Oh yee of little to no control…

” Life is an infinite loop of uncontrollable events ..from the book Note to Self by Connor Franta”

I can’t control the weather… and in the same likeness, I have no imminent control over my fears & anxiety. The world around me could perceive that I do and maybe to a degree, they aren’t entirely wrong but when in that head space, the there & now of my fears, I’m paralyzed completely by my inability to see past what brings me absolute terror. From what I know, my fears didn’t just up and sprout out of the blues. They weaved about in me like a small seedling, deeply rooted from the scars left about by experiences which again, I had absolutely no reign over. I cannot control my infinite fear of loss, that’s there to stay. I’ll never get out of the fear of having my heart try survive it’s existence without my family alive… For my anxieties, I’m like a map with no compass. I don’t feel like I’m aware on where to start. I am a bundle of buzzing nerves with no on and off switch. I can’t absolutely shake the anxiety that it is to just be alive, to merely exist as myself and live through trying to fulfill every ounce of pressure placed on my measly weak shoulders.

I have no absolute control over time, for it is more than just the continued spectrum of occurrences, it is more than the minute or the hour or the day. I could decide on what to do in the next two minutes but consequentially, I hold little power on the likelihood of my decision going through or not happening at all. Control is ever so little, especially since it was never much yours from the very start. I have no control over my unfulfilled dreams or goals, especially those yet to be achieved. They may weigh the most heavy on me but there’s little to nothing I can do about them. Like my sister knowingly teased me earlier by saying to me that, “there’s no degree for you at the supermarket, right next to the isle of Krackles waiting on you to come pick it up, you’re gonna have to wait to study for it to get it.” (krackles are my favorite chips.) It is a helpless feeling having no immediate control over an aspiring future, a future that isn’t promised but just desired. I am not one for the virtue of patience which quite frankly irritates me every so often that things and life can’t be sped up, at any cost. I’m not a live in the moment kind of girl, even when I know, there’s no better time than the present. Today like many of other days in the past, I was hit with the intensity of just how little control over the uncertainty of the future I can change or alter.

I have no control… No control of the haunted memories of the past. Of the little girl who’s soul and being felt always forlorn. Of my memories of her as she envisioned what her journey to school was hopefully gonna be but didn’t quite turn out as she might have hoped. That the rise of a new dawn would in hope bring in her the warmth from the sun into her measly heart. To the memories of a sadness that couldn’t quite be shaken down by the simple joy of being a child. Even then, there wasn’t much control this little girl had, it never was in her hands, and despite the lapse of time, she’s still shaky on that control even now that’s she’s me and somewhat grown up. I have no control of how life went down for that little girl. To the years closed in on herself, to the loss of her protector, to the loss of her identity or even to the last meal she had last night for dinner. No control at all.

When I think I’ve ran out of things I have no control over, I realise that it’s quite the opposite actually… I cannot seem to go through each and every thing that’s actually beyond my control…

For now, I conclude with the fact that I don’t have control of what others may perceive of me. I doubt quite a lot whether anyone truly has control of this specific aspect of things. I’ve battled with this all my life, especially since my nature has had me be a people please (if I could call myself that). I admit, it’s not the best perk especially since it goes hand in hand with my immense fear of being in anyone’s bad books. Truthfully, even i realize how hard it is to juggle those two character traits about myself especially with the knowledge that’s there’s little to zero control I have over how they are retaliated by others. We all know this, we are all aware of how little power we have over what people think about us even when all we can do is wish and hope that it’s all good things. I’ve shoved down emotions and feelings just so they won’t have to ‘rock the boat’ with anyone. I’ve grown to resent those I love and somewhat care for just cause they have consistently pushed a button of mine that I’ve not gotten around to confronting them about. It’s genuinely the worst trait about me. I’m a big pushover and I wish I could say I knew how to change that but I don’t. But regardless of it all, I still wouldn’t have control over anyone’s thought in relation to me. I can’t bend anyone to feel a certain way about me, even if I wanted and you know what, that’s okay. It’s absolutely okay that I don’t have that kind of power because it shouldn’t bother me at all (even if it does a little) but it shouldn’t… It’s part of free will. Therefore, it’s okay that others may beg to differ on what they can or can’t control but for me, it often feels a lot like there’s only so little that’s actually in my hands. Who knows, maybe along the line, I’ll work on learning more of those things that actually are in my control.

I’ve always sorta prided myself over being a ‘different’ depressive. At the beginning when I learned that the cloud of sadness I walked around with wasn’t meant to be a part of me and that it was a shadowy black ghost by the name depression, I felt a part of a similar community. A community of depressives who struggled understanding why everything seemed to mean nothing to them. That was three years ago. Now, I lost myself in the midst of that crowd and became an alien even among those I’d considered my ‘flock’.

Everything has a stereotype, this inclusive of depressives. What would be considered as stereotypical characteristics of any kind of depressive is; the inability to get out of bed, the overwhelming turbulence of sadness, the need to cry everytime, the overwhelming urge to be alone, being so caught up in one’s mind, in every sense possible and the list is endless… I’d be arrogant enough to believe that my readers can tick off what among those characteristics I fall under from what they’ve read from my writing in previous post over the years but I can’t truly afford to feel arrogant right now. In the year 2018, when I first projected my pain to the world through writing, I did experience the wrenching difficulty of getting out of bed. It’s not a nice feeling if I may say so myself. It’s exhausting but what’s more toll taking is trying to get out of the bed exhaustion. It’s a lot like a tag of war, between will & exhaustion. Not only does your body loose any sense of need to leave your bed in the day but your mind doesn’t conjure any reason valid enough besides maybe to use the toilet. In my case now, I’ve escalated on the ladder of a depressive and being stuck in bed just doesn’t happen as less willingly as before. I do spend most of my time in bed but not out of complete mental drain but more as the only secure, secluded & silent place I have.

Despite my progress in pain, the sadness has to be the most permanent aspect of feeling anything depressive. It never leaves. I can’t express that any further than with the fact that its always there, in the good times, in the quiet times but especially in the bad times, it escalates. It clouds everything & tints every little ray of light that could be trying to penetrate through to you. When it comes to crying, from a stereotypical point of view, it seems normal for a depressed person to cry but it’s never been for me at least. I’ve never been one to cry, and I still don’t cry now… only maybe to Michael Bolton on the occasion of my vulnerability. And finally, I’ve withdrawn & still withdraw now more than ever before. At the start, I was naive to think that being vocal about what I was feeling was going to be my saving grace but it turned out that most people don’t truly care. At least not until their so called ‘advice’ seems not to work for you and you are still immensely unhappy. You just end up looking more of annoying to those who aren’t in your shoes. They often times can’t wrap their minds over why anyone would be stuck at feeling like shit and as a depressive, you’re caught between hating them for judging you & also trying to prove to them that your choice in the case of feeling depression quit mattering ages ago.

And now to make sense of where all this is steming from. I’ve gotta admit, there is still a lot of unearthed reasons entirely unknown to me of why I feel the way I do in my daily life. My self awareness radar is deeply unknown to me. On most days, I can’t tell what’s real in my head and what’s not. What’s logical and what’s absolutely illogical. What’s part of being Dawn and what’s part of my attached illness. Just thinking about all those unknowns is mind paining. Until recently, I’ve never truly wanted to acknowledge my lack of ‘direction’ in life. I’m in my last semester of college and I have absolutely no idea what I want to do after I’m done with my diploma. My peers seem to be flourishing and now this imaginary pressure has landed on my shoulders that is pushing for me to have to think further than just a few hours from now. Trying to justify to anyone that I’m trying to take it a damn day at a time and not a month from now, comes off to everyone else like a petty excuse.. and what makes this even more gut wrenching is that I’m beginning to feel like it might just be exactly as they are seeing it, just a petty excuse.

Feeling this conflicted isn’t fun for me. I don’t feel it lightly or regard it as something normal. Nothing about me has ever fit in the spectrum of normal. I don’t want to feel like I need to defend myself to everyone on why I don’t have my shit together. I don’t even know what it means to me for me to have my shit together so all this just makes me want to hide. Yesterday it made me want to die. I fight to never feel the need to die cause I might not have a visionary future like everyone else but I do have a family that I know would feel devastated if I died from my own hands. Fighting feeling suicidal is probably the greatest effort I’ve had to put into anything in my life. I fight to live for everything & everyone else but I still can’t seem to do it for myself. I don’t want to feel like I have no purpose in life cause it will be just a matter of time before that’s not just a thought but more of a replayed tune in my head and eventually, nothing will be worth trying for anymore.

I know that the world isn’t waiting for me to start living or to fit in with everyone. I may not match everyone’s energy at being a ‘normal human ‘ but I’m trying. I’m not glad that the world doesn’t give time outs, it would surely be a whole lot more easier if it did. But I’m trying, I’m trying to find reason to live, even when I’ve lost will within myself to do so.

P. S This entry is a jumble of too many thoughts and i feel like I haven’t made a lot of sense therefore if I truly do apologize if my none train of thought isn’t appealing to anyone who reads this. I shouldn’t care but I’m me, I care always and I care too much. Bear with me.

From your cool depressive,

Daddy’s Young Lady.

I’m slightly certain I’ve probably thrown y’all off a loop with the title of today’s entry but you’ll understand it in just a few. Just to throw it out there, today’s entry is more on the light noted side so I want to in my own way give a heads up that anyone reading this, read it in a light spirit. I acknowledge that most times I write some pretty heavy stuff & I truly wish I had more ‘rainbows & unicorns’ to spew about but at the same time, I rather be real & honest, despite however unhappy it comes off…

Crying is hard guys… I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before that crying doesn’t come easy for me. I guess I don’t easily know how to tap into the part of myself that should express itself through tears cause if I sure did, I’d have a field day with that. On the few occasions where I do cry, it is a forced effort cause man, 🙆🏽 does it take a lot to get the tears rolling.. but in recent events, I cried in the comfort of my bed, in the midst of the dark and with Michael Bolton blasting through my ears singing to … “said I loved you, but I lied… “. Yes, it took me listening to old school music by Michael Bolton, Whitney Houston’s count on me with CeCe Winans, Lean on me by Bill Withers and N -Sync’s This I promise to finally choke up the tears …. Truth be told, I was crying for nothing and everything all together. I don’t exactly recall feeling forlorn that night but in those wee hours of the morning, listening to that music put me in such a vulnerable state of mind and emotion, I didn’t know what else to do other than just force out the lump that was lodged in my throat till all that came out were tears rolling down my cheeks. Like I said, tears for me feel a lot like a closed dam that’s impenetrable on most days. It was relieving ugly crying in my sheets and trying to swallow the whimpers that kept trying to get out. Worse than crying for me would be crying infront of anyone or anyone finding out I’m crying. That’s sadly where I draw the line when it comes to the few times when I do cry. Old school music for me has always been so soothing, I can’t begin to explain how much it calms me down. I love the groove and the mood it puts me in. I guess I got my love for it from all the years I heard my mum sing in the kitchen while cooking dinner for us as kids or when she was washing dishes. I greatly appreciate those memories cause that connection and love she had for that kind of music is something I believe she passed down to me. I guess when you combine all that with the overwhelming turbulence that’s my day to day living, it was enough reason to bring tears to my eyes.

So apart from the late night tears , I can say with absolute definition that I’m officially back to reading on a constant and God had I missed it. I’m not sure if I’d mentioned it before but I’d taken a forced leave from reading since the app I used to read from began charging and it became a lot of work to access it so it sorta put my reading on hold. It sucked cause reading is fundamental to me. It’s an escape, it’s a comfort, it’s a friend & a whole lot more for me. I can actually say this with certainty that since I started reading again, it’s improved a lot of my mental state, it serves as a great distraction from a lot of the forlorn feelings I get. So with finally being back to reading through out my day, I got a sense of curiosity over reading both fictional & non-fictional based books that center mainly on mental health. I guess with how my past couple months has been for me alongside how lonely and isolating the feeling of immense sadness has been, I wanted to explore the same feeling but from different minds. Probably among the fewer best decisions I’ve made in a while.

Just like with a lot of other things, the feeling of secrecy along with protection is one I get a lot with things that matter to me. The books that I’ve read and loved become very scared & dear to me. I’ve expressed before that I’ve felt something remotely similar that resembles possession towards my depression and a long comes this need to sorta hold it tight for myself, like a shield … not exactly sure why I feel like that but, the feeling is very much a like with how I am towards books that leave a mark on me. But despite this feeling of possession, I wanna share one or maybe two of the books that I’ve truly gotten the chance to fall in love with. Books that I’ve derived such a connection from especially with a lot of how it feels when caught in the throes of depression. My current favourite has to be one book by an author called Sally Brampton who wrote a memoir on depression called Shoot the damn dog. For starters when I started reading books based on mental health, I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic on reading biographies or memoirs. I didn’t want to necessarily read about people’s actual encounters with depression or any other mental illness so I stuck to fiction. It felt like a safe bet at the time to read what others had created but not necessarily experienced themselves. Shoot the damn dog is definitely a book I’d recommend to anyone who’s experienced depression, especially major depression. It brings you into the world of the author who goes through life dealing with this ‘monster’ that’s major depression in a time that wasn’t all too accepting of such a different and unpleasant trauma. I don’t want to go all in on what the book is about, just in case anyone who reads this wants to read the book but I will leave you with one of the many countless statements that stayed with me through out reading this book. ” I don’t believe that confronting an illness is necessarily an act of courage. The stigma surrounding depression just makes it seem that way. “

So where am I currently in terms of my mental spectrum..? I feel as if I’m waking up from hibernation; deep slumber. I’m groggy, I’m confused & trying to get a bearing of what my emotions are and how to calm the raging flow of clustered thoughts. That’s where I am. I know it’s not an entirely sensible painted picture of what I wish I could explain better as what I think is my state of mind but it definitely feels a lot like waking up. In this case, I’m waking up from the last couple of months of depressive episodes, dark thoughts, anxiety prone emotions & escalated self harm. That’s the sleepy fog I’m waking up from. So try envision how you wake up after a very long night’s sleep. Trying to gain a bearing of where you are, what you are feeling and trying to regain coherent thoughts flowing through your mind . I can’t ascertain that I’m not entirely out of the gutter mentally, but I do feel like I have a better chance at control over where my train of thought is and what I can detect as triggers for me. Frankly speaking, I was sure I’d be in the confines of depression all through till next year, but I guess with the resumption of school, I needed to really try gain a bearing for myself if I am to make it through the next two months in school for a semester.

Now with school starting in the next two weeks, I for sure don’t feel ready to tackle it. At all. I can say with enough conviction that a lot has changed about myself and I’m not sure how easily I can go back to masking my struggles like I did prior. One of my biggest concerns being that my cut scars are very visible, more prominent than the last time I was in school. I’m self conscious about them and anyone else seeing them or how they may react to them. I know I’m not ready to let that particular aspect of my struggle be something that I’m open to discussing with anyone who already doesn’t know about them. I’m naturally withdrawn from people but this time round, I feel like I have reasons enough to be consciously withdrawn from everyone around me, especially in school. I truly just want to be invisible for this next semester, hopefully, it will be my last. The fear of stigma is very much present for me especially since I’ve been on the receiving end of it first hand & in its self, it serves as a trigger for me. So if I intend to try survive school like a remotely normal human being, I need to not put myself in a position to get triggered. It’s frustrating as it is that I have to leave the confines of my home for school. I was fine hiding from the world and immersing myself in my books. That, I was comfortable doing for the rest of the year but I guess we can’t always get what we want. Wish me luck.

Exhilarating Wrong but beautiful… 💆

Let me just start buy saying I am officially frustrated at the moment. It’s been quite an uneventful Saturday. First, I have a fall out with a friend and maybe it was long overdue. Let’s just say, I’m officially ready to take applications for new interesting applicants as best friends. I think this time, I wouldn’t mind one who comes with a manual so I know what am up against 😅. Anyway, then my day progresses to a couple of my friends coming over, they are a couple. Well, I’ve heard before that if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say it at all.. How oblivious can one can get before realizing that they are imposing or completely playing coy to someone else’s personal space ??Well, let me just finish off the summary of how my day was by saying, I have had better boring days… 😾

Now to the whole reason I wanted to update. I don’t exactly know how to put it ;I think in a short story version suits this best for personal reasons. A recent very close, maybe too close of a friend of mine had an experience that really intrigued me. She has this friend who is also an old ex of hers .They are very cordial with each and they don’t allow their past to affect their current relationship as friends. This ex recently needed a bit of advice since he was having a bit of a rough time. My friend is very warm hearted therefore she couldn’t say no and they scheduled to talk over fruit punch at her house.My friend explained it started great and they were able to really talk and she was able to counsel him concerning the problem he was facing. While really trying to be cordial, she noticed that his lower appendage was twitching. She played it cool and didn’t want to embarrass him by asking as to why he was getting a hard on in the middle of a counsel session. It wasn’t that she wasn’t attracted to him, hell she was. He had really grown into a sexy man since they last dated when he was just a lanky boy.

Eventually, she was done but the guy didn’t seem to wanna leave and she sorta knew why. He soon enough made the first move and damn she didn’t exactly stop him 😋. His kisses felt feathery and aggressive at the same time. She loved it. He tasted like marijuana and a blend of fruit juice that he had sipped on over their conversation. He gazed at her for a split second, and she knew that was him asking her permission to go on and her eyes gave it a go. She knew this was just a casual hookup and not them rekindling an old flame so she put her heart aside and the only dominant emotion she let take over was lust. Things got heated and soon enough, he was sheathing himself while she turned into a puddle for him. She was proud, he really had grown up, in all the right places 🤤.He knew how to command her body in ways nobody else had and she couldn’t be more pleased. He was rough and could hold her body down in just the right way.

After over four exhilaratingly beautiful rounds of sex, they cuddled in bed and just enjoyed each others company. She hadn’t expected their time together to end in each others arms huddled in bed naked and completely sated from the best mind blowing sex. It wasn’t meant to feel intimate but it did, for her at least it did. Then the part that intrigued me the most about this story was what she told me next. He kissed her on the forehead and she felt that kiss go straight to her heart. That wasn’t the plan and she didn’t know how she was meant to feel about him then after kissing her there.

From all this, I realized sometimes we don’t exactly have control of certain feelings because certain actions are quick to throw us off our game. I would have my heart fluttering and the soaring in the sky if a man did such a genuinely intimate gesture as kissing me on the forehead. I call it intimate because it is not your your average kiss. It’s a caring kiss, it’s a kiss that shows concern and affection. It’s a kiss that swoons a girl like me off my feet. I would say my friend is a very lucky girl but she is conflicted now, she doesn’t know what to do with the gittery butterflies in her heart or at least those swirling in her head. Hopefully, they won’t be soaring for too long, not at the expense of her poor heart. ✌

P. S Am not frustrated anymore.