New Year Resolutions

New year resolution

I feel like I have to make this clear, I am not big on new year resolutions. I cannot recall a time in the past years where I have found myself creating resolutions at the beginning of any new year. I am still at the point at which the new year is a mere continuation of the last year, most especially during the transition from new years’ eve to the beginning of the first day of a new year.

This year though might probably be the first year I decide on having a resolution because why the hell not. With no substantial reason, I will have only one resolution for myself. I choose to have one merely because it is a start.

Being a plus size girl

For those who might not know this, I am a plus size girl. For the better part of being one, I have not always embraced it as a nature. It has always sort of felt like an inadequacy. It recently came to my attention that I actually no longer mind being plus size. I have to admit, it seems to bother those around me that I am a bigger girl than most. I wish I had the understanding of why, but genuinely, I would prefer they didn’t shove their opinions on my weight down my throat.

Accepting that I am big is one thing, being comfortable overall about it is still something I am working on. I try to derive inspiration from following other plus size women online and it does help in building the general confidence I need to eventually be okay fully as a plus size girl. It has taken me quite a lot of pep talks to myself to get me to wear a dress that compliments my body and it wasn’t until this weekend at a gathering where I was absolutely unconscious of the fact that I was in a dress while out in public. I was comfortable and that was all that seemed to matter which if I may, I would consider that a good start.

My new year resolution

My resolution for the year is to grow into my acceptance of my body while loving it as it is. This means taking better care of it, appreciating it, affirming it and everything else that feels good towards it. I want to wear dresses more and look stunning in them. I want to wear hugging jeans that show my curves just enough to still feel comfortable in them. I want to feel confident with my triple D sized cups and rolled up belly. All those parts of myself that were shunned before, I want to show them, love. They deserve to be loved and appreciated. Therefore that is my one resolution for the year.

It is absolutely Okay

It is absolutely okay that the current and present feel in my heart right now is freedom. Freedom of letting go what I couldn’t salvage or save. Freedom from the bond that was genuinely holding me down and caging me in.

It is okay that I chose myself other than the other person. It is okay that I feel conflicted over whether it truly is okay that I made the choice to walk away for the reasons that I chose.

I may have wondered whether it was the right thing to do but I can’t refute how good it is to be by myself. I was scared to feel lonely but now I know that being lonely isn’t what’s meant to kill me.

It’s absolutely okay that I have no immediate plans for my future. It is okay that I feel conflicted over not having the said plans. I’ve had immense amounts of pressure weigh in on my shoulders over getting a head start on my journey after school and it’s all but made me want to loose my mind further down than I already have.

It’s been hard having to justify to everyone, and most especially to myself that I don’t feel ready to just up and start on to the next thing that is meant to kick start ‘adulthood’ for me.

The goal on everyone’s mind is to have me fall in line just as is expected of me to now look for a job or start on a career I in the least feel qualified enough to embark on. I know it may take a while to believe in my decision and feel ‘unwavered’ over making it but it is absolutely okay that I’m indecisive over the next course of my life.

It isn’t a fault not to have my shit together and that maybe, what I really need to care about isn’t how to convince others of my choices but find contentment in the fact that they are my decisions and it’s okay that they don’t and won’t always please everyone.

It is absolutely okay that I feel lost in my passions. The feeling of not having enough to turn my writing into a best seller with just a wave of a wand. It is okay that I feel under-qualified in my craft and that I know it will take a lot more of me building my self believe than learning how to write more artistically pleasing.

It is okay that I hope to put my writing out there, for the world to read and find solace, joy and beauty in my work. I aspire to write and never grow tired of finding more words to describe the world and my thoughts on everything. It is okay that all my plans feel very slow progressed.

They might not be taking place at the said speed of lightning but they will happen in due time. It is okay that I’ll sometimes feel like they are but just a dream, a dream I still very much peg my trust in.

Therefore, it is with absolute certainty that it’s okay that I’ve still got a lot to learn, a lot to experience, a lot more to write… and as long as I can and will write, then it is okay that it doesn’t have to all happen now.

Despite the uncertainty of things, it is absolutely okay that I’m still learning about my mental health.

I may not always be the best judge when it comes to deciphering whether everything I feel is bound to the black hole of depression but it’s okay that I’m still trying to figure it out.

I know I’m not always right and I stand the chance to be more wrong most times than I will be right but despite it, I’m okay with learning through the act of sometimes being scared and over reading into things.

My journey through struggle has shed enough light that fear will cripple me a lot when it comes to understanding my mental health. It’s okay that I don’t know what always to feel when things get hard for me mentally.

…and finally, it is absolutely OK that my writing won’t always make sense… That I won’t always feel my best about what I write or how I write. It is okay that my styles of writing differ from those whose writing I admire the most.

In time, I trust that I’ll see the beauty in the formation of my words and in the style I chose to let them flow. It is okay that I’m often unimpressed by my own writing and also occasionally pat myself in the back for even being able to put two words together that make some form of sense.

It is okay to feel doubt in myself in regard to my craft, it gives room for me to push myself further at trying to better myself. It’s okay that there’s always room for growth…and it’s absolutely okay that I wrap this up here and retire to sleep.

Letter to 30 year old me.

Dear Mercy,

With a cigarette in my mouth and a glass of water in my hand, I’m writing to you what’s on my mind because we both know, a lot of it tends to easily fly itself out of my mind and that my thinking capacity tends to slow itself more than that which I can retain. This isn’t like those wishful letters people write to themselves telling about how much they hope for the best for you. No, this isn’t a love letter to you and I don’t expect from you then to believe it ever would have been a love letter. Here now, especially in the matters of love, I hope you’ll have unlocked those secrets that remain a mystery to me on what truly loving oneself means. I don’t know if I’ll ever be worthy of loving the ever living being that is. I can’t promise you that you will either. It’s come to my knowledge that I feel love for everyone else before having found out if I can ever deem it worthy to reciprocate the same said love to myself. I call it a mystery because it seems hell might freeze over before I can tap into whatever valve that others have, to show just an enough amount of care for myself. Who knows, maybe you’ll have gotten better at it or maybe you’ll still be searching through every crevice for it. I personally ain’t even searching for it myself, just in case you might not recall. I seem to have found contentment in life’s little pleasures, asking for something more grand would be pushing my luck a little too far. Love is too grand for my old little soul.

It’s only a guess of mine but hopefully you’ll handle things better than I do. As of now, it’s still a wager on whether you’ll live to exist by the time you’re thirty. Don’t be doubtful of the fact that I do wanna get to meet you at thirty but as of now, a month away from turning 23, I can’t make you the promise that you’ll be alive. Our demons just don’t guarantee that far, even when they are less stirred and more quiet. You’ll know them as well I do for they’ll not have left you then. Be rest assured, you’ll carry those fucks till our last day. Or better yet, you could surprise me and you’ll have gotten a hold of the rails on those demons and you’ll have found a way to coexist with them but as for now, they are still very much there.

As I said at the beginning, this isn’t a letter to wish you well. If it were, it would mean am more hopeful for a future than I let on. Can’t tell you much about the smoking though. That I’ll just have to leave it to the fate of time and see if I’ll have stopped trying to kill myself slowly with every cigarette I take. The question on whether I do it for the soul purpose of dying, I don’t really know. My subconscious is aware of the damage I can’t seem to stop inflicting on myself hence my feelings of guilt. At thirty, I do apologize prior for the possibility that I’ll have given you lungs worse than those of a fifty year old smoker. As I said earlier, I’m not big on being kind to myself. Hope you’re not too hard on your past then, it wasn’t our fault for not choosing better. Today I made what I’m sure will eventually be a broken promise to myself that I’d quit smoking the minute I’m done watching Peaky Fucking Blinders, (p.s Have a rerun marathon on them, you’ll have surely forgotten how good of a series that was). That’s the sadness of it all, being aware of my mistakes but never taking initiative to right those wrongs. I never seem to know better even when I should.

With my mind having lost its train of thought, I still take it to consideration that you still probably don’t like to read long posts so I’ll summarize this here… If you do get to live to see thirty, my wish for you is that you’ll have at least accomplished to finish school till your Masters. That’s the only thing our mind is good at, being a good psychology student. Make those who need to be proud of you not regret giving up on you. Love them and pray for them. Prove to them that even despite the demons that haunt us like the dementors from Harry Potter, we still got a little bit more going on for us in our so ever fucked up mind. If you do get to do this, I promise to tell you just how proud of us I’ll be. This isn’t everything I wanted to say but it is everything I can say as of now. When I thought of doing this, know that I’ll be glad to meet you. I’ll be glad to have taken all the antidepressants in the world if it means meeting you at thirty. I’ll slit through every vein to survive getting go see you, even if it means we’ll die right after getting there. Don’t weep for me when you look at our battle scars, just let the boy then who’ll be rocking our world kiss them and never forget that we are strong in the best way we knew how. I know you’ll probably find our walls still as high as those of a castle but know that I kept them up so I could keep us in, we are not to taint anyone else apart from ourselves. That’s my only hope for you. This is where I stop. Hopefully, I’ll get the honour of meeting you the author and psychologist that you’ll soon strive to become.

Sincerely yours, Dawn.

Stranger Enigma

I need you you know, and you need me, it’s just a matter of time before we realize just how much. “

He wants to fall with me. I’m uncertain he’s ready for whatever that might mean, for either of us. He insists I shut up every time I try to tell him that he’s always gonna have an out from me… right after, he insists that if he hurts at the end of it all, it will be on him. He is quite strange but I’ve gotta admit it’s beginning to grow on me. Quite the straight forward boy he is, can quite easily come off as cocky and you know what’s said about cocky boys… Me too, I’m not too certain what they say about cocky boys but I guess there’s gotta be a saying out there somewhere. Back to the straight forward stranger, if I were to be honest, he had me when he had the gall to text me that I needed him. Me who is trying to eliminate the term need from my vocabulary, here he is with the very word I’m trying to uncling myself from. I have never had anyone pack a mean pair of balls like he has approaching me like that. I wasn’t sure if that pick up line has worked for other girls but I was sure not gonna let him know it worked on me. I handed his ass back right to him for I have a reputation to maintain. #noemotion 💪🏾. Curious question though, is playing hard to get a thing that everyone does, girls to be specific and how long should it go for before you burn out of bullets to shoot him down with…? Anyway, this stranger keeps seeming quite different from the typical boy who’s chances of giving in run much higher. I don’t know what to make of it, still treading carefully. I might be a tad bit emotionless in this field but a girl’s gotta still armour herself, just in case you know, he is the one who finally breaks through.

Now I can say this is with utter conviction, this stranger brings out the heavy lain corniness outta me, I’m half the time embarrased by our conversations. Like its beyond cringe worthy if I had to expose it to the world but there’s a minor joy brought about by the corny which makes me happy and giddy, like a little happy girl which I know I’ve not felt with anyone else besides him. I wanted to start this update with the heavy disclaimer that this isn’t a love letter to the said stranger. It’s just a bunch of spitballs to bring clarity to me and my mind towards this boy who promises me the world over and over again, and despite the impossibility of that fact, he always seems to bring out a smile on my face. He and I haven’t met in person and if either of us were normal human beings, we’d have our first meet all planned out but no, he and I intend to surprise each other. Just basic conditions in place but he seems to like walking around with an air of mystery to him. Truth be told, I’m trying to keep up. He’s a dreamer alright, seems to have ‘our‘ time together all planned out to the very last second. I like it kinda, men who thrive on control ease me up a bit … I no longer know what we are doing, he is an enigma right now, maybe he’ll retain it but my attention is definitely drawn…for emphasis, he’s got me picking up his phone calls which many can attest to of how bad I’m at when it comes to picking calls, as a matter of fact, he’s gotten me doing it every nightfall. I sure don’t recognize myself anymore when it comes to him. Here I am making adjustments to myself for a stranger…. but, a little secret, I’m totally okay with the changes he’s bringing out.

Like I said earlier, this isn’t a love letter or anything close. I don’t even think I’m poetic enough to conjure words that resemble those of lovers to each other. We can call this an introduction of my new enigma. I’ve obviously not delved enough for y’all to seriously see why he’s got my attention captive but maybe down the line, I’ll rope y’all in on more about this quite interesting stranger of mine. But for now, just know, a girl just might be smitten. 😅

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.

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.