Sometimes your heart just hurts.

Sometimes your mind is broken.

Sometimes you don’t have the answer to that question.

Sometimes, you just need a nap and to suck your thumb

Sometimes the words don’t come out correctly, instead of tears flowing

Sometimes loneliness is continuity

Happiness seems relative

Most of the time you just need a shoulder to cry

A hug is a prescription you really needed

Often you just want a safe place to stay, a place of your own to call home

Sometimes you’re just hungry and need to be feed

At times you want others to feel your pain

We all want relief and a savior from life, but realize we just have to keep pushing. Some nights are just going to be tearful, and mornings filled with delays. Sunglasses to hide the bags under your eyes and deep-fried Oreos to mask your pain.

Then there will be times when nothing is enough, and death seems like a solution, but your hearts are pumping “life”

I often want to give up, but I just don’t know how. A failure is never an option, the consequence is regret. There is no pill for that.

My grandma died, my rock is gone. I’ve received two hugs since her death, and I need a few more. I’m trying to be uplifting, but I need a place to be human. I yearn to hear the words “I love you” maybe one day, but not today. I’m crying because that woman who cause significant pain, was the one person who provided great joy. I’m motherless and my mom still lives, fatherless and my father still lives. I’m a twin and I don’t know where my other half is. I feel conflicted and I feel stronger, because I know I’ll see past this. I’m scared of my own strength and denying my ability to become more than I could have ever dreamt

My rocks story has ended, and mine is yet beginning. Death is not easy and is not my solution. Life is bearing, and yet asking to be defined. I’m am more than my illness. I am more than my insecurities. I may never get that hug or affirmation again, but I’ve experienced it. I hold it dear to my heart. I fall on my knees every night and thank God for it. I have one thing that many has never “yet” to achieve.

I have a life. Not of my own strength but that of a higher power. I can make it because my rock made it. At my grandma’s funeral, I saw how beautiful she looked, but I didn’t recognize her face. Then I looked at her hands, I saw each wrinkle. I regret not touching her one last time. I remember those hands, and in the congregation saw her legacy, and then I prayed that I’d to one day reach old age, and be wrinkled; for each wrinkle showed strength and not a weakness.

I know what it’s like to be hungry. I know what it’s like to be homeless. I know what it’s like to be mentally ill. I know what it’s like to attempt suicide and live. I know what it’s like to experience death and feel regret for still living. I’m earning my wrinkles and gaining wisdom and strength. Thank you GOD! Thank you GOD!

Job in the bible said it best, “The Lord gives, The Lord takes; PRAISE BE THE LORD”

 

Domenia Dickey

 

 

 

Them: You broke your wing I see, of what help can I be?

Me: What you see is external, whats broken is my mind and the heart it follows. Do you see my daily hallucinations, lingering thoughts of despair, desire for love and transparency, the battle between fear and inadequacy, survival of the fittest they say, and I question why is my reality different from my night and day

Them: Feelings are not facts, sometimes we see the worst of us and we need one another to heal a wing, deliver a word that’s positively non-psychological. Sometimes we are our own worst enemies and the true roadblock in our pathways. So say what it is, but don’t allow what it is to be a hindrance. Allow yourself to heal

Me: Alone in a room just me, and me.  Sitting on a bed that is not my own, stuck in my head. I feel fatigue and over-shadowing darkness, I cant lift up my head so I cry instead. I want a heart to be honest with to say I’m afraid, I’m hurting, I feel alone and really just want a hug. No family, few friends, and a semi textbook education. Fear of failure, fear of success, fear of accepting myself to see my strengths and good, while acknowledging the bad. The hallucination is comforting, they’re what I know, my voices yelling, tactile hallucinations giving me affection photo delusions are my directions. But I know they have to go. This darkness swallows me, I can’t get out of bed, I’m dying in hopes to be free. If I kill myself I’m free no more pain no more anything. Life is limited, death is permanent and comforting, and delivers the attention I’m too afraid of asking for. I just want a transparent heart to talk to and break bread with. Instead of being in my head. An open heart, not judgmental and hostile but sarcastic, funny, educate and dedicated. I want to hear someone say “I’m dedicated to you, your success ad well being, you’re not alone I can be your family”

Them: Recovery is possible

Me: I’m not an addict or an ex-con. I have schizoaffective disorder a mental illness. What do I need to recover from I did nothing wrong?

Them: You don’t need to have done something wrong in order to recover. But when we get sick we need to get well so guess (in a sarcastic, comical voice) “welcome to RECOVERY” We can be your new family, we’re (I’m) not getting rid of you. I’m here to help you, Crisis is here to help you, Continuum of Care is here to help you. You just have to say “yes”

Me: ugh, “yes”

Them: It won’t happen in a day and sometimes you will get sick again, but you’ll recover a lot faster

Me: I’m fucking scared. I’ve trusted before and was left abandon, I can’t take another broken wing. My heart hurts and I’ll keep crying.

Them: No one is perfect, we are all human, but we are in our humanity this is apart of Recovery.

Me: My wing feels stronger, I think I can fly. So I, I call, will someone answer

Them: Day and Night

Them: Well then you’ve got to change your thinking pattern, talk to people go to church, make friends and slow recovery will happen.

Me: So I’ll fly to my new home and see you on Friday 🙂

 

*I think you were once a thug in real life lol…naw…I wish I could hear your recovery story* #insider

This, whatever you’d like to call it is dedicated to Continuum of Care Connecticut and their Crisis and Respite housing in New Haven  CT. This is also dedicated to the staff of Crisis and Respite, the best Clinical Director John L, and Program Director Jill G. This is a transcript of multiple conversations between myself and Jill and how Continuum of Care gave me a second chance. Thank-you. I promise to always be a pain in your ass but to return to love and gifts you’ve given throughout my lifetime.

 

 

 

So there is a part of my that wants to write this cheesy poem and pretend that I am a writer, who’s grammatically fluent, when in reality it took me 4 times to write the word “grammatically” correctly. So, just know that I’m human.

I’m a human with flaws. A human who seems to “can’t get right.” So this is my vent blog post. It’s been long over due. I’ve been as positive as I can be, and rock bottom has long ago been reached.

My forever family was really  based on condition. I was hit by a car and they were nowhere to be found. When I got home that night from the hospital the doors were locked and the lights were off. I mean who cared, that I was just hit by a car, riding a bike? I eventually became suicidal went to the hospital and was told “don’t come home”! I am a human with a mental illness. I was a black girl with out a home trying to fit in the middle class white world. I was different, and I knew and I feel like an ass because I bought their delusion that I was one of them. Truth be told, I’d probably would have been “one of them”  if it wasn’t for this damn bipolar disorder. Or maybe if they were still getting sent a monthly check, I would have had a longer time sleeping in a bed. My foster mom has this theory or thought that I am supposed to have my shit together. I mean tell me what 24 year old does?

I have a mental illness that took me out of college for 3 semesters including 2 summers. The only thing that got me through was “hope” as cheesy as it sounds it’s true. I’m angry because I now sleep on the floor with a two blankets while her real children have their own places and one stays home. I’m angry because she lied. My siblings don’t talk to me, my foster father doesn’t talk me. She only keeps in contact with me and I think its out of pity.

When she kicked me out from the hospital I went to NC, to live with a social worker, whom I thought of as a sister. Who turned out to be abusive emotionally and psychologically. I’m struggling with a job as a Barista that pays 8.50hr. I’m going to school online. My body hurts daily because, when I was kicked out I couldn’t see my doctors, nor start physical therapy. I had medicaid in CT, but in NC I had to buy my own health care. It was a struggle to stay alive. I slaved at home doing laundry and trying to help as much as I could for a women, who would make remarks about hitting me, calling me every thing other thing but my name and I feared I’d be kicked out. I lived in fear and the only time that fear was lifted was when I went to church at Hickory Grove United Methodist Church. My sister (whoever she is) told me I couldn’t be “gay” around her kids. I couldn’t be me.

I went to the hospital three times for depression and one overdose because I had no one at the point. That’s what my life was showing me. No one wanted me, I was a burden, and a regret. I was a student who just aged out of foster care, with a dream and an illness. I had my name and three suitcases. That’s it!

The last time I went to the hospital, they wouldn’t release back into my sisters care. I called my grandmother and aunts to try to move back home. My grandmother said I could come live with her, and now I sleep in the living room on the floor. I work 20 hours a week at a vegetarian restaurant and I only eat tuna, and yogurt because that’s all I can afford. My family are meat-eaters and I am allergic to meat not including fish. I make 200$ a week and I’m struggling. I have to start paying rent soon and  I sleep on the floor with two blankets and a pillow. I have slept in a bed in almost a year. I work only 20 hours because my body physically can’t stand for more than 4 hours at a time, and my bipolar disorder has been paired with schizophrenia and it’s a struggle.

There was a time when I wanted a family, and now I tell you that, I don’t. I’ve only been hurt by people who called me their family.  I’m still in school, and even won another scholarship. So I’m still pressing towards a better future. I’m in recovery when it comes to my illness and working everyday to stay like that. My sister says “I’m dead to her, and to never contact her nor her family again” I have a great therapist and am starting on creating a treatment team for myself.

I wrote the blog post and titled it “I’ll make it” and I believe it. I will. Things are tough and might stay like this for a while but I will make it. I don’t attend church anymore (that’s another blog–for another day) but I do still believe in God. I wanted to hate God but he gives us freewill. Some people use their will for evil and many for good. It’s not God’s fault, and he has given me many of hints like winning this new scholarship as incentive to keep pushing.

Pray for me. Pray for this world. Pray for love, peace, and that no one dies without reaching their God given potential.

Blessings!