The House on Vistula Road
Small vignettes

Broken Land
She is broken,
With her heart shattered and boots worn,
She is broken.
She is like a newly formed island.
Everyone wants to claim her.
To claim her as this or as that.
To put a label on her,
Even though she is broken.
She was doomed from the start.
With a name that means broken land and small stream.
She was doomed.
But she loves her name,
She loved the uniqueness of the two n's.
She loves how her name is made up of two names.
She loves that it describes her.
A broken girl in a broken world.

The Broken Road to Continuing
    She wished she loved herself. She wished she loved her hair, her face, her body. She wished for so much but she never seemed to get that wish fulfilled. She hated her hair, ratted and puffy. She hated her eyes, a disgusting brown color. She hated her body. Rolls, where other girls didn't have them. And she hated her face, chubby, almost childlike in nature. She had to have glasses, something to show off her fake intellect. She had no butt. Nothing to show off. But she did have a gut. And what a gut it was. She was depressed. With nights full of crying and days full of fake smiles. She continued on, lost.
    But she continued. She still laughed and played and she still made silly faces. She was alive. That is what matters. To her continuing was everything. It meant keeping others happy. It meant keeping her going. It meant everything She wanted to continue going on. But She didnt know how. She was hopeless. She had one problem after another. She never felt she would get a break.  She had been doomed from the beginning.
    With her name meaning broken land she figured she was born broken. She was born defective.
    But with age comes wisdom. You can't be born broken. Your name cant curse you. So she got herself a reminder.
    Around her 18th birthday, she got a tattoo on her right wrist. To remind herself she is strong and that she can continue on.

Forever raining
    Depression is not just a sense of deep sadness. It changes your lifestyle. With days that feel like years and hours that feel like centuries, it can leave you hopeless. Depression is a daily struggle. It leaves you feeling exhausted every day because you tried so hard to just make it through. It's like weaving through a maze made of needles full of toxin. One wrong move and it's over for you.
    Some people don't believe in depression.  They believe others do it for attention or that it was made up by doctors to get more money. What they don't understand is that no one with depression actively wants to be depressed. They usually don't even want to kill themselves. They do it because its the only option they see.
    Other people don't understand cutting. It's a rough spot for people. They don't understand how hurting yourself and thus hurting others, helps. And for the most part, they are right. It doesn't help. But in the moment all you can think about is a way to relieve the pain you feel inside. The way the skin stings when you cut or the way the blood starts up in small beads. It's almost relaxing. And it's hard to understand why.
    I wouldn't wish depression on my worst enemy. It is horrible to live with especially if it goes untreated.
    When my depression was untreated all I wanted to do was kill myself to make it stop. I would starve myself and stay in my room. It was the worst feeling I have ever felt. But, will my medication it is manageable.

Numbers and Colors
2, 4, 6
Red, white, blue
8, 10, 12
Vilot, Indigo, Purple
I have an obsession 
My obsession is with numbers and colors
They must be sorted
They must be even
If not I go insane.
I always count them
And I always have them in groups.
14, 16, 18
Blue, Cyan, Teal
20, 22, 24
Red, burgundy, maroon
Sometimes my obsession goes out of control
I have to do things in 2s or 4s
I have to separate my m&ms
If I have an uneven number I will split it in half,
Or give it away.

My Civil War
    I grew up knowing one thing. I wanted to become a mom. I wanted the unconditional love of a child of my own. But as I grew up I realized that would be hard to do. My body hated me. Not only was I diagnosed with depression and anxiety but now I had PCOS. Polycystic ovary syndrome is a horrible thing. It makes it hard to have kids and you have a messed up body system. Not only that but it messes with your hormones. People with PCOS often grow hair in places only men grow because they have too much testosterone.
    I was diagnosed when I was 17. I was fainting a lot. Almost every day. It was scary. One time I passed out in the shower. I woke up on the bottom of the bathtub, laying down with water splashing against my face. I couldn't breathe. But I couldn't move or speak. I felt my heart race and thump against my chest. Finally, I could speak and I screamed out for my mother.
    They took many many tests, a cat scan, blood tests, x-ray. Anything and everything.
The nurse took about five or six tubes of blood from me and I passed out one more. This time I threw up afterwards.
A few weeks later the doctor called me in and told me the results. I would have to be on birth control to help control my periods and make them regular. She then told me it would be hard to have kids. Not impossible but I would be high risk. I felt my heart drop. I was a woman and I couldn't do the one thing my body was made to do well. I was a failure.