#BeReal,  1000 Voices Speak For Compassion


Today I get Real and Personal over on Hastywords. She was kind enough to post my #BeReal and what that means to me. It was hard to talk about and under normal circumstances, I don’t open up to people to this extent. But some things need to be heard, and I hope I can make a difference. So go check it out. Thanks.

xo Jesi

Jesi Scott is an aspiring writer of novels, a poet, and blogger. She has guest-blogged over at The Well-Tempered Bards, and has a post featured at For Love Of…. Jesi has two poems published in Memories of Mist, a literary anthology, and one published story in a newsletter. She is currently working on releasing her first poetry collection as well as writing her first novel. When not writing, Jesi can be found getting lost in bookstores, singing and dancing around the house, experiencing culture with friends, and generally having fun with her four sons when they aren’t driving her weeping into her closet, which she calls her Padded Cell. She loves to rescue stray bookmarks, as well as books, and has opened her heart to any and all stories needing a home. Archery is her current favorite thing ever but you might want to stand back a little as she still has a tendency to drop the bow occasionally.


  • Dawn D

    I had a hard time going through the whole video in one go. I realise it probably has nothing to do with the video or its quality or such, but rather to do with the fact that I couldn’t. It hits too close to home.
    I am glad to hear of someone who can describe the loneliness one can feel, even when surrounded by the people we love.
    I could relate with so much of this story. Even if I didn’t experience anything close to what you did, I always had food on my plate and a roof above my head, with light, electricity and such. I wasn’t actually molested by anyone I knew, though I did suffer from sexual assault in my early twenties.
    I never actually went through with my suicidal thoughts, to the point where I was told I couldn’t be hospitalised because I didn’t have a plan, though I was seeing myself lie on train tracks (this goes back to memories of my childhood).
    In both our cases, our children saved me. You because you imagined how it would impact them if you succeeded, me because I told the psychiatrist that I feared I was going to harm them, having visions of hitting them against a wall. That’s when they decided I needed to be in a hospital. Now. It was hard, feeling like less than crap, to realise that even my thoughts of disappearing counted less than my thoughts of hurting another. Further proof that I was worth very little.

    Your post was heartbreaking. But I do agree with all you’ve said about being true to oneself. If *we* don’t do it, who will?
    I also agree that we need to talk about this. People going through this need to know they’re not alone, need to know they’re not crazy. Need to know it’s possible to get better.
    I disagree with you on one point: depression is an illness. We may not be able to cure it every time, just like we don’t know how to cure all cancers or AIDS or herpes for that matter, but it is an illness. And, unlike herpes, it is possible to get better. I am proof. I’m not feeling cheerful every day, but I am not depressed anymore. And I know that if I have a recurrence, I will seek help, like I did last summer. There is hope.

    I’m sending you loving hugs. Plenty of them. You’re a beautiful person, a beautiful soul.

    • Jesi

      Thank you, Dawn. Your words always mean a lot to me. I know depression is an illness. I suffer from it from time to time, though not to the point that others do, thank goodness. Mine, unfortunately, tends to be more impulsive and when it hits, it hits hard. But it’s sporadic and has gotten less the last three years.
      But I live with others who suffer from severe depression. In them, this is a disorder for they refuse to get help or to even acknowledge it is a problem. Unfortunately, it forces others around them to suffer as well. Sigh.
      Yes, we need to talk about this openly. It needs to be addressed unashamedly. There was no shame in what I did, though I still feel it. And I hate that people still think that it’s a selfish act, when it so isn’t.
      I work every day to stay cheerful but I fail sometimes. Still, I’m better than I was in those days, and I know that if I ever get to that point again that there are people I can talk to now.

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