I tried to save us. Several times Maybe you didn't know or your hands were over your ears Perhaps you didn't want to hear me as we sat on that couch together listening to the therapist. I didn't want to hear you speak because I was so focused on telling you what my opinions were on our relationship. I refused to see through your lens. It wasn't my problem; it was yours. And I wanted to see you as an evil super villain when in reality, you are just a man. You are a man who I still love deeply, despite the fact that your eyes are closed and your heart is broken or tucked away in a box. It's like I can see you and you can't see me, and it's sad and heartbreaking and real. I've always known that you were kind. I've seen you be good with animals and children. That made my heart open and swell. It was like we were connected in this unspeakable way and I wanted to crawl inside that soft place. There were glimpses of that vulnerability that you showed me. Sometimes I could see it and other times I didn't want to [...]
My children (who are nine and six) know that I have anxiety and depression. They don't know those words, but I explain them in a child-friendly way when I am experiencing symptoms of each of those mental health issues. When I am anxious, I tell the kids "Mommy is feeling nervous right now. She needs to breathe for a moment." I verbalize my feelings so my kids are not afraid of what's going on. I think one of the best things you can do when talking to your kids about mental health issues is to be transparent. Transparency is key because children are incredibly perceptive and more than we give them credit for. They see and hear a lot of what we're up to and that includes our mental health issues. With depression it is tricky, and we need to be mindful that crying can be alarming to our kids. They may not understand why I am crying. I assure my kids that crying is a part of life. It's perfectly normal to experience sadness and let it out in the form of tears. I am tender in the way that I explain depression to my kids. I say things like: "Mommy [...]
Be Better I woke up this morning feeling a little bit better. My heart was still racing but I believe there is something to look forward to. No fuck that, I know there is something to look forward to. It lies within me. I am the master of my own destiny. I make the choices that contribute to me and my happiness. It does scare the shit out of me. I'm not going to lie. Lying. I've always been a terrible liar. And when I try to do it people seem to know. So I don't bother trying. Sometimes I will be silent, but I will not tell an untruth. Guilt. Feeling guilty is a waste of time. It doesn't mean that we can't feel those feelings because they happen organically. I want to be OK. And I know that one day I will feel that; even if it is just for a moment. And the reason that I know that is because I'm sitting here on my couch feeling OK in this moment. Everything and I mean everything is going to be all right. Bob Marley was onto something.
Cave I walk into the dark cavernous space holding my flashlight. I try to turn it on but the switch isn't working. It just keeps clicking and my feet start tapping nervously. He is lurking in the shadows of this space. I can hear the shore waves creeping up. The sand is wet outside and I close my eyes wishing that I could be immersed in the ocean so I didn't have to stand up anymore. He's there. But he doesn't say anything. My blood is hot and almost boiling and I can't move my feet because the light won't work and he doesn't love me anymore so what's the point of turning the light on anyway? If he sees me, he'll stare right through me. Even in the dark I know... He is looking through my face I don't matter anymore and I can't handle that. I feel the rage bubbling in my stomach and it runs through my veins. I feel electric, powerful and full of hope. My hand is on fire and the flashlight turns on. I drop it to the ground and shake trying to extinguish the fire. Then I feel it His arms wrap around [...]
You came to New York on my birthday - 10/17 in 2004. It had to mean something. It had to be a sign. People come into your life for a reason and I miss you. I'll never stop loving you and my whole body feels like broken glass. I don't think you can ever forgive me for how I treated you. But we were fire and fire together, and it exploded, which was sometimes great and other times overwhelming. And I blamed everything on you, which became an imbalance in our connection. I can't take it all back. I can't make it better. I can't fix things. I can't fix us. But I want to. I love you and those words- they mean something to me. The more you tell me you can't hear me and Implicitly say I don't matter, the more I can't feel my face from crying. I want to jump in a time machine and go back to 2014. I want to change that day that everything went to shit. I want to tell you I'm sorry, I'll be more patient. I won't try to make you talk when you don't want to. I won't be [...]
15 - laying on my couch, wishing I was dead. Thinking that he killed me with his words. I don't know if I love you anymore It wasn't him. It was me. I killed me because I didn't love myself. I was clinically depressed, not eating, sleeping too much, hormonal, waking up with panic attacks, every day, vomiting bile, thinking that there was no reason to exist. If he didn't love me I didn't matter. I didn't know what love was - I thought it meant two parts of something. I believed that you didn't need to love yourself to be loved by another person. None of that mattered to me because I didn't want to be alive. I wanted to close my eyes and never wake up. I kept living and eventually, his rejection didn't matter anymore, or at least I learned to stop picking the scab. It would be years later before I learned what it meant to love myself, to accept who I was, and to believe that I was anyone worth knowing. 34- My marriage disintegrated, and I couldn't figure out who did what. I blamed him, but every bone in my body that "hated" him, actually [...]
Mother's Day is a holiday rife with pressure to do the "right thing" or get the "right gift. I am taking a cue from my friend Jenny Lawson, who created the idea of Booksgiving. In Booksgiving, people created Amazon Wish Lists that were public and the deal was that people sent strangers a book that was on their wishlist! So here's the deal people: I'm doing the same thing...but for Mother's Day. Create an Amazon wish list and name it "What I want for Mother's Day" or something like that. Get creative! Make the list "public" Make sure to add a "shipping address" to the list. Share it on Twitter and tag me @TheSarahFader I will RT it and we're going to try to get you what you want. Oh hey! Here's my Amazon List! Get me stuff https://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/ref=cm_reg_rd-upd?ie=UTF8&id=VKEDUBW6INGR&type=wishlist Let's do this! You deserve to be pampered on Mother's Day with presents you actually want! The mothers and their wishes are below. Pick a list, and get a mom something! Liz/MY MOM - https://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/158T2RS5ONBFS/ref=cm_wl_huc_view Mint- https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/ls/ref=?ie=UTF8&%2AVersion%2A=1&%2Aentries%2A=0&lid=14VX2TNDO0Y7K&ty=wishlist Eryn - https://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/ref=cm_reg_rd-upd?ie=UTF8&id=2GWPV8CXQ4XVX&type=wishlist Lea - https://www.amazon.com/registry/wishlist/2RBI2GNCS19G9/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_an_wl_o_lbggzb7YJBKTZ Can Can - https://www.amazon.com/registry/wishlist/320IGREWILWFL/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_ws_x_3Eggzb49B8RNP Aria - https://www.amazon.com/registry/wishlist/3B7CSGE0KWXO/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_ws_x_qfhgzbN9S5D10 Sakinah - https://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/3MWALIP8EWTXR/ref=nav_wishlist_lists_2
I used to look forward to the nighttime. When I was a teenager and first experienced panic attacks they were utterly exhausting. I'd wake up each day with my heart racing, sweating profusely, and scared to get out of bed. I did a lot of self-talk to get myself out of bed, but it was brutal. Life was a hail storm for me and it wouldn't relent for several years until I started taking Prozac at age 18. I was part of the "Prozac Nation" generation. The daytime was so difficult for me, and I yearned for it to be over. I think it was because I dreaded living my life. There wasn't anything to be excited about, however, there were so many things to be terrified of. I was scared to face the day because my utter existence frightened me. I didn't want to deal with myself because myself felt overwhelming. I didn't want to live in my head. It was so scary in there, and there were no blankets or sleeping bags or even a night light. As soon as around 5 pm hit, I felt instantly calmer. My body and mind had exhausted themselves and I could [...]
I'm drowning. I feel the water in my lungs and I want to cough but I can't find a way to get the liquid out of my body. It's disgusting and terrible, but nothing matters anymore so I'll just let go and relent into the pain of now know when or how it'll happen. Maybe you killed me, or I killed myself. I wasn't able to speak about how I was hurting so instead I sunk to the bottom of this lake. So why didn't you come find me? I don't understand. I know I shouldn't have waited for you. You said you had somewhere to be. It's going to be okay here. I can see the minnows and some rocks. I wish I could cry, but I can't because I'm choking on water and I'm surrounded by water anyway. What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? I'll just lay down for a while and rest my eyes, even though I can't see anything. I like the darkness. I'm scared. Will you save me? I'm chained to the rock. There's electricity in my hands. If I focus hard and long enough I can break these chains and swim to [...]
Did you know that there are different kinds of assholes in the world? Well, I'm here to tell you that there are. Professional Assholes I consider myself to be a professional asshole. This means that I'm your friend, I'm loyal and kind until you start behaving in a way that is counterproductive to your life. At that moment, I bring out my professional asshole skills and give you some tough love. You need to get your shit together and I'll be by your side to help you do that. This is part of my job as a professional asshole; to support you but give you my honest opinion on how you are fucking things up. We all fuck up our lives and make mistakes Show me a person who doesn't make mistakes and I will show you that Falcor from the Neverending Story is my pet in real life. You can't hold up your end of the bargain, and I don't own a luck dragon. Everyone makes mistakes, we're not infallible and we need to own that. That's what a professional asshole is for. A professional asshole helps you to recognize your life blunders and repair them. Certfied Fucking Assholes [...]
Dear McDonalds, I took my kids to the McDonalds location on Flatbush Avenue at The Atlantic Mall today. I never go to your restaurant, because my kids normally don't eat fast food. However, we had a snow day today, and I wanted to give them a treat. Jashana, the shift manager, was very kind and took our order. It was around 11 am when we entered your establishment. We sat down to eat in a booth. All of a sudden a homeless man (he identified himself as "a bum") entered the restaurant. "I'm a bum. I'm a fucking bum right?!" He screamed at the customers. It was truly unsettling. My kids and I tried to ignore him as we ate our food. Despite our efforts to enjoy our food, the man persisted in harassing Jashana and the other customers. He screamed at this innocent woman behind the counter saying "when you go home, you suck your man's dick! I know you do." Now, my children are six and eight years of age. They don't know what a blow job is, but after we exited the restaurant my eight-year-old asked me what "sucking a dick" meant. I didn't anticipate having that [...]
I opened the door for you. I'm holding it ajar with my body, and ushering you inside with my right hand; it's an invitation for you to be yourself. You don't have to pretend to be someone else, because who you are is beautiful. I won't ask you to change for me. I like you the way you are. That's why you are my friend. And I appreciate how similar we are and also how vastly different. We come from disparate universes, but I still love you, because you are you. I can see the light shining inside your eyes. They are small pebbles but they sparkle in the dark night. I want to look into them again and smile when I do it. I'm here to tell you that you matter. I'm standing in front of you telling you the honest truth, that you are incredible and you can. You can do that thing you're afraid of doing, but you want to do so badly. I believe in you as much as I believe in me. I see myself in you, and I also see how we make each other's lives better. There are so many things I want [...]
I don't feel creative and yet here I am writing this. It's because I want so much to feel creative. I want to feel that spark, the adrenaline, the drive, the want to create and feel something and yet I feel like a broken pencil tip, a dull razor blade, because I don't feel anything at all. I'm banging on the door to my heart and it isn't answering. Maybe no one's home right now, it's all I can figure. My emotions went on vacation and they didn't leave anyone to house sit inside the confines of my body. So I'm a blank slate, a walking outline of a person who once felt deeply. I will feel again when I'm not floating above these feelings. Although, it feels nice to fly away from them sometimes. Other times they are surrounding me and I don't know what to do with them. Not today, today I don't feel. Today I'm an empty cup and other boring metaphors. Still I write because my fingers remind me to, and my passion, which is buried under all this gray ambiguous nothing, is peaking out through the curtains wanting to be seen.
I have too many questions and no answers; that's what life is about. I remember sitting in elementary school in the fifth grade, quietly raising my hand hoping that I would get called on, because I knew I had the right answer. It was devasting when Mrs. Gumbs called on someone else, because I knew my answer was correct. Time passed by, but my passion to speak the right answer never disappeared. I sat in 8th grade English class with my hand held high waiting to express my favorite beat poet's name:Lawrence Ferlinghetti. I can feel the stiffness in my arm from waiting, and I'm not longer 13, I'm 37. My worth isn't predicated on whether I know the right answer, but I believed it was at the time. When my hand stopped flying up in high school, it was hard. When my confidence dropped, it was difficult. I wasn't mastering pre-calculus and I couldn't raise my hand anymore with confidence. I had more questions than answers and my feet were what I was looking at more than the teacher's gaze. In college my heart pounded when I raised my hand, even if I was certain my answer was correct. I was [...]
My thoughts fly. 57. Coffee. 2000. Sometimes they crawl into the crevices of my heart, those words, feelings, truths and I want to hide from the rush of adrenaline. If I can't see you, you can't see me. Logic is something that we use when it's convenient. Emotions have capes that allow them to fly wherever they please. One day I'll stand before you and open that door so you can see inside me. That door opens so infrequently. It's usually under construction. People knock but I pretend like I'm not home. For you I'll open the door. Only you.