About

A Little Info

I am a mother, wife of a Marine, daughter of a Marine, a history lover, a researcher, and a sufferer of life long depression. I used to be guarded about sharing certain aspects or incidences in my past because it might reveal what I felt was a deficiency of mine.

Depression and the control it wields is a profoundly difficult thing to describe to someone who doesn’t fully suffer the effects. I’ve spent every single day of my life (decades now) waking up with my rambling and agonizing thoughts. There is a theoretical ledge that exists somewhere in the depths of my mind and I expend a good amount of my mental energy avoiding falling off of it. Therapy, my self discovery, and determination to gain control has led me to a seemingly effective albeit exhausting way of dealing with my depression on my own. I do have a good support system in my family too. Some days are better than others, some days I get completely lost and it evolves into a physical pain that is essentially a feeling of darkness clawing my insides out. Suicidal thoughts are prevalent and relatively routine in my mass of mental hysteria. However, since my attempt have I been able to minimize the desire, sometimes it takes a great deal of introspective discussion though. 

Certain factors can contribute to my lapses and time is definitely the prolific antagonist of my life’s story. I despise it, the influence it has over my sanity. I’ve spent most of my time obsessing over it and no, the irony of that is not lost on me. From a very young age, as far back as I can recall I have constantly calculated the years, days, even minutes of almost every period of time that had passed or will pass from one event to another and even to my inevitable death. Struggling to hold onto the moments as they were ripped from my grasp.

Minutes would turn into days, and before I knew it months were gone and I remained emotionally paralyzed by despair. Time, the measure of it and the loss of it was a consistent factor in my struggle with depression, it was just passing all too quickly. The memories of those who had come before me, their lives resonated so strongly with me, and my frequent analyzation of the past quite literally expedited my madness. The word generation seems so immense, so lasting, yet each one prior seemingly transpired with scarcely more than a fleeting breath, just as mine appeared to be now. They lived their lives, lives filled with spectacular moments and harrowing moments that seemed so traumatic or life altering in the midst of their occurrence, but those too also passed swiftly and dissipated into the annals of time. Our impatience for contentment and urgency get through the difficult experiences leaves us with no time. We are relegated to only the recollections of these moments. The very moments that make us who we presently are, but somehow eventually become so distant and foreign to us. Existing only in an abstract form buried in our subconscious. Another place, another time…another life altogether. 

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