The Rollercoaster Ride

blog pic june 13th 2019

ALL WRITTEN AND ARTWORK ARE THE INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OF PSG LOPES. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

My depression and anxiety are very much cyclical. There are weeks where I feel like I can conquer the world and am so productive and feel so positive and feel that the world is my oyster and I am this close to finding my pearl. Then there are the bad weeks, like this week, where all I can do is cry over my laptop worried about money, about my health, about my future. I was up all night with the Golden Girls in the background worried and frightful of what tomorrow will bring for me.

I sit and punish myself thinking of every negative thought that I can remember. I want so much to block out the negativity and just keep going but they are so much stronger than I am some days. All I can hear are the voices of the people who gave up on me and who no longer love me. All I can focus on are the people no longer in my life and how I continually get punished for their actions.

There are some days that I want to do it all. I want to show you all that I’m better than this, that I am worth so much more. But then there’s today where I can barely breathe and I just want to spend my energy surviving instead of the constant fear and uncertainty of my future. I have no one but myself. And that’s terrifying to admit. I am knee-deep in month six without my fiance and I wish I could say that I’m kicking ass and taking names but I am not. I am more broken today than ever before. I write this to you with tears streaming down my cheeks alone and afraid and unloved and broken and I don’t know how I have gotten myself to this point in my life. I don’t understand why I’m so different from everyone else. I don’t understand why I can’t just blend in with everyone else. Why can’t I just be like everyone else? I don’t understand why my struggles seem to compound themselves daily. Why the pains in my stomach worsened. Why I feel so out of control and powerless that I just feel like locking myself in my room all day instead of facing the stares of disappointment from those around me. Instead of listening to the fake good lucks around me of those who just don’t fucking get it.

I work really hard on my writing and artwork and music every day. It’s hard being so isolated from everyone on a daily basis. I’m at the point in my life where “cheer up” is not only ineffective but insulting. The “things will get better” are so forced that even I don’t believe you anymore. “We’ll figure something out,” although well-meaning, just isn’t palpable enough a thought to give me any cause for hope.

When I had my nervous breakdown at twenty-one years old, I went to therapy and was on medication but the therapist and psychiatrist just weren’t getting it. They heard me complain and just pushed more medicines on me. Nobody understands and nobody wants to talk and nobody wants to listen. I remember going one day to therapy in hopes that if I just asserted myself that they’d finally hear me and see how I was struggling but I was just dismissed and sent to the psychiatrist to re-evaluate my medicine. How is this healthcare? And how is this taking care of those who are struggling? I may not be bleeding outwardly but I’m bleeding internally and no one can see it or if they do, they just turn a blind eye to it. It’s there for me every day. That feeling of hopelessness, the burden of carrying failure after failure, the fighting and trying so hard every day to be somebody, yet nobody listens. Nobody fucking listens. Those who I thought would be there for me until the end, have all left and abandoned me. A constant theme in my life.

I’m not suicidal, I’m fucking sad. I’m fucking sad about a lot of things. I’m allowed to be sad sometimes. But like always, I’ll pick myself up and keep trying. Just not today.

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Esta Menina Pequena

blog post january 3rd 2019 part 2

ALL WRITTEN AND ARTWORK ARE THE INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OF PSG LOPES. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 2019.

This winter has been spent renovating the attic to use as my bedroom/office. I have been nesting and decorating and painting and getting things just right for the new year so I can begin writing full-time once more. It is pretty much up and running. I just have a few odds and ends that need to be fixed.

The office doesn’t have a functioning light fixture so I have been relying on a very old lamp that is pretty much rendering me blind LOL! But I am making due for now. I am hoping someone will take pity on me (Not at all name dropping, DOM!) can come over soon and help make a new light fixture possible so your poor sister doesn’t go blind.

Anyhow, now that the office is basically functional, I have been doing a lot of housekeeping with my website and my writing agenda for 2019. During the holiday break, I was doing some cleanup in the basement and came across my old writing folder from when I was a teenager. I keep finding my old writings all over the house!

This particular folder meant quite a huge deal to me when I was young. It has all of my poetry, my short stories, my plays, and even goofy magazines that I had drawn as a joke. It was nice revisiting my younger self. The things that influenced me then still do so today. For instance, my 6th-grade teacher was the person who got me into Ray Bradbury and in the folder, I had a research paper from high school about Ray Bradbury. So her influence resonated throughout the remainder of my life. I am deeply touched by that. Of all of the years that I spent in the education system, I hope that at least one of the students who I taught over the years felt that kind of connection and hopefully I made a positive impact in their lives somehow.

Flipping through all of my written work also made me a little melancholy. I had my whole life plan in this folder and I never even realized it.

I don’t know what I was thinking at that age. I didn’t understand what the impact of my indecisions would do to my adult life. I find myself constantly running in circles aimlessly without direction, without hope of ever getting myself out of this slump that I perpetually find myself in. Others aren’t so lucky as I am. To have suffered as I have suffered throughout my life, many others who have endured the same would’ve ended their lives years ago. I just am holding out hope that there is a greater purpose to this immense and recurring suffering. I am praying that this whole journey is worth it in the end. I want to believe that that is true.

So for 2019, I am moving forward. I am using this writing folder as my fuel, my determination, my drive, and my promise to my younger self that I will achieve the goals that I had set out to do as a young girl and never had the confidence, the courage, the strength, or the power to do in the past. I am going to block out all negativity. I will not allow anyone ever again to get in my way. I will just keep working on myself. I will do the best that I possibly can do and forget all the toxic people who just will never understand me and will never see me for anything other than the flaws that weigh me down.

I am alone. I’ve been alone for 38 years. And I will be alone for another 38 years. That is my albatross. And I am fine with it. Now it’s time to get serious and get writing. Here’s to 2019. May it not suck as much as 2018.

blog post january 3rd 2019