Story Time: Poetic Skeletons

My personal e-mail is full of poetry I used to write. Some of it is real depressing, others are SO cringe worthy. Others invoke a certain type of nostalgia, the type that kind of reminds you of the feelings you had when you wrote it and incite you feel it all over again. Poetry used to be my own personal therapy. I wrote it down, because I didn’t want to say it aloud. I don’t know where along the line the opposite happened. If I could, I’d climb some rooftop and yell all my emotions off of it. I’m a talker. I know, surprising! But I want to talk about it all. I want to say exactly what I think, feel, want, need, hate, love, etc. It’s who I currently am. My software provider is creating an update that will help put some sort of filter on this mouth.
However, until then, I’m a huge advocate of talking. I want to talk, because talking gets me to the bottom of things. When I'm not talking, something is really bothering me. When I was younger and clearly depressed, I wrote it down. That’s why my personal e-mail saddens me. I keep it because it reminds me of how far I've come, while also reminding me of what a complete tool I used to be. Don’t judge me though, sometimes I was just sad. I wish I could share some snippets with you but you might laugh at me. Although, when has that ever stopped me before? This is me being vulnerable about my past, while also poking fun at myself. These are some real snippets out of the personal vault. These ones made me laugh out loud or chuckle. I will also write down my present day reactions.


Yuck. What is this? No, honey, no. That little blood pump in your chest cavity is only attached to arteries and vessels and stuff.


When I was little, I used to always yell at my parents (after they got me in trouble),"I can never have a happy day." Apparently, I didn't outgrow these dramatics for a long time. I'm still very dramatic, except now, I've experienced true happiness.
This.Doesn't.Even.Make.Sense. Clearly I was taking some creative liberties. But maybe it was just one of those, "it's too good to be true" or "it's crazy, so crazy, it just might work" things. Who really knows. But whatever was happening was so real, it just couldn't be. How could it be? Denial is a gift my friends.

Once again, my affinity to speak about things I don't understand started young, and has stood the test of time. I clearly had never experienced a heart break. Those things suck. Avoid at all costs. Oh, and if you can avoid making mistakes, do that too. Sheesh Ruth, terrible advice.

We all have weird depressed skeletons in our closets, mine just happen to be really poetic (haha). Genuinely though, I just want to let you know, that you can really become a better, mentally stable human if you try. Just kidding (but not really).
I just want to say: everything always seems like a mountain, even when it's a small hill. And even if it is a mountain of a problem, you can still climb it. I know that all those aforementioned moments of pure angst and melancholy are funny now, but back then, they were the biggest deal of all time. Can you imagine if I would have given up in any of those moments, I'd still be living alone in a valley somewhere, shaded by the massive mountain of problems, in a house full of sadness, with a drinking well full of my own tears and... well, that took a steep turn, you get the point.
I'm just here to tell you to keep going, one day, you'll be able to look at those mountain in your rear view mirror and enjoy the view. Sprinkle some hope and Jesus on it, you'll see the magic that can come from that.

Talk to you later,

1 comment:

  1. For this one I remember saying that I really enjoyed reading and I also called you emo


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