Writing as Therapy

(If you recognize this, it's because I posted it on myspace a few months ago. However, the content is still relevant, and it's more of my poetry...so yup, enjoy.)

I smile a lot in my pictures...but behind that smile, lies a darker side. A much sadder side, that most of you will never see or notice. My entire family (mom, dad, brother, various cousins/aunts) has gone to therapy and received medication for depression and/or anxiety. I definitely suffer from it, and I don't know if there is a cure...I think it's like anorexia, or an addiction...you are never fully cured, you must work at it every day. But there are things that can help. You might think, as a psychology major, I would have all the answers and miracles behind depression, but I don't. What I do know...is that therapy can come in all sorts of shades and forms. Therapy can be a night out with the girls/guys, or a night in with a good book (and a blanket/hot chocolate in hand, of course). It can be a hug from your mother, or a smile from a stranger...a laugh from a good movie, or a long, hard cry on the shoulders of a friend.
I find solace in writing...especially poetry. It speaks to me. Or rather, my heart speaks to me. See, when true, loyal friends and family are in high demand but low supply...I retreat to the darkest corners of my inner self. When thoughts in my head won't shut up and leave me alone...I lie down, surrender, and...listen. I ride the waves of my emotions, with my pen as my surfboard and my heart as my compass. Below is a representation my latest depressive wave...it was a rough one, and it isn't done yet...but I consider myself an excellent swimmer, and I'll be damned if I don't make it to shore sometime soon.


Today, I peel away this skin,
Today, I expose the pain within,
Im gonna rip my heart out, and hang it to dry,
From the clothesline draped with fading sky,
Below, in a bucket, Ill collect all my tears, and
Release the frantic flood of my fears,
Drip by drop, drop by drip
Here, my friend, come take a sip,
Drink it down, but drink it slow
Taste my hurt, and then youll know
What haunts, taunts me, in my sleep
What dark, dark dreams silently creep
Into my head, into my soul
Laughing, teasing on their tippiest of toes...
- unfinished (like most of my poems...sigh)