Vulnerable

I care about what others think. It doesn’t often influence my actions but it can influence how I decide to feel about myself. Sometimes my personal opinions, beliefs and actions-though right and good in my mind-might expose me to ridicule or harsh judgment from others. That’s the way it will always be in life for everyone.

I’ve never been good at letting things roll off my shoulders. I replay unfair events in my head long after they happen, which only serves to rile me up again. I’m not good at shaking off the hurt. But I have gotten much better at it over the years.

In part, I have this blog to thank for that. On June 27th I hit my two year blogging mark. When I started blogging I never had the intention of creating a venue for sharing my innermost thoughts. But that is what it has become, and most of the time I don’t mind. Occasionally though I’ll find myself thinking discouraging thoughts like, ‘What you wrote the other day is so stupid’ or ‘That comment was nice but I’m sure she didn’t really mean it.’

In short no matter how hard I try, I feel vulnerable at times. But I’m not going to stop sharing just because I suspect there might be someone out there mocking me. As I said in a previous post, “I learned that much of what I think others must be thinking of me, is based on my perception of myself.” Of course, not everyone that comes across my blog is going to appreciate my poetry or frankness about mental illness, but I think there may be some who will.

Today I’ll share a piece of poetry I wrote around age 17. It was not too long after the suicide of a friend, and you can be sure I’ll be writing more about my experiences around that in the future. At the time I wrote this poem, I was feeling not only hope but love. I wanted to reach out to others who might be struggling with the same suicidal tendencies I had, and urge them on. As I wrote, I relived the seeming eternity a person spends as they contemplate whether to get it over with now and just how to do so. That moment that you linger between the choice to live or succumb is filled with conflicting thoughts, all so clearly screaming their case inside your head.

This poem-I realized as I wrote it-was written for my past self. It’s God’s voice trying to sway me to live. It’s what I believe He truly does feel.

Live!
by Summer Owens

I’ve been where you stand.
I’ve felt just the same.
Forsaken you feel,
Though I call your name.

Search your mind deeper,
You’ll hear me cry out.
I’m there with you always,
Can’t you hear me shout?

Child don’t come home yet,
You’ve to much to do!
Your life has a purpose,
I’m counting on you!

Though things appear dim now,
I know that you’re strong.
Through desolate feelings,
I’ll help you along.

My hand’s always reaching,
My faith in you, stout.
Follow my voice and
You’ll find our way out.