Learn to Howl

There was a time in my past that I remember being viciously lively and brave. Where I knew I could chase the stars and fall among the waves of green grass. I had no fear of consequences. I was not afraid of what the world thought of me, and or how I made myself appear.

And yet… Now I’m wandering in the vast wonderland, trying to find that same girl from the past. I’m longing for where she went. No, I’m lying.

I’m desperately searching for her in this gigantic universe of fear and forgotten dreams. Where have you gone to Alice?

I’m scared to howl for you, worried how others would see it… Would they pity me for looking for myself? Would my cries sound more as if I’m complaining, when I’m actually suffering in this dark silence?

Teach me again, how to howl to the moon. Maybe then, I’ll become brave again like you.


And She Wanders

There’s a constant longing inside my soul, I harbor it like a lost love that has disappeared into the mists. Except, this longing is for a place I don’t know of, a land that I have never been to. My mind wanders on the possibilities of ‘where’ and ‘what if?’

What if I just drop everything and pull out all the cash I had left, take the next flight to nowhere, and just disappeared?

Where would my own insanity take me? Would I even make it out there in the world?

There’s so many questions, and yet no definite answers to the hidden question that lays beneath my soul.

Where do I go home to, when I don’t even know where it exists?

Who Am I?

I am everyone, and I am no one.
I’m the person in the coffee shop, by the window, staring out into the gray.
I am the person at the bookstore trying to figure out which novel to take home.
I’m the person who can’t get out of bed, because my anxiety and depression won’t let me go.
I am the hands that are on your chest, trying to resuscitate you back to life.
I’m the voice who calms you after a nightmare,
I am the person who holds you when your world seems dark, and everything seems hopeless.
I am the whisper of courage, that tells you to battle on when things get tough.
I’m also the secret demons you harbor within,
I am


Nightmares in Wonderland

Have you ever wandered in your thoughts, like Alice wandered in Wonderland? I feel like my mind is just like the forest, where sometimes you’ll have the singing flowers, and then other times… You’ll come face to face with the Jabberwockey. The vicious monster that has formed from your fears and worries of the world beyond the dreaming. I constantly come face to face with him daily, whether he’s the screeching in my ears from the anxiety I feel at work. To the brutal chase he gives as I flee from him in my thoughts, in hopes of finding the light that will chase him back to the dark crevices of the forest.

It’s either he will manage to trap me between a hard place and a rock, or… I will be able to fight back with what little courage I have left in me to keep going on through the day. I hate facing him, I hate having to fight with my own selfish mind to keep sane from the darkness that runs within these veins. All I have are the words in my head to help me brave the waters, these sentences are my only way of coping somehow and someway.

My words are the only sword, shield, and magic that I possess to take down the Jabberwockey. Maybe then, someday, I will find the right combination of words to finally defeat this monster that has built itself a home in my chest. I will be able to rip it out and watch it burn alive with my power… Then these nightmares will stop, while I dream awake in wonderland.

I am a Liar

I am a liar. By no means can you ever trust a word coming from these lips. I have learned the art of making stories seem so real that you have no doubt that they are true. Especially when I tell you that ‘I am okay, and I’ll eventually see things through.’ It’s rough pretending to others that you’re as courageous and strong as they believe you are.

Sometimes you rather not let others down, by not letting them see you so far down the rabbit hole. I am a great pretender. I’ve mastered the art of letting stories take my actual presence, it’s a super power really.

I tell lies. Practically stories, of people who are me but not me. Stories of someone I wish I could be, when anxiety doesn’t destroy me. It’s my great escape and terrifying curse… Because it’s so much more cooler to be someone else than me.

I am a skilled actor; I jest. I’m truly a very good at just making up stories to hide my fears. Why? Because if I were to tell the truth, that working 80+ hours a week, being a full time student, married with high functioning anxiety and depressive disorder causes an internal destruction of my sanity? I’m called lazy as hell, that I’m a whiner and I need to grow up, or that I need to put my big girl pants on and face the real world like everyone does.

I’ve  learned first hand, second hand, and third hand, that telling the honest truth about why I need to come in later for work or even take a day off from work will cause people to shun me. I’ve seen the look on their faces when I openly tell the truth and was told it was all in my head. I’ve been always had someone make my reasons feel invalidated by statements like these:

‘Well, I’ve had a bad day too but I’m still working hard.’


‘I get tired too, you just have to pull through it, it’s all in your head.’

Well that’s just it. It is all in my head, because my anxiety and the depression monsters love playing tag and jumping up and down on the cushions of my brain. Wreaking havoc and destruction on my concentration, deliberately dangling normalcy in front of me like a piece of meat but then jerking it away when I want some semblance of peace.

It’s hard to express that I am not okay, it hurts so much to tell someone the truth. Because I’ve already seen so many witch hunts on people who suffer like I do, we suffer in silence because we feel invalid by our illnesses.

That is why, I must paste on my fake personality; pretend that I am invincible when I feel like I’m dying from my insides caving in on each other. I have to don on my clothes, even when my body hurts from crying and shaking from the terrible thoughts running in my head. I must paint a face upon my true face, to hide the flaws and the dark circles around my eyes from the lack of sleep caused by nightmares of possibly messing up and losing my job. I must be perfect. I need to pretend to be damn good at being someone who doesn’t suffer anything. I must be… an excellent citizen of society.

I must be the perfect liar.