Day 364: Sometimes the Bird Falters

Emily Dickenson wrote:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
Before mining was mechanized the miners used to bring canaries into the mines with them. As long as the bird was singing the miners knew it was safe if the bird stopped singing they got out as fast they could.If hope is a singing bird, mine struggles constantly, choking on the ever present coal dust and methane that are my feelings of depression and worthlessness. Feelings I fight every day, feelings that, in spite of medication and people who tell me they love me every day, have been overwhelming me of late.
I have no intention of hurting myself, but I won’t lie and tell you that I haven’t considered it many times this summer.I’m not telling you this so that you feel sorry for me. I’m not saying this to make anyone feel guilty. I am not trying to scare anyone. I am sharing this to shine a light on mental illness. Social stigma happens when there is fear of something and a lack of communication. The greatest  weapon against fear is truth,  no matter how awkward and unpleasant that truth may be

Bullfinch, Bird, Sitting, Tree, Garden

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “Day 364: Sometimes the Bird Falters

Add yours

  1. I have no advice, and no words. Sending you a big fat bear hug across the ether, and hoping it reaches you. You’re right, and very brave to be shining the light one mental illness– not enough of that is done in our society.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: