A Little Longer

“Boulders are
shackled to
my legs and
I’m being dragged
to the bottom
of an icy ravine.”

Boulders are shackled to my legs and I’m being dragged to the bottom of an icy ravine. The deep blue water envelops me and I see the moon twinkling through from above. The pressure rises in my head and all I can do is pull against those restraints. Knowing that it’s a futile battle. Knowing I won’t make it to the surface. For a flicker of an instant, I wonder if the world would lament my loss. But then, I remember my son. Each time he smiled at me, gave me a hug, and tried to make me smile. I remember my husband, and all those times he looked into my eyes. Every touch. Every promise. I remember the people that love me. And that gives me the strength to keep fighting. To pull against those shackles until they break. To hold my breath just a little longer so I can swim to the surface and be with them again.

© Sarah Doughty

Eloquence In A Question #3

After an impromptu Q&A session at Instagram, there were a few questions that really stood out to me. Since this is the third installment of the series, feel free to jump back to the first and second.

Here’s how it works: Have a look at the question, read my answer, and then do one or both of the following: tell me your response to the same question, respond to my answer with thoughts of your own.

Question:

What made you come up with such beautiful poems and stories? Sometimes it’s like you’re sitting next to me, giving advice. (*Slightly paraphrased)

Answer:

Initially, I didn’t have much of a response other than gratitude and that I draw inspiration from everywhere. But then I saw a post by my friend Kindra here and felt I could elaborate appropriately.

Dealing with complex PTSD, constant anxiety, depression, and frequent migraines is like a living nightmare, but it’s worse when the people around me don’t understand what I’m going through. Oh, how many times have I heard, “You’re over reacting.”

Yes, I know my father is dead and won’t just show up in the middle of the night to prey on me like he did all those years when I was a child, but you know what? My body still thinks otherwise. Sometimes it’s hearing irrational thoughts: the worthlessness, failures, and over analyzing. But really, I’m battling years of learned behavior. Not even sleeping pills can convince my body that it’s okay to relax at night. Because, if I let down my guard for one second, if I’m not vigilant at all times, someone — no, some thing will get me.

Most people in my family didn’t fully grasp the severity of what I deal with until I was blindsided at a wedding reception in a restaurant’s wine room. A full on panic attack with tears and shaking hit me like a truck, and then finally they started to see how much something so small can end up pushing me over the edge. It was an eye opener for them.

Anxiety is no joke, and when you or someone you know is dealing with it, real support means everything. Which brings me to why I write, and why I give it away for free. So many people feel alone in their struggles. And they shouldn’t. Simple as that.

People feel as though I’m writing to them because they connect with my words on a level that, to them, feels very personal. And that’s because it is.

How about you?

Stay tuned for the next question.

Cycles Of Time

When the last of the summer’s warmth fades away, leading the way to winter, a distinct scent of wood smoke fills the air as colors begin to shift from lush greens to fiery reds, oranges, and pinks. Those desiccated leaves turn, weathering away through the pull of time and elements as the nights grow longer and colder.

It’s those worn and faded memories, etched into the face of every structure and every tree, that remind us that life happened. Whether it was happy or sad or somewhere in between, life happened and will continue to live on through the cycles of time.

And that is always a beautiful thing.

© Sarah Doughty