Tied Together

Poetry will be the main theme of what I write on my page. But every once in a while, I will talk about mental health. My journey to me is strange to describe. I'm always middle of the road on so many things: middle of politics, middle of intro/extraversion spectrum, middle of hot and cold(Autumn: my favorite). Basically, I hear the ends of the spectrum and it is always a mixture of the two.

Thoughtful and kind are traits I always aspire to and achieve to some degree. But for the parts of this world I care about, my passion may be confused for anger. My anger, or passion, is reserved for vital pillars of life: Cherishing and respecting life, defending my friends if I think they are being attacked, my family, and standing up for the things I believe in. All of this is curbed by humility... hopefully.

Fierce anger can be unhealthy, though. Not doing enough self-care makes me more irritable and I don't see that until I am touched, feeling like an exposed nerve with no recourse but to back away. At my age of 27, I continue to realize just how far back my experience with depression and anxiety goes. I can reasonably assume I had childhood depression, which is a terrible thing for a child to not know or understand what this thing was inside.

To explain my picture in this post, it was from my old job stocking produce at a local natural food store. I liked that job, and I did it well. Currently, I am a Cognitive skills trainer working 1-on-1 with students. Working with kids is always a pleasure for me. I love them. I had a second job at a brewpub, but "had" is the operative word thanks to stupid Covid. What a jerk.

As we all try to stay positive, I have to comment on just how hard that is, especially for people with mental health concerns. I got rejected from working at Target. Since I don't know their reasons, I shouldn't assume and get all negative. There are so many reasons it could be that have nothing to do with me. However, the thought process I was going through about being rejected for a part-time gig during a pandemic did not sit well with me. It left me feeling like I wasn't good enough. Obviously, I ran through all the things I said in the interview, nitpicking every wrong thing I said, as every good person with anxiety does. Mind you, I have not interviewed in over a year and six months, honestly forgot to shave. So I didn't exactly bring my A game. But still, it's never easy to feel rejected in the midst of all the craziness going on in our world right now.

In spite of all that, I strive for hope. It's why I write poetry. Strife and pain are familiar to me, but I also know what comes next. Love, healing, forgiveness, grace that in spite of my flaws there are still people willing to be a friend to me, to show me kindness.

Everything I have I credit God, but in my heart I believe kindness is the real legacy we leave behind to each other. No matter what we remember, we always remember the kind ones. These weren't the timid ones, the scared ones, or so-called "weak" ones. These are the fierce lovers, the stoic supporters, the loyal friends. My memory is honestly not very good. But I remember how people make me feel, and I hope I return the favor with good. Thanks for listening to my story. Stay safe and healthy, and even if it's from a distance, love fiercely.