We need you

You are needed.

When the world falls at your feet and you become entangled in disaster, tragedy, and anger– we need you.

When your mental health is at stake and you’re manic and you can’t tell whether the fight is worth it– we need you.

When you hold the cold gun barrel to your head and you’re crying and you don’t know whether or not to pull the trigger because your mom loves you but the world seems to be against you and you can’t bare to make another mistake– we need you.

When you’re sitting in your car in hysterics because you can’t figure anything out on your own and you’re lonely and nobody seems to be listening, really listening, and you’re trying to scream but nothing will come out– we need you.

We will always need you.

It seems hard to imagine how you’re going to make it another 5,10,15 years. The near thought of waking for another day and living the mundane and breathing in the daily dread is hard enough.

Its hard enough not knowing the future; if it’s worth it, if you’re needed or not.

I am here for you and I know the way it feels to want to off yourself and not care about the consequences or who finds your body or what happens after.

I know the way it feels to look in the mirror and cry until my eyes are swollen and my cheeks are puffy and red.

I know the way it feels to choke on the medication you take and you’re sick of the way it tastes on your tongue but you withdrawal without it.

I know how you feel when you say the world is bleak and your closest friends are better off without you because you’re more of a nuisance than a helping hand.

But we need you. I need you. Your mom, dad, grandma– they need you. Your future employer, your husband, your wife, your dog– they all need you.

And it gets better. And the more you believe it, the more it becomes real. Each step forward is a step towards recovery, a step towards happiness and love and all those cliche things the world says are cool.

So I’m here for you. I love you and I need you.

We are all fighting the good fight, some of us just more than others.

A word of advice

When life becomes bleak and the lights in your soul dim out, look within and follow forward.

When you fail and fall and tumble and break, brush the dust off and confront the demons that have tripped you for so long.

When you wake up in the grogginess of a rainy morning, and your bones ache as the sheets fit comfortably around the curves of your body, get up and face the day.

When you drive to work and you feel the dread filling you up like a strong, tall glass of cheap vodka, smile and drink up.

When you gain the weight and feel the shame that society has made easy for you to mold into, get up and stretch away and forgive the shame that has consumed your psyche.

When you slip into the steaming hot shower and the water burns your skin and you like the way it feels when you cry because you can’t feel anything, keep crying. When you get out, start anew. You owe it to yourself.

The thing about life is that it sucks. Life truly sucks.

On the other hand, life can be a wonderful, whimsical experience and the beautiful part is that you are able to feel. Even on the days that run you numb, you are feeling. You are experiencing the important and delicate things life has to offer. We need that.

We need you.

 

 

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A Gun Issue?

When I was a freshman in high school, bullets were found discarded in the boy’s bathroom of the 9th grade center.

I remember the horror dripping off of the parents’ faces when they found out what had been found. The sheer terror of every “what if” played on a loop in their minds for weeks.

Sure, we were lucky. Nobody got hurt. The only real violence that occurred during my 4-year-sentence were the numerous fights, all hands; no weapons.

But what if?

Why does a ninth-grader have access to ammunition? Firearms?

Recent school shootings have left all of us up in arms. Is it a gun issue? Mental health issue?

Or is it deeper than that?

Our kids are subject to raising themselves while their moms are busting ass at three jobs while dad’s dead, or gone, or MIA.

Our kids are being forced to learn from technology and phones and computers because parents are too pussy to teach them the difference between right and wrong.

Our kids are being punished by society because we are not there to teach them any different.

Our kids have been failed.

Our society has been crushed.

Our schools are no longer safe.

Kids that haven’t reached puberty yet have access to firearms but not pencils and crayons.

We want teachers to carry but won’t give them the money for basic tools.

We want mental health to be top priority but shun those that plead for help.

We want, we want, we want. But we won’t– it’s too inconvenient.

Kids are fucking dying. Parents are burying first-borns. Future entrepreneurs, leaders, politicians.

They are gone.

What are we going to do about that?

Nothing, absolutely fucking nothing because the left and the right can’t come together to form a coherent sentence let alone a plan of action.

Sorry kids. We’ve failed you.

 

 

 

OCD- A Lifestyle

I always thought I was a little different growing up.

Kids are supposed to be carefree. Their innocence is supposed to wrap them up in a warm, cozy blanket. Kids are supposed to be kids.

Me? I think I was wired differently.

By the time I was in elementary school, I developed odd habits. Little Leah would try to hide it, but her obnoxious tendencies were hard to conceal.

I would wash my hands a certain way and if it wasn’t done quite right, I had to get up and repeat the task. I had to sit down a certain way. Praying, tidying, walking– it all had to be done clean and sharp. If not, I’d have to start all over. If the cycle didn’t continue, who knows what could possibly happen! My parents might die. My mom might get sick. My house might burn down.

Except not really.

But to a person with OCD, these thoughts consume us. Every second we think we’re safe, we’re not. It always creeps back into our mediocre lives, waiting for the right moment to infect our thoughts like a good case of the flu.

I didn’t admit this for a long while.

I tried, but it never came out right.

So when my hands were raw from washing, or when people would see me whispering to myself or praying 4 times consecutively in public; I would just shrug when they asked why.

I don’t know why.

It’s just a part of me.

Finally, a few months ago, I admitted to my doctor the strange habits that have followed me like a shadow since I was small. She nodded her head like she wasn’t secretly thinking “Who the fuck prays a certain way four times in a row, in public nonetheless?”

It’s okay. I’m not sure myself.

Anyways, I don’t have answer for this one. My thoughts are usually composed into something positive by the end of a post. I’ve got nothing for you this time.

Tune in next time.

Getting my shit together: A journey

If you would have asked me a few years ago to purge my closet and throw away my belongings, I would have probably thought of murdering you.

What a sign of the times.

The past few months have been a wake up call from the gods. They have been whispering to me, “Leah, please get your shit together. We’ve asked you so many times. Please.”

I complied this time.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m getting older or what, but material possessions are beginning to mean less and less to me.

I used to have it all. Purses galore, a never-ending closet, trinkets and all sorts of shit.

Useless bullshit.

So I decided to clean. In fact, I’m still in the process of cleaning. I’ve gotten rid of 85% of my clothes. The compelling urge to buy everything has gone away. For heavens sake, I even cleaned my sock drawer. A majority of my makeup, old bills, worn shoes– it’s all gone.

I wonder why the human race feels the urge to own everything under the sun. Do we not feel enough? Do we not experience enough? Does the sensation of buying new products fill a void in our lives?

Yeah, probably.

I used to think I needed the latest and greatest to be anything in the world. I had so many people to impress.

Except not really. Fuck what people think.

I’ve still got quite a ways to go, but my journey to living minimally has begun.

A clean house, a clearer mind, a better me.

It can only go further up from here.

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