Allow me not to be ‘remotely perfect‘ right now. To not be articulate with my words for I’m certain I don’t have the right words to express exactly what I’m going through. I’ve racked my mind and sort through it of ways to express what I am constantly feeling but I’ve come short of words. Ironic really cause words are always all I ever have.I can’t afford the standards I usually often put for myself whenever I write. I can’t promise I’ll complete this post or that it’ll make any sense or that it’ll mean anything at all. I’m just taking a shot at hoping that whatever I pour out will slightly ease the emptiness & hollow feeling that’s becoming of me. I wish I was numb. I truly do. I wish I wasn’t feeling or itching or urging for the things that are enveloping me right now. I feel wrong, I feel torn & more now detached from reality than ever before… cause this, this shouldn’t be my reality.I’ve read it over and over again but it gives me no comfort to read ‘it’s okay to not be okay’. I don’t want to not be okay. I don’t want to find comfort from accepting that I feel destroyed. I don’t want to feel any comfort anymore in my pain. No words known to me can measure up to what I feel. None can describe how paralyzed I feel & how immobilized my state of mind is.I’ve thought that maybe if I could rip off my hand, I’d have nothing left to hurt. That if I could finally chop it off, it’ll kill the urge to constantly look at my self inflicted scars. Or that maybe if I wrap them up, I’ll no longer have to feel the ridges everytime I graze my palm on my wrist. I’m trying, I’m battling but I can’t promise I’m winning.So to conclude whatever this post is, I’m breathing through surviving. I’m a shell of myself & a lot of the questions I have tried asking myself as to how to get out of this, I have no answers to. I hope it’s no burden to anyone who reads this. It’s heavy, like every other feeling in my life and I would hate to burden anyone else with my being. So I apologize. I apologize that I’m a 🐚 of who I hope to be.
I’ve racked my mind of where I can say this without the fear of judgement, pity or any consolation.. I honestly don’t need or want anything of that right now. Not when I’m so deep in my depression. I’m not sure if I should be alarmed that I’m finally thinking of death and just throwing in the towel. Earlier I shamed myself over how I can’t even put a deep enough insition on myself… now, I’ve rid myself of that shame cause I can assure you, I have a cut that won’t be healing anytime soon. It hurt easier to see the blood trickle down my wrist than having to feel the ache inside my chest and the sorrow that only I seem to understand.
This isn’t a post or an entry. No, I just needed to let it out. This isn’t a cry for help, no…I’m too far gone to be worth help. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time. It’s safe here enough for me to admit that I self harmed and it helped. That I got the relief I so desperately needed. Thought that maybe I could tweet it but my sister is on my timeline, she’ll see it and that’s absolutely the last thing I need right now. I would be scared that she’ll see this post but she quit reading my blog when it got to heavy for her to read of her baby sister’s troubles. I don’t blame her, I’m glad she doesn’t have to see the damage I’ve become.
..and lastly, I sit in bed in the dark, all I wish I had right now was if my demon could just for tonight, hold me. Just that…wrap it’s arms around me cause it’s all I’m assured that knows how I feel. I’m tired and just want to be held. I hope I’m not asking for too much.
I don’t struggle everyday or every waking moment of my life. I’m not always writhing in mental agony ; I’m not always sad & depressed. This facts should be a good thing, it should be something I’m proud of…so then why am I not? Why does it scare me instead that I have moments where I’m who I should be, a normal girl? It’s profound in my mind that I should be alarmed over the fact that I’m not constantly broken. Do I know why? I wish I could say I don’t have an idea but I do. I wish it wasn’t because of the fact that my fucked up mind can’t seem to even be good enough to be constant at being ill. I’m the definition of a fuck up…at least my mind is.
I just read through a post on instagram of a girl I recall following cause she and I had something in common. Cut marks. Just saying it gives me shivers . I hate seeing them and I get angry when I do. On anyone. They are not pretty & they are shameful…but despite all that, I can’t seem to not seek solace through it. To be honest, I no longer know why I do it. Some part me is sure I’m narcissistic towards myself. I’d rather be in the shadows of my pain than allow myself to think I can get better ; that I can do better… The girl in the post looks like she’s doing better, a whole lot better than I am. I hate that she can expose her marks which are a whole lot more than my tinnie tiny scars …i can’t even seem to make a substantial insition on myself. I can’t say exactly why it upsets me but it does. Maybe I’m just not ready to go into the dark part of my mind that has an answer to that.
Right in this very moment, I feel tormented. I feel wrecked… In this moment, I could care less if the dishes were pilled up in the sink. The ‘ocd’ I feel is what keeps me a float. I relish on the little control it gives me . Whether it’s in making sure there aren’t dishes in the sink or that the house is spotless or that everything is in its rightful place. I could care less right now about all that. All I feel is this hollow sinking feeling inside that’s itching in my mind.
I was fine approximately sixteen minutes ago. I was a float on my little boat of normalcy but I’m now not and it’s all cause I saw that post. The girl from the instagram post looks like she’s at a consensus with herself…or maybe not. Maybe her struggle allows her to have a smile on her face while showing her scars. It seems impossible ,at least from my eyes it does. Guess that’s what it feels like to feel the shift of a trigger .
PS. I don’t feel like I fully have expressed myself. I feel like I could erase this post and every little feel in me. This caption feels better of an explanation of what I am trying to relay to you. Whoever you are.
I mourn a lot, or maybe I should say I’m always mourning. I don’t mean the bitching kind… No.. I mean the kind where I’m a wreck & constantly tearing myself into wretched pieces… I’ve grown to revel in the pain it gives me. The self pity and the constant swirl of heartwretching emotion is the most I ever get to feel. So in some sense, I’m grateful.I wouldn’t call it normal. Not at all. I hate the thought that it would be normal for everyone else. It’s my specialty ; my light, the one thing I’m honestly very protective of. It’s my defining factor. Makes me my own special little girl. I’m stuck in the realms of a fourteen year old & an incredibly fucked up twenty-one year old…and maybe I’m okay with it. Being stuck that is. Or maybe I’m not okay with it & I’m just sick. I really can’t tell anymore.Do you know why I mourn? It keeps those I love with me, even despite the fact that I can no longer be with them. It’s a lot like when one misses a friend or a lover who isn’t there at that particular moment. I just like missing my loved ones with the surrounding pain their absence gives me. I like to completely drown in & feel it cause it’s all I feel I have of them. Maybe a lot of people feel the same but I honestly rather not know if that’s the case. I’m selfish when it comes to letting go. Why the fuck would I wanna let go? I’ve lived torn apart since I can remember, why would I wanna let go of all that I’ve known…‘ love, time, death… Let’s begin now… …’ I’m still very much a fourteen year old little girl who’s definition of pain no longer means struggling for air, no, she had the air knocked right out of her lungs & her heart slowly twisted out from its cage. Let’s not forget, I’m still very much the twenty one year old girl as well, the one who misses having a best friend to talk to. Still the very same girl yearning to have a fairy tale romance to sorta neutralise things in her life. Yeah ,still pretty much all that. But I’ll always be mourning, forever probably. Maybe, I’ll just learn to not show it out so often.P. S I don’t write this for any sense of pity. On the contrary, that’s the least of my intentions.
I probably should not apologize but I really have this insistent need in me to say sorry for how depressing I make whoever reads my blogs. I can officially say I’m currently on the train to depressed ville. I wanna blame it on the quarantine and the covid -19 but I’m beginning to think that maybe it’s a whole lot more than that. I’ve always thought that maybe the true reason I can never seem to get out of my ‘depression haze’ is cause it’s a part of me, that’s it’s a personality…That maybe I was just a melancholic in nature and that’s why I could truly never untangle myself from feeling low every other time. It never once crossed my mind that I could have a condition that has my mind stuck between two mental states …
It truly has me scared now to know what people who’ve read my posts think concerning why every entry of mine is downright depressive to read. I’m sorry. I wish it didn’t matter to me what my readers think about my post but that’s not the case.. I do care that maybe everyone else could see that it’s a whole lot more than just being a melancholic & that maybe I’m just bipolar. There, I’ve said it. I needed to say it to confirm that it’s what that’s been racking my mind. That maybe, just maybe, I’m bipolar.
As a learning counselor psychologist, I should be well aware that self diagnosis is not appropriate but it’s hard when a lot of the signs finally start making themselves clearer to you. I just had a conversation with my therapist and she confirmed to me that it has crossed her mind that I could be it.. I don’t want to say it; feels like if I do I may just be manifesting it. I’m scared shitless with the thought that it could be true. I feel like I’ll loose a whole part of myself that thought that maybe, just maybe I could be ‘normal’. This being in the sense that I won’t have to feel the looming anguish & sadness that’s a hovering cloud in my mind. That I’d finally get over everything that haunts me & live a somewhat happy life. The thought of carrying this for the rest of my life is heartbreaking.
Now, here I am, about to apologize all over again for this not so subtle depressing post. I now have to wait till all this is over so I can see a psychiatrist & confirm if I have it. I truly hope y’all are coping better than I am, I just need to stay mentally afloat & not sink.
After all this time, I cannot pin point of everything that possibly sets my heart on fire. I’m certain though that it should be something that has my heart racing & my adrenaline pumping. At least that’s what I believe I feel when I’m in that head space where I’m peacefully chaotic and excited over an overwhelming feeling. We all have that something that tips you over ;that has you feeling euphoric.
Music sets my heart on fire.. Cliche’ really but I’ve gotta be normal in some form, right?? So yeah… When you get that jam that hits your soul to the root and it just sorta drowns you in it & virtually brings you into a different mental dimension where it’s just you & the lyrics of the song & the rhythm that just makes you feel like you’re floating… We all probably have geners of music we all feel we relate to and that hits different from the rest. Could be rock, indie music, jazz, opera, hip-hop, soul, country …I for sure can drown in country music & aesthetic soul music.. the latter being where I truly feel like I’m in my truest form of nature. Technically, for those who can’t necessarily pin point what kind of music it is I’m rambling about is in lame man’s language, depressing music. Music that mellows one out and has one completely feeling chill & melancholic. Yes, it’s sad but I can’t help myself. 😅
Not to delve further into any the ‘depressive shit’ in my life ..I know I never talk about my canvas often but I love the feeling or in this case, the high I get from getting new ink. It’s euphoric for me to go through the entire process of feeling it skim through my skin and form a beautiful artistic reminder of something significant to me. But for this year, I chose to take a time off on getting anymore ink, for more or less personal reasons…as I said before, there’s not much that I can say truly sets my soul on fire but I’ve come to learn that it doesn’t have to necessarily be common or good. I’ve spoken before about my affiliation to pain and I know it hardly makes sense to anyone. I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s meant to make sense but it sorta does for me. I don’t wanna have to delve into my reasons for why pain doesn’t always have to be wrong. I’ve survived through it, I believe it’s been a part of me long enough for me to say it’s not easy to detach from. It puts me at a crossroads where it’s not easy to feel. It’s heavy, It weighs on you. Then there’s a similar though different part of me that just is drawn to it. It’s a hard concept to wrap around in one’s mind of how anyone would be drawn to it.
Looking at my past now, I understand in my own twisted way why in it’s own sense it’s appealing and such a drowning feeling. This at all isn’t meant to glorify self harm in any shape or form. That is an entirely different spectrum of pain that isn’t pretty & holds no pride at all….Do I wish I didn’t feel this drawn to it, not really. You can call a consolation that those nitty-gritty aspects of myself are what have built the character & personality I have. It may not be conventional or the norm but as the saying goes, normal sucks.
Tonight I’ll probably be sleeping late cause I’m meant to be studying right now for a paper I have tomorrow but here I am,… not exactly doing that. I’m okay with it though I’m highly anxious about flunking the said paper… Like always, I’m here without a precise reason other than I just glimpsed at a previous post I uploaded a while back and it made me nostalgic about writing. Sadly though, as I have come to realise, I’m most inspired and aesthetically artistic with my words when I’m the most broken & downright shattered… It’s ironic really. Feeling this sense of nostalgia doesn’t only mean I miss just writing… nah, it carries the demons that are my inspiration to being that aesthetic while writing. I’m just a paradox like that. I am fully aware I shouldn’t want to feel like this but.. but.. that’s just how I feel. I want to close up & shatter in the self pity and the depression. It’s just that warm blanket that I just don’t know how to let go of.This sense of nostalgia is so deep rooted in me, I jump at any chance to shut down and wallow in my own pain. It’s crazy how a part of me judges people who are far more deep in their depression, anxiety and any other mental illness. It seems ridiculous when they can’t seem to pick themselves up from their pain & turmoil when it’s probably not their fault that their pain is stuck in their minds and it’s really all they know. I’m a hypocrite to wanna feel that kind of pain when there are others who’d do anything to get out of it, even if it’s just for a day. I’m a self sabotaging hypocrite who doesn’t deserve to have better days, at least not until I truly feel ready to embrace those better days. For now, I keep breaking down the slow & steady effort being made by others to get me to a better place mentally.Self sabotage feels like its in everything I do right now… In the type of music I listen to OR search for. It has to match the mood I constantly want to feel and when I’m finally drowning in my self made pity party, I have the right tune to match. In the books I read, to the posts I view of Instagram or twitter ..there’s just gotta be something to slowly take me away from the sense of normalcy I’ve tried to be conform to. I can’t not stare at the little scars on my wrist that scream louder everyday that I did this.. that I put them there. I shouldn’t want to see anymore of them but I sadly do. I shouldn’t want to have a reason to cut but I twistedly do. What does that say about me… If that I’m not just a hypocritical fuck up of a human being. I wish I could say it is a part of me that is unconscious of my self sabotaging ways but I wouldn’t be writing this if it wasn’t in my conscious mind. Let’s just call a wreck, a wreck… Sometimes the truth is all we have and in this case, me being fucked up is a plain as it can be.I probably should be scared that I’ve gotten to be more aware of my triggers in the last couple months. It’s not at all to imply I’ll purposely put myself in the line of fire just to get burned but I might not make the effort to not get shot. I wish I could blame this ‘lack of effort’ on being tired of fighting my demons and just not having enough armor to fight but that would be a white lie if I may call it that. In such a battle, armour should be your motivation to have better days that are less heavy & scarring; armour is seeing your family not constantly worried you’ll tip over the edge and drown in your pain…I have that armour, I guess I’m just holding it long enough to not necessarily die from the darkness I’m attached to but it doesn’t save me from wanting to feel engulfed in its shadow. I just don’t know how to not want that ache & shatter that has me embracing the darkness and liking it a little bit more than I should.My inspiration for this post was by a beautiful but sad song written by Sasha Sloan…Too Sad too Cry
Been a while.. I wish I could say I have something valid or an intense rant to go on about but honestly, just too many feels are swirling in my mind right now. I feel like I’ve just been heavy the last month and it just is slowly draining me & leaving me without much to offer anyone or myself in the least. Ever just wanted that deep exhale ?… that’s pretty much what I need right now or currently… I’ve lost trust this last month, I’ve lost hope, I’ve lost focus, I’ve lost strength and will …i feel like I’m in that space of mind where I’ve given so much, I’m an empty vessel.My depression is lurking and its dark looming presence doesn’t feel so far away….but when is it ever. I call bullshit that I’m gonna try beat the damn thing cause maybe it just might be what I need right now for me to just shut down & reboot…. I hate having expectations cause I get disappointed every other time when I hope that they are gonna be fulfilled but are not. Having relationships in life can do that to a person. So yeah, I welcome the darkness cause I need the walls back. I need in my cage to silence the ever noisy world that is out to fix me to fit the picture perfect human. Maybe I just don’t wanna be fixed…at least not just yet. Greatest mystery should be whether there’s a sense of Stockholm syndrome for patients who cling to their depression.Everything this past month has felt like a trigger for me. I’ve nearly tipped over cause of the sadness & gloom that’s been in the air and maybe that’s what I need to stop feeling scared of, tipping over to my dark sea. At least if I drown, I get the still & calm I’ve been yearning for. It’s probably gonna be a bloody mess but sometimes it’s just the price I gotta pay for the silence.“I try and I try but I’m too sad to cry. I’m not suicidal, sometimes the lines just get all blurry. Yesterday I tried to pray, I just didn’t know what to say. I don’t like to talk, just rather stay in my bed . Lied to my doctor, she knows I was faking, gave me some pills but I’m too scared to take them, I try and I try but I’m too sad to cry. ” Sasha Sloan
P. S First remotely depressing post alert..
That’s the heads up of the decade. I kinda knew it wouldn’t take long before I cracked open and the true nature of my life came out. I say this with the utmost honesty ,I don’t mind that this side of me is so prevalent to me. I feel the most honest & raw when my mind deviates to the darker side. When I start having very uncharacteristic urges, like the one I have now. Though, I can never be honest enough to speak out loud what the trigger often is, that’s probably my shame and I ain’t one to air that laundry out .
So here I am, very tempted to cut and shed just a little to enough blood to feel alive ,just for the new year. I apologize for sounding like a narcissistic cynic but I don’t apologize for being honest. I wanna talk myself out of it but I feel like its a dead end really… What I really wish I could understand is whether I’m the only mentally unstable person who instead of fighting this damn demons, feel twistedly warm in it. I know, fucked up doesn’t cut out what my mind is and I know it. *chuckles
When I wrote The Bridge I crossed, I lost a part of me that day .Just in case nobody caught up on what I lost that day, I lost my innocence the minute I cut through my wrist for the first time. I lost any innocence that should have allowed me to feel a sense of remorse for myself, pity, strength… *deep sigh. I’m not doing a recap to regain back that innocence, oh I think that ship sank. Nor am I doing it to get pity, I’m only letting anyone who may remotely wish to try understand why I openly talk about my self harm that nonchalantly, see where it comes from. Feeling sick to my stomach about having the urge to hurt myself won’t change that the urge is there every other time when I can’t handle my shit.
Call this twisted but I may never want to completely stop self harming. At least not for as long as I am a mental case. Meaning, when I’m ready to try heal & let go of past traumas. I wish I didn’t find such humour in my pain but there’s not much else I can do. Maybe I need to get back on the therapy, hook ,line & sinker… Did I use that line right??? 😐 I apologize for those who’ll probably find this post disturbing so I’d better likely advice you to not read it if you can’t handle my blunt honesty. Though I don’t apologize for writing it, I just got myself a day more before self harming. *wink
Is it worth it?? That’s what I’m asking myself right now cause I’m in a bubble that’s pretty different from my normal mental darkness . I’m even scared to say the H word cause I may jinx whatever it is that’s happening right now. For those who may not be following up, the H word is happiness in this case. Not too long ago I wrote about how hard it is for me to understand the concept that is happiness and when exactly one can fully say they are happy with everything that’s going on for them. I’m yet to get there….still have a lot of demons who are allergic to anything remotely good for me, therefore tend to bring out my not so favourite friend who goes by the name Anxiety.
Not to dwell too much so not to fuck it up, I’m at a better place than I usually tend to be. Something has changed that I won’t go into but it’s a significant change that’s been happening for me. I’m so worried that I’m being gullible and naive over it and letting my very betrayable feelings guide me in this case. I don’t sit well with change, of whichever kind. Bad change just sort makes things more aggravated for me. Good change is what I fear most. It tends to have your expectations higher and your judgement easily swayed. It never lasts long ; always just a matter of time before the real darkness makes itself known in whatever good change was happening. So change for me simply doesn’t work out the best . I’m transitioning currently & it’s a wild ride that is exciting, exhilarating and a whole lot more fun than I ever have had on any day. Million dollar question ; Is it worth it?
Someone close to me told me that the world doesn’t know how dark and twisted it gets when I am in my lows mentally. The lengths it takes me to pick myself up from the self induced depression and anxiety I struggle with. That’s why it has me thinking, is this sense of joy & contentment worth it, if at all there stands a chance of me completely falling back to my dark place. Could I be convincing myself that it’s not just a matter of time, that whatever I have going on won’t be my ultimate downfall ?That I may finally have my last straw and loose myself in my own demons if things go wrong at the end. Am I able to pull the plug with my mental state in one complete form or will I be in pieces unrecognizable to even myself?
It scares me. Everything downright scares me shitless. On one hand, I don’t want to not live because I wasn’t strong enough to try and fail or try and win. But I’m also not gonna deceive myself by ignoring the fact that I’m not mentally capable like everyone else. My mind doesn’t function like everyone else’s… Will I need two or three more therapists to get me out of my personal mental hell if I continue giving myself a chance to live without the certainty of the consequences of my actions. I have walls built up so high, you’d think I’m a castle… Is it worth it, peeking out to see if I’ll survive beyond the walls that my mind have convinced me are there to protect me despite being well aware I’m a prisoner instead. It’s a hard risk to take….A very dangerous one too. Asking myself how worth it it is may be the wrong question all together… Maybe what I should be asking is if I can handle it whether I’m in it or not.. ?