My mother always told me that boredom is a choice. It quite vexed me as a little child to hear that after I just yelled out how bored I was feeling. To say the least, I am still vexed. Today, I am still rocking in the same boat, more now than I have felt in a very long time. I wake up at noon, have a cigarette, have brunch and then sit to wonder what else is next. To give a bit of a background to my slow routine, I am freshly out of college, freshly being used lightly in this case. I finished school a year ago so now when I say it out loud, the term freshly is quite expired.
Earlier this week I had my first internship interview for the course I studied in school and to say the least, I just went through the motions. I was not prepared for the effort it took to get out of bed, shower and leave the house all before eleven in the morning. While I was taking a shower, it took absolute willpower to not back out from going to that interview. It was a lot of willpower that is for sure.
The interview went well. I am still waiting on their response but I am hopefull. Hence the waiting game.
This is for those unwanting of the new year. It is for those whose uncertainties in life didn’t magically disappear just because the new year is here. It is also for those whose sadness didn’t escape them when the clock hit midnight. These little words are for you.
I haven’t felt much of anything in a brief moment. When in regard to feelings, I wanna believe that my thought trajectory is always leaning on happier feelings, feelings of light and joy. Sometimes maybe even a little bit of peace. It is the new year and I can’t seem to feel the light and love going on around the world. Do I necessarily think it’s my fault that I feel forlorn at the start of a year that is magically supposed to bring cheer, no, not really? I understand hope and faith in wanting this time around to be different but what for us who can’t seem to grasp those little motions of hoping for another year of change. I read somewhere that sometimes all in one year, one is capable of living three years in one. Can’t blame me for feeling scared that this new year might in turn bring me three years instead of one.
This is for the unprepared. These words are for the sceptic people not sure of themselves enough to find joy in the new year. This is for those still carrying remnants of the day ago year that still lingers. For those who feel their losses so immensely, the beginning of a new year would be like erasing the memory of the loved one no longer there. This is for those who would rather not sit through doing a recap of their past year for it would mean scaling back old wounds. All of this is for us who will take it a day at a time as always.
‘’How do I begin to set out to the world this painful reality that even I aren’t sure I have fully acknowledged? Most nights, I am uncertain of whether I have the reality of a tomorrow. I can’t seem to decide if seeing the night through is my main goal or whether I am just being dramatic over my emotions. There is this unbearable need inside my head that tells me that nothing is right, that nothing I feel or do can or will make anything right.
For the past two weeks or so I have been fighting the reality of the fact that I have been feeling suicidal. It has no longer just been fleeting thoughts anymore but solid assurances that I no longer can decide on whether life is bearable enough to be lived. I have thought through it so many times, I have questioned myself on whether it is real in both my heart and my head. It physically aches inside me whenever I think that I could finally be ready to let everything go. It is a very unbearable burden to carry because I have found no means or way to tell this to anyone. I am convinced that either no one will believe me or they probably won’t know what to do.
How do I begin to explain this to anyone when I myself haven’t entirely come to terms with this frightening realization? How do I put this into words to anyone else when all I truly feel is shame over even feeling like this? I say this with absolute resolute, the only thing that I am certain about in the midst of all the turmoil going on inside my head is that I have absolutely no idea what to do or where to start dealing with these feelings or these thoughts of suicide. It scares me not knowing how or where to start. So yeah, that is right where I am.’’
The above text was written by a very desperate, sad, despaired and most especially depressed girl. I can’t say with certainty that any of those damning feelings are gone yet, or better yet, I do know where they are. They are retreating to the back parts of my mind now that it feels a lot like I have a bit of amour against them. When I read those words above, I remotely can’t entirely recognize the girl who wrote them. She looks and feels a lot like a hollow shell and it is terrifying to think that at any one point I was this girl, I am this girl. The emotions feel like a vague memory, it has the vagueness of a sketchy dream that only holds bits and pieces of what is to be recalled of it. I wish all the memories of that pain could be erased but some of it is marred on my arms as-a-result of trying to drain it out. The pain is stuck deep inside, deeper inside than the mere blood in my veins. The scars in my hand are just a reminder of a very short-lived relief that didn’t ever quite feel like relief at all.
There is a very stark difference between being alone and being lonely. My depression is always certain to make sure I feel the best of both worlds, at least in regard to those two aspects of isolation. The most singular of the two feelings is when your entire being is encased in a fog of loneliness. No sense of reassurance would convince you otherwise of the fact that you are absolutely alone and beyond lonely. This time around, it dawned on me that I wasn’t intentionally choosing to be lonely apart from the intentional choice I made to be alone. It took all the energy I had in me to have any conversation I might have kept up with during this time. I can say with certainty that I have not spoken to the few people in my life to whom on occasion have seemed to retain some parts of me as their friend. The looming darkness is all that encases you, it is all I could think about. I was entirely convinced that nobody in my world would find a solution enough to save me from the dark pit I was in. I felt nothing beyond the scariest darkness known to my mind.
I feel like it’s important I make this fact clearer, depression is not just a bit of sadness. It is a lot more than even I can express. It is for sure something I still don’t think I have the full grasp over in regard to how vast of a feeling, an emotion, a concept, a thought, a sensation, an enlightening and a whole lot more. Depression is also quite invisible. It never is something graspable to the naked eye. For me, it is very suffocating. My mind never feels like it has any space to breathe, it feels like the only space I can afford to think is in remote gasps of air. It feels like it would resemble a lot of what I think it feels like to drown. The panic, anguish, despair and the complete lack of hope for rescue sounds a lot like how my mind is right now. Sally Brampton, the author of the memoir Shoot the damn Dog wrote in a very precise manner what it is like to experience the depravities of the mental fuck that is depression. She describes its most corrosive aspect as despair and catastrophic. She continues to elaborate on how impenetrable and unendurable it is.
I have experienced suicidal ideation before but never to its full potential as it was this time around. I knew I was deep in the gutter, submerged under when I couldn’t quit thinking of just how peaceful and pain numbing dying would feel like. When the thought became a permanent fixture in my mind, I knew there was no way around this. I didn’t want to be alive anymore. That awareness became the dawn of a new twisted kind of sorrow. I recall on some nights crying so deeply and feeling the pain and anguish so physically from knowing that I was lost in myself. I was lost in my hopelessness and my mind had resided itself to no longer living but to completely quit existing. To a degree, I thought if I hurt myself enough, it would ease that ache even just a little bit, enough to satiate it. Dull it down. It didn’t quite do it. It led me to commit my first suicide attempt. I remember the night vaguely but I recall the intent behind the pain I felt that night. I recall the finality to my thoughts when I placed the razor to my vein. I remember the soaked tears in my sheets from my wet face. It was a pain I can only describe as purely indescribable. 23rd of October,2021 I decided I didn’t want to live anymore, at least not in the state of mind that I was in.
I can’t say with absolute resolute that I don’t want to not live anymore. Am alive now, still in despair but alive. I’m on antidepressants currently so it is all I can hope that along the way, I find it easier to want to stay alive. A lot is still yet to be done and I can’t say for certain when any of it will be done. I still have struggles that play a major role in making it harder for me to fully get the help I need so it is all I can do but trying live a minute at a time. It has taken me nearly a month to write this and I’m okay with that. Writing and reading for me take quite the hit in periods of my depression so to an extent, I am proud I got to be candid about what it has and is still like for me to live with this unbearable monster that lives inside of my head.
“Tell me, what it is you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? “Mary Oliver
Well Mary, I can’t say there’s much I’ve already done with my one wild and precious life for I’m just twenty three as of a month ago. But let’s say it ‘s all the life I’ll ever get to live. Let’s picture this as the only life I’ve lived and that be enough. We may as well not plan for a future that’s yet to be lived, am I right? So for my puny little life, I will have quite the childhood. I’ll try to find the words to sum it all up but I’ll always come up short. It will be a mesh of a little bit of everything; it will not have been the best years of my life but it will be the years I’ll wish to have held onto more. It will be the years I should never have taken for granted, but still somewhat did. As a kid, I’ll be my best version of prime & proper, at least to the world I’ll try to be. Back at my house, I’ll be the biggest pain in the ass and my arch nemesis will be none other than my dear ole mum, God bless her soul… She’ll take the blunt end of my onset of puberty and will match my energy of being a serious pain in the ass. But despite it all, I’ll adore her existence like that of a god. She’ll be to me like every mother is to their child, their first god and their lifeline. I will not realize just how much the world is unfair to you until the day my lifeline will be taken away from me. Simply, I will learn of one of life’s toughest experiences which will alter the entire basis and trajectory of my life.
Like it is for most people, those lucky enough to have the blessing of family, I’ll live for my family. With one sibling and a single father, I’ll pour out every bit of love in me to them, which now that I think about it, might explain why it will be hard to love anyone else with the intensity and magnitude that some will seek from me. I will adore my family and be in their embrace through every day spent of my puny but precious little life. My dad will be that friend you can’t quite get enough of but still gets annoying every so often. He’ll have my back always and I’ll grow to protect him to the best of my little ability. As for my sister, she will be my best friend, my companion, my roommate and my all rounded life partner. We won’t have much of separate lives since we will be often together too much of the time. She will be my provider for quite the while and I’ll ride it out till what I hope will be the start of my own adulthood. She’ll complain I eat a lot but continue to feed me regardless. What can I say Mary, a girl’s gotta eat to grow. Sometimes indulging into her cravings a little bit more than she should. All my life’s significance, regardless of whether puny or not, my sister will be there for them. She’ll cheer me on and help me brush of the dust from the times I’ll have fall off my feet. She’ll vicariously live through me in my relationship escapades for they will be quite a few… Mary, you may be quite surprised by just how much I’ve experienced in the realm of “love”…I will trust no one more than I trust her and I’m uncertain I’ll ever know what it’s like to have anyone closer to me than her.
I will go through highschool and regard it as the worst years of my life. I’ll hate every day of those agony ridden days. I’ll want to escape to my dreams every day of my life for those four years and I’ll have my heart broken by the impossibility of my dreams ever coming true. I will peg on God to pay His dues to me even despite knowing deep down, He owed me nothing. I’ll walk down the streets of my school every evening looking up at the stars and hoping against everything that the brightest star of all will mean my redemption from my misery. It will surprise me that despite feeling incapable of feeling anything else besides sorrow, I’ll grow to love a girl immensely in the midst of it all. I’ll use her as a distraction from my grief but then, my emotions towards her will envelope me like a dome. She will eventually become all I’ll ever think of in those years and even a few years after that. I will feel hate and this wildly twisted obsession over her that will force me to think again over what I thought I knew about my sexuality. She’ll become the true bane to my existence and I will not know till date whether it was all just a projection of my grief or I just had the worst case of adolescence. Even later in life, I will still regard this girl as quite the enigma. I will have gotten better reins of my emotions when it comes to her but traces of her will still linger and hover over my conscience. I will complete highschool with the passion to charge the world. I will have my dreams hanging from my shoulders and what will then be a well sort out plan to kick start the dreams into motion. I will then learn that it’s a lot harder than I might have thought. My passions and my sorrow will set sail my career into psychology.
I will go through college and have quite the silent rollercoaster. Silent because not a lot of people can attest to anything major happening in my life but it being a rollercoaster because I certainly will have my fair share of things happen in those years. I will loose my virginity in college, and it won’t be memorable. It will not mean much and neither will it be some instrumental rite of passage for me. It will happen and I won’t care to much over it… that’s all that will be to it. I will have boyfriends, and a man-child friend too. My first relationship will be, for lack of a better word, meh. Though at the beginning, I wouldn’t have considered it so, for I will have wanted more from it. It will be based on sex marathons and on and off breaks. In time, it will be the trigger to a very uneventful onset of my first depression. It will kick-start a tirade of emotions, downhill turmoils and a whole lot of anxiety. It’s in college where my battles with mental health will become the fore front of my life. Depression will become my shadow and I will loose recognition of myself without it…Before I can even delve further into what my life will become in regards to my mental health, let me tell you about the man friend I will be crazy enough to date… It will also be in my early twenties, when I’ll have my interest picked on matters BDSM. In the case you’re not aware Mary, this is a kink in sex for those who are unconventionally woke. It will be in my venture of this kink that will lead me to meeting and somewhat dating a man-child who will then be 44 at the time. I know what you’re probably thinking but trust me, at the time it won’t seem as absurd as it might now. He will at the beginning feel like a breath of fresh air (no pun intended in regards to him being old and all..) and I will be enthralled by him and his take on the world. His bluntness will at the start look like something to be admired but it will soon wither in my eyes for it will not go unnoticed to me how emotionally dry he will be. As he himself will say, “I’ve got the emotional depth of a pin cushion”. I consider myself lucky for I will actually know what a pin cushion is like. After that, we will end things between me and this man but we will keep in touch and that will be a mistake I will soon learn dearly from.
I will go through life one day at a time…I will experience a mental agony that nothing will have ever prepared for me. I will learn to cope with this said agony in ways that will leave permanent scars, both on my skin and on my mind. I will still continue to dream and be a little girl on the inside. I will go through life plagued with anxiety that I’m never doing enough, that I’m not the best at anything that I do. I will still keep trying regardless, even when I will want to choose death over life. As I said earlier Mary, my life is still puny and hasn’t matured as much so there’s only so little I can tell you of how my life turns out… I will try my best to write more of how my life goes, maybe when I’m thirty, I will write this again. I will to you how my puny but precious wild life will have gone down. Hopefully, it won’t be so puny anymore.
“Inspired from the book ” It’s okay to laugh ,crying is cool too” I haven’t even completed it yet but I’m sure it’ll be a wonderful read.
So tonight, something quite weird but cool I guess, happened to me.
To give a short back story to what was my intended action earlier, I’ve been trying to really dissociate the past week. I’ve been dealing with heavy burden like thoughts that I surely just didn’t & still don’t have it in me to handle let alone deal with (now when I think about it, handle and deal with, same thing). I’ve been trying to space out if I may call it so and tonight being a similar kind of night, I experienced the urge to self harm which I haven’t done in like the past two, three months or so. I quit keeping count of how long it’s been… I’m not proud that I settled myself into doing it earlier but yeah, I was going to do it and then drown out the thoughts from my head by numbing my emotions.
As I was settling myself to doing the deed, I’d just happened to put on the DVD player and I’d just put up Baby Daddy, the series about Emma, Riley, Ben, Tucker and Bonny, forgot the tall guy’s name (Ben’s brother)… As I was just about to go on ahead, I got distracted by the movie and it wasn’t even two minutes in, I was laughing, like really laughing… Forgive me if this sounds morbid but allow me to paint the picture in your lovely heads.. I was holding up a razor blade to my arm while laughing my heart out…again, my apologies for the messed up imagery. In that moment, I genuinely couldn’t bring myself to do it anymore, like for a second there I was like I need not get distracted from what I was about to do. I had everything set right there, the razor and the after care kit (yes, I have an after care routine for when I self harm, I’m not entirely a mad person, I’m just one with hygiene standards) but anyway, yeah. I had an urge and I was intent on fulfilling it… At least until, Baby Daddy, completely pulled me out of that head space. I started laughing at how absurd it felt to be holding a razor to my arm when the emotion behind it was no longer there and as ridiculous as this may sound, things got too weird and I just couldn’t anymore. So I packed my kit and stored everything back and resumed watching the show.
Two hours and season one down, here I am writing of that weirdly saving encounter I just had. A part of me is grateful that I didn’t go through with harming myself because it would probably have kicked off a habit I am still very much battling down and every so often have the reigns over. I wish I’d say it was some form of higher power that allowed me to find a disc that’s been years old in the corner of my sister’s room to which I came across as I was technically stealing her cotton wool for what was to be another scar on my arm. What are the odds, the disc was not scratched up and had a series that’s turned out to be my saving grace for the night. I’m in an entirely better mood for what it’s worth so I guess I owe this night to season one of Baby Daddy. Y’all should definitely check it out, might work some miracle for you too.
What now? You’re probably wondering what else about my depressing life I’ve unearthed…and to answer that question, there’s nothing new really. I truly sometimes hate that the best I’ve always got to give to anyone who reads my posts is entirely centered on my depressive life cycle. I truly hate that and I hope it’s a consolation to you knowing that I don’t like always being a Debbie Downer. I find it extremely hard to write anything general based on my life. Like currently, I’ve got a ton of things I could vent about concerning nothing depressive but I have no idea where I’d even start or how I’d express those piled up thoughts & feelings together. I never feel like those thoughts are what trigger my niche for writing. It’s always gotta be something dramatically sad. I guess that’s entirely just what sums up my life…
What now seems like the perfect question right now. For me and for anyone wondering what else this sad’ist has come up with. For me, I’m asking this question cause I very well don’t know what to do now… what’s next. You may be wondering what’s next from what; what next after a long eight months of being in a depressed state. I’ve said it before that it feels a lot like waking up from a hibernation period. So here I am, a month in from a long period of exhausting ‘slumber’ …I’m reeling from quite a few new experiences from the past couple of months, not sure what to do with myself, I’m not as accustomed to feeling normal. Normal for me in this case is everything non suicidal, non chaotic, nothing self harm, non overwhelming… Make no mistake, I’m not complaining about feeling better from all that. It’s a break and I’m glad that I’m not mentally sinking. Though, I’m not delusional enough to think that this feeling will last forever, nah, depression doesn’t work like that just in case you don’t know. It’s taking a break, and just like every break, it eventually comes to an end.
Why does it feel this hard rolling back to this mind space, away from the darkness & turmoil ? I’ve done it before, two years in a row I’ve gone through this. Gone through a space of depression for a couple months and towards the end of the year, I ween off it like waking up from a long exhausting sleep. I expect myself to fall back into routine and tackle life as it comes. I’m no longer depressed after all, right? Then what’s so damn different about this time round? Why I’m I so darn tired, why don’t I like it as much, the aspect of being back to ‘normal’ ? Why is it that assimilating back to my own life is so hard…
..Or maybe, it could be cause I’m having to pick up the pieces of the tarnished person I was in those last eight months. Maybe it’s cause I’m having to deal with the judgement from others around me who seemed to have spent their time better than I did. For sure spending time finding ways to make short change was way better than popping pills & slashing wrist…yeah. Maybe it’s cause of the overwhelming guilt & shame I’m having to feel for not trying hard enough to be a stronger person… Jeez, how hard could it be to get myself out of sadness. I ask myself that every single day too. Pardon me for not acknowledging that struggling mentally is a ‘comfort zone’ which isn’t a good enough reason for why I never tried harder or why I never came up with ways to get myself a little bit of money … I’m ‘sorry’ that I was working on staying alive rather than making pocket change.
Being caught in this rift of shame makes it even harder for me to convince myself into believing that it’s not my fault that those last months were hard for me. That if things had been different, I’d have done more for myself. I already feel conflicted as it about what exactly is wrong with me, I honestly don’t need anyone else pushing it down my throat that I don’t try hard enough.
So here I am, clueless, frustrated and still not good enough for the world. In no place or time do I seem to be doing the right thing so honestly why start now… All I’ve been having all year long is a pity party for dear old me, well guess what, I’m tired of that too. It’s been so tiresome for me to try act normal that I even picked up smoking. I’ve been holding off on saying this so I don’t continue doing everything wrong in my life but guess what, this girl needs to quit caring. I’ve pondered over the thought of smoking cigarettes for a while now actually, I’d thought I’d replace ripping open my wrist with a more calmer, less bloody and more slower towards death kind of way. Best part about it, I like it. Couldn’t wait to simply admit that but truthfully speaking, that shit is so relaxing, makes me feel like a pretty butterfly.. Maybe not pretty, more like a floating butterfly. Been told that it’s addictive and I see why. I’ve smoked pot before but it doesn’t really do much for me besides make me loopy. With a cigarette, I’m just mild. I’ve never had a poison before, but I think I might just have found myself one. I’ll actually keep you posted on how smoking is going for me. I’ve not had something excite me in a long while and this does.
I’ll try keep this as short as I can cause honestly, I don’t know where I’m going with this…I just know that I’m in the middle of chaos that I need to find a way or a means out of. When I feel like I’ve probably felt enough in conjunction to how low my mental struggles can take me, I’m reminded that I’m falling into a bottomless pit. Honestly, I’m at a war and I can’t ascertain to whether I’m winning or losing. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it always feels like I’m drowning but the difference this time round is that something keeps pushing me further down into the water ; I’m suffocating on the chaos that’s raging in me. I’m battling as it is to simply put to words how much turmoil I’m feeling but I feel like the harder I try to emerge out of it, the harder it is getting for me to breathe…like I’m having a panic attack but nobody else can see it cause it’s behind my eyes. Even as I write this, my breathing is laboured & I honestly just wish I could scream out the turmoil. The scariest thing out of all of this, I don’t know why I’m drowning…Tonight I’d have stopped the chaos, even if it’s just for a little while. I wanted to, I had every intention to. Sadly, in the only way I know how. Depression for me is taking an entirely new height..one I’m not sure I’ve been to before. One that’s paralyzing and crippling; I don’t know how to calm the hell that is coursing through me. I feel psychotic cause the world around seems entirely oblivious to the war that’s waging in my mind. I’m a breathing shell of the person I’m meant to be. I wanted to hurt myself, it was the plan a few minutes ago but somewhere along the line, I’m convinced it truly won’t make a difference. I no longer seek pity or remorse over the fact that I cope the way I do. Self harm keeps me more alive than I can attest to. It may be just another slash to my wrist or another scar to the collection but it’s sadly how chaos has me surviving. I don’t want to die but my spirit might not be strong enough to pull through this battle. It’s petrifying to think that there just might not be a way out of this. If I could choose death tonight, it would be outta of the utter helplessness that is coursing through me at this very moment. The feeling of having no hope whatsoever is like a blanket wrapped tightly around me to the point of slowly suffocating every bit of air inside me. I want to pick myself up from this shackles tied around my mind, I just truly don’t know if I’m strong enough to break free. Where would I even start? My spirit feels a lot like its been trampled over, fully decimated. I’ve got no hope & will left in me. The light in me is slowly dwindling. Your probably wondering why can’t I ask for help. It’s hard to see hope from others when it’s pretty non existent in yourself. Not to sound ungrateful but I don’t believe there’s much anyone could do for me anymore. At least not until I find strong enough will to help me back up & help myself fight for my better state of mind.
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 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 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.