Blending in the smokey night

Under a full moon, I sinned tonight. I did what I thought I’d vowed in my heart to not partake in but here I am, with the stench of it as a reminder that I broke my silent promise. Sanctity destroyed. I’m numb and guilty all bundled up in one. I wish I could say I had the chance to stop myself and truthfully speaking, I had all the chances and enough reason not to defile that promise…but I did. It’s done, and will probably happen again.

I’ve been on a quest for the past week, a quest for a poison I truly didn’t need. Fueled by some miniature need to fit in; where, I’m not sure. The quest deemed futile which made it all the more enticing to attain. Today, I got what my mind thought it needed, for I can say with certainty, my heart knew it wasn’t essential.

That’s the thing about illusions of the mind, they are insatiable to say the least. My quest was sought out to satiate an illusion of a need that had nothing to do with my current state of mind. I knew better, but I still went ahead and sought it out. The feeling was fleeting, less than I had hoped it would last. I thought that if maybe finally finishing my quest would feel victorious but despite it all, I wasn’t that out of it to believe I’d feel a false sense of pride for getting to the end. Curse my mind for not being deceiving enough.

Guilt reeks off me like the stench of the two cigarettes I just smoked. Behind the latrines of my backyard, approximately seventeen minutes after the assurance that my dad just left the house. I swore I’d never smoke at home, it’s sanctity should have meant more to me than tobacco in my lungs. There I was, breathing it in, in the very same darkness I claim to fear so vehemently but it seems like tonight, I was hoping to disappear in it, to keep my cover hidden. Like the smoke blown from my lungs, I hoped that the guilt of my doing could fade into the night as well. My dad may be in the dark from my defilement but my mum’s spirit, not so much. I apologized to her picture in my room just before I took the cigarettes from their current hiding place, just so it wouldn’t feel like I was figuratively pissing on her grave. “I’m sorry mum, I know I knew better.” I’m sure you wonder, if I knew better, why go ahead and do it, or maybe, you might already know the answer.

I took up smoking for the fancy of it. Thought that maybe it was about time I picked a poison. I’m not a drinker, so I thought why not smoke, add to another illusion of being aesthetic to my already messed self. Got over it quite as quickly as I’d picked up the habit, got bored if I can call it that. It wasn’t doing for me all that I felt I needed it to do. So then why after months later, did I so insistently yearn to smoke again, for I can assure you, the two cigarettes I just had, didn’t do what I thought they would for me. I can say with absolute certainty, I’m not the definition of a good person. At least, not with the stream of choices made recently. Tonight, I’ve defiled not only my home, but the recovery process of my mind. Like I said, guilt hovers like a cloud formed halo, this time, just one made of smoke.

“Baptize me in river of guilt, but raise me back up with rivelts of forgiveness” Dawn.

In search of friendship, dildos & a touch of kinkiness back in my life 👀👅

A girl has been bored. When am I never though… But despite everything else your caught up on, (#always your reliable depressive ), I don’t want to dwell on that as of now. I’m in too much of hyped up state to ponder over as of my current bestfriend & long time homeboy, depression. I’m gonna assume your curious on what has me feeling less forlorn than my usual state of being and from that assumption, I’m gonna share what has me feeling different. You’re girl’s been horny as hell (cue the audience’s laughter) …like majorly to the degree I’m fliker’ing my twickie…😂😂 That’s a statement I came up with two nights ago while keeping my sister company as she got drunk on a new alcohol she’d been meaning to try. We were sharing on our impending states of horniness and I told her how it’s in my next budget to get a rabbit vibrator but I’ve got no idea where the money’s gonna come from, ( PS. I’m taking willing donations to get a girl a vibrator, any amount will be appreciated 🤗). So yeah, in the midst of that conversation, I came up with the statement flicker your twickie. What can I say, I’ve been on a journey of forced celibacy for quite a couple months now and it was bound to take a toll on me eventually. Truthfully speaking, I pride myself over how long I can go before giving into my body’s urge to mate if I may call it so and I think this has to be that limit because I can’t help myself from needing some sort of release, (cue the major embarrassment ) but yeah, since I don’t have a man, the next best thing is a little playmate who’ll be utterly at my beck & call and who’ll I’ll not need to impress as much to get a little bit of pleasure from.

Whilst in the subject of partnership, I recently thought about the subject of having a Dominant again as a partner for myself. After such a while of me have stashed away the submissive in me from the front of my mind, she snuck back to remind me that she’s still there and that maybe she feels ready to make a gradual come back. After my last relationship as a submissive, I purposely took a step back from being in any sort of relationship, in regards to being in the normal kind of relationship or the Dom/sub relationship due to the matters of my ever loyal companion, my mental instability. Despite it all though, I have immensely missed the clarity and beauty that I feel as a submissive. The immense pleasure & thrill of it is a high that’s unmatched for me. It’s impossible to forget what it’s like to have such care given to you by a Dominant worthy your submission. I’d be lying if I said the sexual connection isn’t among the bigger perks of why I miss being in a Dom/sub relationship. Therefore recently when I thought about it again, I pondered over whether I feel ample enough to take up the role of a submissive partner to a deserving Dominant. I went through a couple of internalized questions and just really delved deep on whether I feel like I can put myself back into that head space. Let’s just say, I feel I may be ready for it but I’d have to make a few adjustments in concern to my mental health and whether the Dominant will be up for the task of handling me with all my luggage.

Entirely away from that, I’ve been meaning to seriously gush over a book I read recently that I can’t seem to get over just how incredibly wonderful & hilarious it was. Allie Brosh’s book Hyperbole and a Half is a book I didn’t realize just how much I needed to read. It brought me such joy & laughter. I read it in bed at two in the morning and I was laughing so hard, I started wheezing from it. Despite how short it was, it was an incredible read and I’d recommend it to anyone. I can’t forget to mention the imagery used in the book that accentuated it’s hilarious nature all the more. The writer’s sense of humor in the book had me wishing she could be my best friend. The book is mental health related and I loved how I was able to relate with her in some of her experiences with depression. The way she brought out her encounters with depression felt a lot like home for me due to the sense of familiarity & relatability. Hyperbole and a half will probably be among the best books I’ve had the pleasure of reading this year and I’d love to read more of Allie Brosh’s work.

In my spare time, apart from when I’m self loving & reading books, I recently started listening to podcasts as well. Through a girl I follow on social, I came across her podcast which I thought was super cool & insightful especially since the episode I listened to first had a touch of mental health to it. From listening to that episode, it made me wish that I had a friend who related on issues mental health & depression. I’d genuinely love to have someone by my side who understands what it’s like to struggle with an invisible battle. Hell, I’d love to have a best friend who relates on being a fellow crazy and we can laugh at how badly we are done existing, in this life at least… So yeah, I loved listening to that podcasts, it’s called The First Draft on Sportify and Apple Music if anyone would like to check it out. So yeah, I’m glad I got to rope you in on the better parts of my time bored and just in case anyone wants to be my friend, my one requirement is that you’re a touch of crazy and maybe a tad bit depressed too, for the days we both need to hurdle together in our depression 😅.

Untainted from my demons… The awaiting.

Through my mental health journey, I’ve grown to learn that it looses it’s aspect of private and individual just cause of what & who it ropes in along the way. In my case, my ongoing journey has roped in a few people, some were strangers who turned into family and others were family right from the start. It weighs heavy on me as a person who struggles quite often with the mental battles I go through, and this is not because of what it’s done to me, but because of what it’s done to those around me who’ve stuck by me despite my ailing mind. I have seen it tear down my sister and it was for me more excruciatingly painful than any insition I’ve ever put on my body. I remember last year when I had my depressive episode for about six months. It was right about the time when my country was on a lockdown due to the pandemic. I was stuck in our apartment with my sister and we had no means to go home due to a cessation that had been implemented on my country which prohibited me to travel. I self harmed more during that period than I ever had before and it became an instinct & it was such an impulsive nature for me to do, I grew numb about it. I ratted myself out to my sister cause I knew if I didn’t, I’d have probably not so intentionally hurt myself beyond what my little first aid after care routine could handle. Even then, despite being so out of touch with anything else besides the throes of my depression, I could see just how much my battle was weighing in on my sister. She carries her emotions on her sleeve so it wasn’t so invisible to me just how exhausting it was for her to see me go through that gutter. It’s not until recently in one of the countless conversations we have about my mental health did she admit to hating her work over that period when we were quarantined together and that she wanted to cry her eyes out everyday she had to do her job. She wasn’t sure if anytime I wasn’t in her periphery, I wasn’t cutting myself and now me being aware of what it must have been like for her to go through that, genuinely breaks my heart.

My guilt in depression is tethered to what my battles have done to others besides myself. I can honestly say, I haven’t found love enough for me to feel guilty over what being mentally ill does to me. It’s what it does to those I care about that shatters me the most. To say I have tried to hide the ugly effects of my battles from my loved ones would be putting it lightly. Sometimes I just rather die with it and let it rip me from the inside out all on my own than let it seep out to those who matter more to me than anything. With my dad for instance, my old man doesn’t know just how much effort it takes his last born daughter to live through each day as a depressive. On some days, I want to shout it to him with such aggression about how I can’t seem to shake off this sadness that I’ve carried around for all my life. On other days, I can’t help but think he’s better off in the dark, from it all. Untainted from my demons.

It’s been both a blessing and a curse having my father out in the clear from my battles. It’s been a blessing because then he doesn’t have to look at me different. For now he knows the bare minimum concerning my depression. He would still be in the dark if I had never needed his help on buying antidepressants last year after starting therapy. It was a hard enough secret to keep cause then it was just me and my sister having to find means on how we would get money to take me to therapy and for me to see a psychiatrist as well. It got so hard every two weeks trying to figure out how to come up with the sum of money I needed for every therapy session because I couldn’t tell my dad that I needed money for something he was completely out of the loop on. When I finaly had to ask for his help, I came home with a prescription letter from a psychiatrist with a list of antidepressants I needed to start taking. This was right after my county opened it’s borders and the cessation that had been put in place due to covid was lifted hence why I got the chance to travel home which put a halt on me going to therapy because it was in different counties.

To say I was nervous bringing up that subject with my father was an understatement. I wasn’t sure he’d grasp what I was saying or if whether he’d even understand the gravity. This isn’t to imply my dad is slow or anything like that. On the contrary, my dad is pretty intelligent. What I was worried about was whether it would make sense to him the way it was meant to, from my understanding. It’s through him and our conversations together that the aspect of being an African and having a technically African raised father that I saw how much ones background and tradition affect different aspects and subjects which in my case was & is mental health. He actually took it quite casually which was what I thought I wanted but turns out it wasn’t what I needed. I didn’t see concern on his face when I tried telling him that I struggle with depression. Instead I got a speech on prayer & exercise and how much it would help keep me less idle. I told him that it had nothing to do with that and that it was a chemical imbalance in my brain that made me depressed and it still didn’t faze him. I was quite frustrated to say the least but I understood him despite it that he couldn’t just magically see it as I did. I gave him the prescription and told him that I needed him to buy me that medication and he was fine with it.

Whoever believes that they can go through mental health on their own have it quite wrong. I never knew just how much I’d need my father’s understanding until I finally brought him into the know about my struggles. A few days before my last birthday, my dad finally bought me the antidepressants I had been prescribed and I decided to start on them the day after my birthday. I’d already been on a different set of antidepressants two weeks before and they had really exhausted me out so I didn’t want to be loopy on my birthday since I was gonna have a little shindig going on that day. Cue to when I finally started my new meds did I see true & genuine concern which was more than his impassive nature had ever expressed. A few days in after I had started on my new meds, I got some really scary side effects after taking them and I thought I’d get them under control by buying some antibiotics. I had major and I mean major heartburn and aside from that, my heart rate was over the roof. I had heat flashes and I could hear my own heart beating so loud and quite fast, I was certain I was having a heart attack. My dad’s girlfriend is a pharmacist and I asked her if she could prescribe something for the heart burn and she asked me about the meds I was taking and I told her what I was newly on. Later that night when my dad came home, he was beyond agitated. Apparently, after my conversation with his girlfriend earlier, it was apparent to her that one of the antidepressants I had been prescribed to was very severe and was mainly for schizophrenics. In basic language as was explained to my dad, he was told they were for ‘crazy people’. That was genuinely the first time I saw my dad loose his calm and look so terrified. I believe it dawned on him that he’d just bought his daughter over the counter meds that were going to completely alter my mind and irreversibly damage it for life. For the record, I never once thought of it as my dad’s fault because it wasn’t, neither of us would have known. He felt responsibile for that mistake since he hadn’t done research or any enquiry about the meds he was buying me before he handed them to me. I on the other hand was more upset that a supposed legal & professional psychiatrist had prescribed to me medicine he knew wasn’t meant for me and which would probably have adverse effects on me but went ahead and prescribed it regardless of knowing all that. I was livid and after that, I quit taking the meds all together because despite how badly they were reacting to my body, they weren’t meant for it from the very start.

After that experience, I have not had therapy or been on any other antidepressants since. I soon after asked my dad if he could look for a different hopefully better psychiatrist to whom I would see and get a better diagnosis of my mental health as well as better effective treatment. This is where it has proven to be very difficult to get my dad on board because he quickly fell back into his slow paced process of doing things. It’s been a few months since that encounter with the antidepressants and after that, my life sorta fell back into routine. School opened and everything else took a seat at the back of my mind. I didn’t get better per say but the depression went back to being my day to day cup of tea, the one I was accustomed to. Now, due to different triggers, I am in the middle of another depression episode and I thought it would be perfect timing to see a new psychologist & psychiatrist but mainly the latter. I made my dad aware of my need now for a psychiatrist and told him I have been struggling again but he doesn’t seem to see the urgency of it. Even just thinking about it right now, is nerve wrecking. I’m triggered by his lack of motivation and urgency in getting me help especially now when I’m not at my best mentally. I admit he’s not fully in the loop of just how bad my mental instability goes, he is clueless of my self harm which has started again after I’d been clean for 98 days. I have racked my mind on how to bridge that information to him without alarming him but I just don’t know where to start. On some days, I want to just show him my arms and let them speak for me but I get scared of what he’ll think or do. It’s taken me a lot to admit that I am mildly suicidal as of currently and I am going through the days trying to find the will to see through the end of each day. He isn’t aware that I don’t know how much waiting I can do anymore before I can completely disintegrate. I am trying to be patient but it’s hard when my mind isn’t on board. So yeah, that’s where I currently am. Mental health is so contradictory in how personal & individualistic it is but also how communal it trickles down to. I hope that the wait isn’t going to be longer than my mind can hold off from completely falling apart.