Crashing. (and how to cope with it)

Mental illness is not always constant. There are days, weeks, or months where you could be feeling on top of the world. You’re taking care of yourself, you’re getting things done, the days don’t weigh you down like they used to – momentarily, you feel like a real person. I think that’s one of the scariest parts for people with mental illness; the knowledge that the “real” feeling is only temporary, and that it’ll burn down in a ball of flames one day. And that day could be any day. And it’ll probably be terribly inconvenient.

Maybe crashing is mostly consistent with those who have bipolar disorder or PTSD, but I’d argue that the combination of depression + anxiety can create a very similar crash. The labels and technicalities aren’t important and I’m not a therapist. All I know is that crashing, at least for me, is serious. The higher the high, the lower the low. It’s chemical.

Continue reading “Crashing. (and how to cope with it)”


Dealing with death, getting myself together

For those of you who’ve been reading my posts, you know that my grandfather (whom I’d been living with) died in September. Well, last week, my aunt (my grandmother’s daughter) died of cancer. (Rather, the intensive therapy they bombarded her with – but that’s another rant on its own.)
I saw her in hospice before she died – unlike Chacha. I was sick when he was in the hospital, and I didn’t want to risk getting him sick too. I held my Aunt Lizzie’s hand while she struggled to breathe and complimented my eyebrows. We always talked about makeup and skincare and how much we hated working in healthcare. Everyone said I was just like her; empathetic to the point of it being a downfall. When my brother and I were little, we called her “Crazy Lady.” She would dress up and do comedy skits with us in an absurd “crazy lady” voice. We loved it. We loved being with her. She bought me my first ice skates and took me to lessons. She helped me find a psychiatrist in high school. She broke her back for the people she loved.

I’ve come to accept this fact: the people who raised me are dying and there is nothing I can do about it. Continue reading “Dealing with death, getting myself together”



Sadness to the point of incoherency.
Sadness to the point of physiological degrade,
The point of “Where am I, why am I,
I don’t want to be.”
I don’t want to be.
To the point of stopping and starting,
Stopping and
In the middle of thoughts and words
And Continue reading “degrade”


Babbles: living as a victim of sexual abuse

TRIGGER WARNING: rape mention, assault mention

I’ve been thinking about making a post like this for awhile, and I feel it’s important that I do. Too many of us are living as victims, sworn to secrecy by our own personal oaths. I can’t talk about that. That makes people uncomfortable. No one will love me, no one will see me the same. I know those thoughts. Too many of us hide this very substantial part of ourselves. The fact is, it happened. And it’s changed you. And you should not be ashamed of that.

This is my story. I really hope it makes you feel less alone.

Continue reading “Babbles: living as a victim of sexual abuse”



A collection of small compartments,
Missed appointments,
Messages, voicemails,
Disappointed humans
With sharp fingers and tongues;
Say goodbye to feeling young.
Once the train leaves, it’s gone,
A minute late and it’s gone,
At least until the next one
In the next compartment
With more missed calls
And missed appointments,
Concerned therapists, worried parents,
No more excuses.
No more sorry’s.
All goodbyes, pale-white lies –
Smile like you’re having fun.
In a crowd of bodies, having fun,

(Keep breathing,)

Missing appointments
Because you’re “better”
In a new compartment,
Having fun, until it’s gone.
Just smile like you’re alive –

Keep trying,

Pounding your fists against the walls
Of each prison square.
Break them down
Until life is real and flows,
Ripples and dominoes,
And you are whole –
Not a collection
Of missed appointments
In small compartments,
A mosaic of pale-white.


From gray to gold,
Lackluster to bold,
To whole.

s.f. (8/26/17)


Babbles: being by yourself & depression

I just moved out of Manayunk and I’m having a really hard time transitioning back.

Manayunk wasn’t a super busynoisy place, but it pretty much had everything I needed. A bustling main street, a quiet towpath for running, good dogs EVERYWHERE – I was content there. Coming back home to the suburbs is strange and overwhelmingly lonely. I was so used to having people around me – just close enough so that my personal space wasn’t invaded but I didn’t feel lonely. And having Tyler with me in the mornings and evenings was the ultimate comfort. I always had someone to talk to and bounce ideas off of. My brain seldom ran off the deep-end since it never really had the chance – I had the perfect amount of distractions to keep me from losing it (usually).

I think this kind of loneliness happens when you stop living for yourself. And maybe you guys with depression would agree – when your days get dark, you don’t really pull through it for yourself so much as for the people around you. Not healthy, I know. But it’s the reality of it (for me, anyways).

So today I came home from work and unpacked my mountain of clothes, organized here and there, threw some things out, gave some things away – until, all of a sudden, I was pacing around not getting anything done. Then I started shaking, and then came the inexplicable crying, and then I realized I was back to being alone with myself again. No distractions. Just me. And I never really liked me.

Now, if this ever happens to you, you have to let yourself cry. You just have to. If you don’t, all that anxious energy is gonna keep balling up in your chest and your throat and you might do something you’ll regret. Sometimes it’ll feel like it’s never going to stop, but I promise you it will. Nothing is forever. It might take a few minutes or a few hours, or maybe all night on your worst days. After I calmed down and texted a friend, I found the energy to start typing about it. And here we are. Functioning again.
Toxic thoughts are hard to combat when they start snowballing, so if that’s something you have trouble with when you’re all alone with your brain, it’s important to stop them in their tracks. It takes a lot of cognitive strength (which I’m clearly lacking), and it gets even harder the more abstract the toxicity gets. I often think “every day is the same and it’s all meaningless” – well, yeah, it is, but you can change that. Dummy.

I guess when I come home now, I have nothing to look forward to. No dog to greet me with kisses and a happy snoot, no Tyler to smack my butt and say “what’reyoudoing?”, no roommates watching shitty TV shows – just me and my big attic in my grandma’s house.
My best friend Jenn – who I grew up with here – has been 1000% supportive of me and almost always comes to my rescue – and she’s probably the best part about being back in Bucks County. But the fact is that I need to learn to be by myself. I need to learn to live for myself. And I don’t know how.

If waking up every morning hurts, I know how you feel and I’m sorry. Keep pushing through, every day, no matter what. Nothing is forever.

Take care of yourselves! More Bloaty to come this week, and I have some poems on the way.