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A Letter to Humanity

3/8/2017

Dear humans,

Some of us choose to march. Some show resistance. Others may form community gatherings, sign petitions, join movements, or cast their vote. Some fight silently; some even pray. No matter how we are doing it, we are fighting for what is right.

What is right?

Love is right.

Loving people is right. No race dominates. No sex is more competent. Gender norms are not the norm. Disabilities are not weakening flaws. Religion is not a limitation of love.

So why doesn’t any of this apply to our society? Why do we still have to fight for injustices and a lack of love and consideration for others? Why am I sitting here in tears, writing about these travesties?

Let’s make a change.

Let's close the gender gap. Shatter those glass ceilings. Let's start caring more and judging less. Love thy neighbor, respect thy neighbor. If not for us, then for our children's sake.

With love,
A concerned American

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Wounded Little Girl

1/16/2017

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Ten months ago I started having recurring flashbacks and nightmares of my childhood. I'm not going into detail about them, but I will say that they were aggressive and bothersome - enough to the point my level of anxiety escalated and I began noticing symptoms of a major depressive episode. I knew I had to halt these intrusive thoughts and feelings before they rooted too deeply.

My first idea was to keep myself occupied so I could distract those dark visions. It helped temporarily then they'd creep up on me when I was alone. I sought many therapists help but none accepted my insurance. My sadness was overtaking my body and I was hitting dead ends.

A few months had passed and I was desperate for help. The outside world was collapsing and I was there, motionless; frozen in time. It's like watching a tv show of your own life.

I hit my breaking point. I drove to the Emergency Room one day after work and calmly checked myself in. There I stayed three days.

Yes, I did want to hurt myself.

That was the scariest part. The only reason I didn't, was because I'd hate to upset my loved ones. If it was up to me, I would have. My thoughts were dark and I didn't want to exist anymore. I told God to just take me already!

I hated being in the hospital more than I hated myself. My hospital room was a white-walled nightmare of its own. My nurses began isolating me so I decided I'd get more rest and feel more peaceful if I were at home reading, staring at the ceiling, or doing whatever the hell else. After talking with the psychiatrist on call, pleading my newfound sanity, I was released.

The following day I was enrolled into an outpatient program at the local psychiatric institute. I was to see a psychiatrist for drug therapy and a therapist for counseling once a week for twelve weeks. Once completed, or “graduated,” I could decide if I wanted continual care. I have decided yes.

Last week I graduated the outpatient program. Throughout the twelve weeks I have tried a different combination of meds, ultimately finding three that work for me. I was also diagnosed Bipolar 2 (low low’s without the high high’s)... I prefer to call it a mild mood disorder.

The new diagnosis has taken precedence over the initial reasoning for my downward spiral. This wounded little girl inside me has not completely healed. She's working on it. She is patient, I am not. I'm ready to be relieved of her pain.

I close my eyes and I kneel before her, grabbing her close and holding her tightly. I tell her that I care and that I love her deeply. Even though she's hesitant to trust my words, she is hopeful, like any little child would be. I see a glimmer in her eyes that I still see in my own if I look closely. That's the glimmer that will never fade - the faith that we hang onto, the freedom that we will one day both feel.

Soon enough my dear.

*If you or someone you know is in a crisis, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline - 800-273-TALK (8255) or 911.

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Anonymous

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A Letter to Humanity

Wounded Little Girl

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This is Me.

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