Tag Archives: women

Depression as a woman

Imagine feeling empty, sad, hopeless, worthless, directionless and lost.

Anxious and panicky, sensitive to lights, sounds and casual words.

Couple that with monthly intense mood swings, tears that flow easily, body aches and exhaustion, need for sleep throughout the day, aching back and swollen breasts.

Now your emptiness and loneliness is heightened with the consistent flow of blood and unfertilised eggs.

My brain becomes a ticking alarm clock reminding me it’s time for my pill again.

Its choice of alarm tune?

The urge to pop handfuls of pills, to get knock out drunk, to do something, anything to mute the mind and feelings. She doesn’t scream at the back of my mind anymore, but her toxic breath fogs the brain in the meantime.

Up till I take that little pill and go to bed. Things are better when I wake up. But in between, there’s no guarantee what the subconscious will unleash on my sleeping mind.

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Looking out for Number 1

Yes, the rape was not your fault.
You weren’t asking for it.
You were drinking
You were having fun
You did not deserve to be raped.

Yes, the molest was not your fault.
You didn’t ask for it.
You were drunk
You trusted your friend
You did not deserve to be molested.

But, my love
The world is a cruel place.
Your friends won’t always be there
They might not see the drinks as your crutch
They might not see your cry for help
They might wave you off as vicarious and wild

And, my love
People are cruel creatures
Where No means Yes
And trust is but a tool for abuse

So ignore those who tell you
“You should stop drinking”
“You shouldn’t trust guys so easily”
“Don’t drink so much next time”
“Don’t go out drinking in unknown places with unknown people”

But you should take care of yourself.
Because at the end of the day,
The world is a cruel place
Filled with cruel creatures
And no one is around to watch out for you

Only you can care for you.

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Becoming a Woman

I was 11 when I first got my period.
For weeks before, ants flooded my panties,
feasting on my discharge.
I feared it was diabetes.

When the blood came,
brown and mucky,
it was night and my sister and mother were in bed, reading.
I came out crying.

“Stupid girl, cry for what?”
My mom laughed, hugging me close
as I sobbed, my sister chuckling in the background.
I just kept crying; I had no reply.

12 years later, approximately 144 periods.
I fear not getting one.
I cry at the thought of missing one.
I’m afflicted with torrential emotions before, during and after one.

Perhaps I was crying with the arrival of my period
because this was the end of my freedom.
Now I could officially be used, owned, abused,
because I have become a Woman.

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