you may think this is going to be a list of how i almost killed myself about 10 times, or how i was stuck in the psychiatric ward but no, it isn't.

1. Depression taught me to rely on God. I found my faith and realized that my God is bigger than my mental illness. I found light even in darkness and learned to lean on Him more than I ever have, and I am so grateful.

2. Depression taught me to stand on my own two feet. I learned very early into my diagnosis that I had to save myself because no prince or princess charming was going to come in a pumpkin carriage and sweep me off my feet and no fairy godmother is going to flick her wand and take my illness away. It was my battle to fight.

3. Depression showed me the people who loved me for me. It was quite easy to figure out the people who wanted something from me and the people who wanted me. It was heartbreaking to realize the truth, but better late than never hey? Cutting off everyone who only chose to be a part of my life for their selfish needs has done me more good than any other choice I've made thus far, I am so happy.

4. Depression taught me to be kind. Being thrown into what felt like the deepest pits of hell taught me what pain truly feels like. I had always known that mental illnesses were torturous, but experiencing it first hand is a whole new level and I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemies. I learned that everyone is suffering and we all fight battles, and how important it is to recognize that the person next to you may be going through hell and just chooses to be silent about it. Be kind. It may not mean anything to you, but it may mean the world to the person next to you.

5. Depression taught me that I am a strong *******. It tried to break me, over and over again. It put thoughts into my head and told me I wasn't good enough and I would never be, good enough. It told me I had to harm myself to feel things and it told me I would be better off dead. It told me I wasn't worth of love, happiness, kindness - I wasn't worth anything. It told me to wreck myself because I meant nothing anyway. It told me to make decisions that only made me feel worse because at that point - I would have done anything to take the pain away. But here I am today, able to write all of this without shedding a single tear. Because I am strong. I suffered, but I survived. And nobody will ever, be able to take that away from me.

6. The last, and most important lesson. I've always wanted to change lives, make a difference. Depression taught me that I didn't need to change 200 lives at once. I didn't need to change the world when I was 18 years old. All I needed to do was listen to someone, give someone a hug. Talk to someone when they needed a friend. I was changing the world, even if I didn't realize it. And I will continue to do it.



To everyone who's wondering, I'm off anti-depressants now. The fear of relapse constantly does bug me, but my will to survive exceeds everything else. I am a fighter. And so are you.

he took the cliche sabbatical
when his wife died, careening through
the Rockies to the jagged Pacific coast,
seeing old lovers along the way

ending in Iowa
with his daughter's family:
flat lands, with no ups and downs
surprise turns, or fatal strokes

there the grief was level
his daughter of strong faith
his granddaughter young enough
to yet see heaven in blue sky

mornings after Cheerios
she would lead him around the section
edifying him about the livestock, their purpose;
she introduced him to Harriet

her pet pig;
he couldn't help but think of his Hazel
and if the consonant and vowel were coincidental
or a contrivance of a child's supple mind

his granddaughter spoke of Hazel
with sublime ease, absent the halting
staccato utterances of adults when
they mentioned his wife's name

after all, his grandchild saw her
in a passing cloud, or in the glint
of moonlight on the pond,  
in clear azure sky

soon it came time to say goodbye
to the hog, who had been with the child
a sixth of her years--but she knew this
was the way of things

feeding and fondling new things
watching them grow, becoming cautious
when their mass exceeded your own
when they began to look away

'twas then it was time
all God's creatures would lose footing
even in this flat place,
and go to sleep

though the child would not forget
Hazel or Harriet, for the latter was on the table,
sizzling and succulent, the former on the mantel,
framed in gold, smiling with eyes open

Death is a ******
who never misses.
He stalks us all,
calmly awaiting
the proper moment,
takes perfect aim, fires,
and thinks we are gone.
Looking anxiously
over your shoulder
will not avail.
Death is patience incarnate.
He is a gatherer,
ceaselessly collecting,
eternally foraging,
and when he finds us
he slips us into his bag
and thinks we are gone.
Death is a messenger
delivering the telegram
that says our time is up.
He reads it to us
and thinks we are gone.
Death is a conductor
who calls a stop,
sees us off the train
and thinks we are gone.

But death is mistaken.

Death is certain,
but it is not final.
The world we touched
is changed forever
by our journey in it,
however brief or long.
Something of us remains
in a child, a garden,
a painting, a poem,
a kiss, a caress,
a gasping ******.
Our hearts stop beating,
but breath does not depart.
It floats in clouds
of atoms that we were.
Those we leave behind
have only to inhale
and once again
we are with them,
and within them.
Bodies die; love never does.
Each life, sacred and eternal,
inspires Creation.
We are never truly gone.

Margaret, are you grieving
over Hillary’s unseating?
The victory you expected
was denied, and you are dejected.
Fears and tears are your companions
as you grieve for undocumented transients.
But no tears you shed in years gone by
when bombs fell on children from drones on high.
Nor did you protest the stop and frisk
or needless deaths of black men at risk.
Slaughter in Gaza was no cause
for you to protest, or even to pause
from your Twitter feed or drink at Starbucks.
(The world knows you didn’t give two *****.)
I sit and watch the roosting chickens
who have returned from the wide world sickened.

I'm off to the Bay area tomorrow*

Throw me toward the setting sun--
to the West, when my work is done.
Land me at the golden door
of California’s northern shore.
Fiery orange steel-gird gate
tempts those weary of their fate.
Defy the plunge that ends it all,
and heed the sunshine’s cheery call.
Traverse the gate, into the wild,
where restless souls may rest awhile,
beyond the towns, toward the coast,
where whales return and hawks will roost.
The golden hills of Sonoma
will calm the pains of any trauma.
The wines and vines of the Napa valley
will help to pass the time happily.
And as you cross the Golden Gate
the Pacific blue will calmly wait.
Glance to the east and you will see
the placid Bay by the white city.
The sky is bigger here; it spans
the hills, the bridge, the bay and ocean.
Its azure grandeur soon dispels
any suicidal notion.

As you travel this road
looking to find
Someone in need of love.
Whose broken spirit
in need of repair
By the Love given Above.

It might be someone
whose given up hope
And is found in deep despair.
With all hope gone
no place to turn
no shoes or clothes to wear.

The drug once chosen
For what ever the reason
Has taken them to the ground.
They need a hand
To help them up
Out of the hole they are found.

You see the pain
deep within
Caused by someones lust
No way to cope
to overcome
For they have lost their trust.

A kind word here
A smile there
Can help fill the hole.
When hope was lost
By careless words
And actions took their tole.

As I travel this road
Hoping to find
A soul in need of love
May directions come
To me this hour
From Love given Above.