When you were a little kid, there was something you loved. Maybe it was singing, maybe it was writing, maybe it was coloring. It doesn’t matter. Find it again and give yourself time and space to do it. The changes that come from connecting with your creativity and inner child… it’s nothing short of magic.

Beautiful Lies – Fine White

Pajamas and Anxiety

In my old blog, I talked about pajamas a lot. The thing is, I live in pajamas. It has nothing to do with depression, I just love pajamas. I started wearing pajamas out and about because I realized anxiety doesn’t get as bad if I feel comfortable in my clothes. I mean, anxiety makes you uncomfortable in your own skin, so why not surround that uncomfortable skin with softness and loose clothings?

It started with wearing pajamas to Wawa when I’d get my daily coke and smokes. Admittedly, it was laziness that started the trend, but a wisdom emerged. No one noticed me. No one gave me funny looks or started discussing me covertly. I would just get my coke and smokes. I began seeing how far away I’d be willing to go in my pajamas, because I used to not really like leaving my house. I used to work from home, so I never actually needed to get dressed.

Anxiety always tells me how everyone is looking at me. I project my own self criticism and judgement on random strangers. I think the biggest lie of anxiety is if you worry about it, you’ll be better prepared when the worst happens. The truth is: when you inevitably prove yourself right, you still feel like crap. Pajamas helped me realize no one looks at me. Everyone else is busy buying hoagies, cigarettes, or sodas. I’m literally another random face in a crowd of faces.

Recently, I went kayaking in my pajamas. I was weirdly anxious about kayaking because I guess anything new is imminent danger as visions of me falling in the lake danced through my head. Legitimately, I just forgot to get out of my pajamas and put on suitable clothes for kayaking. But kayaking in my pajamas showed me again it doesn’t matter. Everything that buzzes around my noisy brain is just noise. I didn’t fall in the lake, and lightweight PJs are delightful on a hot day on the lake.

I don’t know that Jesus was necessarily directing people to wear pajamas when he said to give no thought to your raiments, but it’s great advice. It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing, nobody cares. Anxiety cares, but I am more than my raiments and I am more than anxiety too. Every time I challenge the thoughts in my head with reality, I see how meaningless thoughts are.

Anxiety is hyper self focus projected on to others. It feels like all eyes are on you even when no one sees you. One of my biggest fears used to be driving, and part of it was I thought everyone was criticizing my driving and watching me. It wasn’t until I forced myself to drive 5 hours north to Long Island and sit in New York traffic that I realized I am driving like everyone else. I’m just another person contributing to traffic.

The cool thing about anxiety is, if you can shift your focus, you can be one of the most compassionate people in the world. Anxiety boils down to stories we tell ourselves about ourself and others. I tell myself someone thinks I’m an idiot or whatever. What I can also do is step outside of myself and tell stories about other people. Maybe the person honked at me not because I suck but because they’re late for work and could get in trouble. Maybe the person passing me in Wawa is having a bad day and I can say hello and smile instead of looking at the ground and shuffling.

Anyone can apply all the creative thinking anxiety creates to actual creativity. I wouldn’t have done this pajama experiment otherwise and it helped me. I wouldn’t have had the idea to road trip to my best friend if I wasn’t terrified of driving. When anxiety is all self directed, it feels like a weight on your mind and chest. It’s like wearing a cement dress in a sprint. But, if that intense self focus can be redirected, it’s kind of a super power in understanding other people. You’re more sensitive because you know how hard it is to feel comfortable in your own skin.

The creativity we use to lie to ourselves can be applied to challenging our thoughts and perceptions. It can also be used to be a better person. Our minds don’t know the difference between expressive creativity and oppressive creativity. We can always change the track in our brains, and we can find the good in every challenge and situation. I’m not trying to say just think positive, that’s another oppressive creativity. I am saying: find the ways to be yourself and express yourself. So much of our anxiety is actually repressed emotion and expression. All the things we could have or should have pile up in our minds and manifest with sweaty palms, racing thoughts, and crazy heart pounding.

It takes a bit of effort and practice to start questioning your thoughts. Some struggle to even recognize the thoughts are present. I’ve found, though, the more I hold my head up, look into peoples’ eyes, smile, and say hello: I’ve seen a lot of people smiling back and not laughing at me. Our brains lie to us. Our brains do not connect us with reality, because reality isn’t words. It’s experience. Reality is walking around in pajamas because I’m teaching myself to always be comfortable in my own skin and sometimes I need Santa Claus jammies to do it. One milestone at a time.

(And of course, if pajamas are inappropriate for the occasion, there’s always yoga pants…)