Antidepressants

What are antidepressants?
I wanna believe that majority of you are familiar with the term antidepressants or have come across it once in a while somewhere. For the few that may not be aware of what exactly they are, they are medicine taken for different mental health illnesses. Most especially depression. That’s the lame man’s definition.

Why am I on antidepressants?

I’ve mentioned before that I have been on and off antidepressants before. I started taking antidepressants for my depression and anxiety sometime last year after a terrible episode that required me to see a psychiatrist and through that session, I was prescribed my first set of antidepressants. I was on Mirtazapine for my first dose and I’ll go into detail on the side effects in a few. For a first timer, I can say I took it like a champ. It’s a different experience to be on this medication but it might seem scary at first but I can assure or anyone who may be on the path to having it prescribed to them by their doctor, it will help. It is part of the means of getting better.

Side effects of the antidepressants

Disclaimer

The side effects stated below are mine and not a general over view of all the side effects one is prone to get while on any set of antidepressants prescribed to you by your psychiatrist.

My initial reaction to starting antidepressants was that it would minimise the depression I was feeling in a matter of days but I got to learn quite quickly that that wouldn’t be the case. On mitarzapine, the effects quite frankly hit me like a hurricane. The depression quite literally became worse before it became better. On most occasions, there is always a fluctuation in weight and sadly for me, I gained a lot of weight. My appetite sorta increased ten fold and I was eating on a constant. The hunger was on another level. When I mentioned earlier that I took it like a champ was because despite how gravely the side effects were, I never discontinued it and was on it for a month before I had my prescription changed by my then psychiatrist.

My second prescription was what I gotta admit taking was an extreme sport. I didn’t go long on them due to the grave side effects they had on my body. I won’t mention the names of the exact medicine I was on just in case it gives off the wrong depiction of the said meds. I remember on the second night of taking them, I began to have serious tremors. I couldn’t stop shaking and my teeth rattled, you’d think I was on the North Pole. In addition to that, my heart started pounding so heavily, I was sure I was gonna have a heart attack. With the side effects being that heavy, I had to discontinue the medication and it took me a whole nearly six months before I went on any other antidepressants.

Mid year of 2021, I got into another depression episode that required me to visit a new psychiatrist since I was home over that period. This time around, I got a better prescription than the last which is what I am still on currently. I am on 10mg Cipralex and 10mg haloperidole. The first one is majorly for my severe depression whereas the latter is for my anxieties and agitation. On the first take of this medication, it didn’t have much of a side effect that I could positively point out but now when I’m currently on it, there are a few new side effects that are damning to the soul.

This will positively be very inappropriate to whoever reads this but I’ll say it anyway, my vagina has been going through it with this current set of meds I’m on. Going through it, I mean it’s dead dead. Like I can’t seem to get aroused what’s so ever and trust me, I have tried. You name it, besides sex though… don’t gotta a guy for that, or a boyfriend too.

Not too long, I was ranting to a close friend how I can’t seem to feel the slightest bit of sensation down there and she had a good laugh out of it. Besides the dead vagina, I also can’t seem to feel much joy over anything which is a lot like a mild numbness. What I can’t truly stand though, out of all this, is the agitation at night, right before bed. It is darn right annoying. It’s such an extreme sport to get myself settled in bed when it feels like every thought is racing and none of them have got sleep in them.

So yeah, just thought I’d share my brief experience with taking antidepressants and hope it distigmatizes them for the better.

Easing up just a little on my perfectly imperfect soul.. ⏯️🛎

You ever have those aspects of yourself that you’re not entirely sure are a good thing? Well I do, at least. Lots of them actually. I’ve got this specific one that I wouldn’t consider the most obvious or detectable to those who know me but don’t get to spend enough time around me to be able to pick up the said trait. For someone closer, in this case my sister who’s also my roommate has grown accustomed to it and isn’t quite fond of it. In regards to it, it makes me the Debbie Downer sister, the most up tight, the less spontaneous, oh, and the worrier too… I wouldn’t really say that I hate this specific aspect of myself fully, it grounds me to an extent and anyways, I’m only regarding it now as a flaw on the occasional times when I wish it didn’t restrain me as immensely as it does… Okay okay, enough of the beating around the bush nonsense and I’ll get right to just saying exactly what it is this said aspect of myself is. I believe that in lay man’s language, what I’ve got going on is the character aspect of a perfectionist. I’m not 100% sure whether in most cases, one’s actions that may fall under the bracket of a perfectionist are excusable entirely and whether it eliminates one from some form of fault. This isn’t to mean that wrong actions are meant to be absolved just cause one couldn’t help their perfectionist nature… and now I’m getting derailed from what I initially meant to write in regard to this insistent need of mine to do everything by the book…back to focus.

Take for example, my last statement right there. It’s absolutely okay that I write whatever comes to mind and not feel like it’s some crime I’ve committed that requires some form of punishment from god knows who or what. I’ve said it to myself before that I wish I could make my writing absolutely spontaneous but despite trying to keep up with that notion, minutes before I was able to write all this down here, I couldn’t help myself but scribble down a few highlights on this exact topic in the fear that I’d screw it up if I left it to the fate of my mind to remember exactly what my line of thought was at the very beginning. Pardon me if I hardly sound like I’m making any sense. Technically, my incessant need to have everything in some prime and proper version of things does piss on my parade a lot more than I’d like to admit.

Do you know what’s most absurd about it to me in regard to this, it’s the crazy notion in my mind that’s convinced of some form of reprimand in the case that things aren’t done in the ‘rightful’ manner. My conscious mind believes that whatever action that’s to be undertaken, if slightly bent from its set out route of focus, there will be life changing repercussion…Maybe in some cases, there might stand the chance of the odds being in favour of things needing to be done exactly as they are supposed to be done but on the off chance that the world won’t end if I don’t do things all perfect, it makes it direly impossible to have spontaneity ever happen to me. I cannot begin to elaborate just how much of this aspect of myself is fully embedded in me. It’s in everything little thing I can think of that I do. From the way I talk, to the way I carry myself around in front of people, to the way I arrange my things in my wardrobe, to the way I write… It goes on and on. It’s even trickled down to a hobby that’s absolutely supposed to relax me and completely take the edge off which is what has led me to being here and writing it down. Colouring. Yes, you read that right. I recently started colouring and had been yearning to do it for a while now because I thought to myself, why not, seems like it would be quite fun and it would bring the carefree child in me out a little bit more, to reminisce on easier times in life through bringing colour to portraits & pictures. But guess what, even that had to get trampled over by my need to do things right… I was just colouring a while ago and I couldn’t help but feel upset that I wasn’t colouring one of the pictures in my colouring book exactly as the object usually is in reality. When I first started, I’d insist on checking exactly what colours a certain picture was so that I’d colour exactly in the same manner. Rather than embracing the spontaneity of creating my own art in colour, I was anxious that by some random chance, someone would pick up my colouring book and question me for not colouring respectively as it should be. The whole point of me colouring was never to seek out perfection but despite that, I can’t seem to shake off the idea that everything needs to fall exactly into its right place or in this case, its right colour.

Like I said, to some extent, I’ve grown accustomed to it because without a doubt, I’ve never been one to live on the edge of life. I’ve always played things safe, never to purposely or intentionally rock the boat. Being a perfectionist has helped somewhat calm my raging anxiety over things beyond my control though it is also technically built on the very said anxiety. I truly believe that if I was less of an anxious person, I’d be more relaxed, maybe Zen even. Maybe then, I’d care less about the fear of an absurd repercussion than trying to have everything fall into its proper place. I’m sadly a real major stickler for order and despite how much I’d wish to change that, I think it’s best to admit that it will take a whole lot to rid me of what can be now termed second nature to me. Gotta admit though, I wish my mind, soul and body would just go with the flow you know… Sore away with the wind, wherever it may take me without the fear of a possible anxiety attack. What can I say, it’d be nice to have my own nature try not wring the breath out of my neck in the face of a little imperfection.

P. s This here is a picture of my current remotely acceptable coloured picture, not sure whether it’s a smurf or a gnome but I wanna hope that it’s colours match those acceptable to the gods of perfectionism. 😌

..another P.S …So apparently, from Pinterest quotes, it’s not at all a good thing to be a perfectionist. It’s very flawed seemingly. I’m not here to justify it’s good or bad aspects, maybe just to reflect on its disadvantage a little, at least when it’s not being life threatening.

“I’d been depressed for so long, hiding it wasn’t an option anymore, not by choice at least. My body took the choice out of my hands.”

Last night as I lay in bed thinking as usual, my mind drifted off and I began to wonder what the world around me sees whenever they look at me. In all natures, be it physically, emotionally, spiritually and even more so mentally. Only a substantial amount of people can give just a little bit of insight on what they think they know about my mental health and the struggles that enslave me on a daily. They see what they perceive as just the basic stressful day to day experiences one has to go through being at the point at which I’m at right now in life. It’s absolutely okay in their eyes that I’m stressed out about not knowing what I want to do in my life or whether I have a plan for the next phase now that I’m done with college. I can say with certainty that nobody sees what I feel or have to live through on a daily… not even a fraction of it. A friend of mine earlier last night mentioned to me that she has noticed that I’m extremely general on everything I relay to her and my response to that was that the world isn’t interested in the specifics of one’s life. People rather just know enough than know too much. It’s enough for them trying to be allies but too much to be a friend. It’s extending support but without having to be presently there, in the middle of it all. I would honestly rather not have any ally at all if that’s the case, therefore having to maintain my specifics to myself.

If there’s a chance that the world around me thinks I’m normal, then truth be told, I’m offended. In the stereotypical sense of the word, normal is boring and I would be highly offended if anyone considered me boring. I may not be your ray of sunshine, but neither am I living through the normal cycle of being this person who believes that everything sorta just falls into place… not to piss on anyone’s parade who might live by the notion that everything does sorta just fall into place. Alright, maybe I am, even if just a little. Entirely, what I’m saying is that, I don’t think I have been afforded the luxury to believe that my life is following a mystical path where I’m meant to entirely live through mental suffering just for it to get better in the far future and that I’ll look back at it and think that it was all worth it. Simply, I’m not cut out for normal…and I’ve learned to accept that and maybe even embraced it.

I’ve mentioned it before to my sister that the worst possible thing that could happen to me in life would be to be termed as cliché. Just the thought of it, makes me want to buff in my mouth and it wouldn’t be pretty. Cliché in my eyes would be anyone thinking that I self harm for attention. Just so you know, anyone who does self harm is seeking attention, just not for the reasons that the world thinks they are. It entirely could be a subconscious reaction to emotional pain but, from what I have felt in that moment, despite trying to hide it, there’s a part of you deep inside that seeks out hope that someday someone will see that invisible but obvious cry for help. That they won’t look at you like a loon but will take an initiative to get you help, the help that you might not have had the courage to ask for.

How can I afford to feel self conscious over my body but can freely walk around with no sleeves covering my wrist and with my scars bared out to the world.”

I thought about that yesterday and if that screams normal to you, maybe you need to check yourself. I don’t have an answer to that, just like I don’t have answers to a lot of other questions about things that I do but can’t seem to have an explanation over. How I can even afford to walk out of the house with my marred wrist but can’t wear a dress because it will show out too much of my curves or in better terms, my fatness… It’s intriguing, isn’t it? That I am more ashamed of what was God given more than I am ashamed of what I self inflicted on my own body. It leads me back to the question of what it is the world sees whenever they look at me. Do they see the internal turmoil I have to face just with having to decide if I look more fat in a dress or whether I can pass on the lie that I was in a car accident to explain the scars on my hand? Are they remotely aware that I want to die but not necessarily from my own hands. “That I’m not suicidal but sometimes the lines get all blurry.” I know they don’t see all that, and it’s why my friends can afford to read my blogs and tell me that they’ll kill me first if I ever attempted suicide. That it will be selfish of me to choose my life over hurting them if I died by my hands. Oh, how selfish I will be if I died anyway besides what is considered natural. Well news flash, suicide is as natural as it gets. Until they can see beyond their hurt over me taking matters into my own hands, they will never see what truly lies beyond my eyes. They will never see beyond the lies of the fabricated stories meant to explain the scars on my hands. It’s not until they are ready to hear more than just the general, will they be aware of just how truly miserable I feel just having to live through everyday without the knowledge of why I’m even breathing.

So if you think for a moment that I’m normal, then I think you’re the worst kind of ignorant. It’s like if you treated a cripple like you would treat an able walking man…you’d be of great insult. Don’t look at my scars and then express indifference. I had that happen to me once before and it’s taken me over five months to express just how of a dick move that was. To completely disregard of my pain, is to disregard me as well. Don’t deceive yourself into believing that you’re doing what’s best by ignoring the elephant in the room. If you’re not going to kiss those scars like you would kiss every other part of me, don’t bother touching me at all.

I wish that sometimes, I didn’t have to act like am normal as well. It’s a deception from me too. Why can’t I just scream my lungs out in the middle of the streets just because I feel like it will be the next best relief? Why do I have to hold the pain till I’m behind closed doors to make deep enough insitions on my skin just to bleed the pain away? Why can’t I just break completely apart and not question myself over it or care about what it’s consequences will mean for me? I wish I didn’t have to fight so hard to keep the crazy tucked in when all I yearn for sometimes is to disentangle myself to little bits and pieces. All I ever feel like is a sitting duck or so in this case, a sitting crazy. I can’t tick off cause I should care enough about the consequences of what it will mean to the world but what about me, what about what I’m having to hold inside to prevent it from breaking out. A jar can only hold so much of anything without spilling out. I can’t even be crazy enough to finally get the attention I need that will get me help. All I wanna do is be crazy enough to get help and maybe if I’m lucky, stand the chance to gain a little bit of normal, even if it means gaining a bit of boring.

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.

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.

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

I’m going to try be brief cause whenever I have something I wanna write about, I slightly loose focus and the beginning of the blog throws me off a little every time. So we are in a new year, yeeei!!! That’s me being as enthusiastic as I can possibly get. But despite my bummed out funk, I do have a few things that I’ve chosen to pursue over the course of the year. I’ve probably mentioned before how clueless it gets for me to understand the concept of self love. I can’t exactly say I understand it but I’m choosing to quit looking at it like some sort of math equation with a more fucked up solution. So I choose to decide that whatever it is I’ll pursue to do that will bring me any remotely good, nice fuzzy feeling, will be my form of self love.

For starters, I just had this wonderful idea to go on a date with myself every once a month. Dress however my mood fits & just go have something that will appease both my mind and belly. I will set for a day every month to accommodate myself and whatever needs I feel I have over that specific period of time. This will allow me not to have multiple anxieties over what to wear, how much money I’ll need to spend, whether my date will be on time and whether I can get to wherever the date will be, all just because I’ll have the ball in my court. It will be just me & I’ll be fine with that. It won’t matter what time or place I chose to have this date but what will matter is that I’ll find worth in being able to simply let go and feel content by myself.

As brief as I’m trying to be, one other thing I want to pledge myself to put on hold is getting a tattoo this year. I believe I have had my fair share of tattoos over the past three years and taking a break from getting any more will allow me to quit dwelling on the heavy emotions that are on most times my muse on the said tattoos . This does not at all mean I regret any of the tattoos I have gotten, I treasure them immensely because they are a part of my story & history. All I’m choosing, is to put on hold getting any more tattoos over the year and just rather cherishing those I already have on me.

I really don’t have much I want to expect from the new year, I’d rather not put pressure on myself & on the year as well. I know it sounds like a cowardly move but I really just want a quiet year without too much sorrow, too much pain, too much heart ache and with just enough happiness to keep me going. Until I feel ready to tackle the world and throw at it every dream and wish I have, I’m choosing to let the world guide me and take it a day at time. Happy New Year 2020.

P. S Just a quick reminder, this year we don’t take trash sex, no trash foreplay and definitely no manhandling of tits.✊🏾

I need to quit trying to find more complicated reasons as to why I’m special. I just fucking am!!!!!!! . I’ll proclaim that here & now when my pheromones aren’t raging depressed so yeah,…Forgive my opening rant and how hard I came off but I’m not honestly sorry since I kinda need to get it out there a lot more often so I don’t have those constant mind relapses that have me thinking I’m anything less than an amazing human being.Woot Woot!! I like the head space I’m at writing this; probably won’t be feeling much of the same in a few minutes but what the heck right? It’s here now, the least I can do is revel in it.

There are days where I’ve thought that I’d need to have a change of scenery for me to feel special and it fails miserably right after I walk out of the door of my destination. It’s such a constant competition with myself to see when I can most please myself & when I can be my greatest Debbie Downer. Even as a child, I always thought that I’d probably get a lot more recognition & affection from others if our life long dream to go to the States came true. Just to answer the possible question in your minds ,that ship sorta sank ages ago. For the longest time I knew I’d stop being invincible the day I boarded that plane to America and I’d never feel anything short of adored. The bummer in this case is two things, first, I never got to go to the states at all, practically grew out of the fantasy that it’d happen & the second is I’m still a thirsty bitch for affection years later. Not sure where the inadequacy for things came up in my life, probably from the one major tragedy of my life *smiling like a creep.

I shouldn’t revel in how fucked up I am but I do.. Gotta problem with it , I don’t give two shits about it.. It’s my specialty. It’s what I’m good at. I hope that one day I’m able to put it to damn good use and probably then, I’ll have a lot of fake love being thrown off in my direction. At least I hope that writing about how effed up things get in my life will have me earning something substantial after I publish a best seller…

Why on earth is getting a baby such a damn expensive deal..!!Don’t judge me for wanting to bring a child into this life but as random as this last paragraph will be, I wanna get a child so bad *cue the fake water works and temper tantrum… Besides my fear that I may not be the best example of a responsible self loving mother ,you know with the cutting and all, God I’m a sorry excuse of a person, I shouldn’t want a child as terribly as I do. Sadly though, I don’t consider myself stupid enough to get knocked up now, I’d have my mum rolling over in her grave, that’s if she’s not already done so with how reckless my life’s gotten…anyway, I plan to feel more special next year. I may not know where to start on it but I’m going to sure as hell try to feel like a substantial human being.

So yesterday I did something very bold. I term it as bold because of how unconventional it was & risky since it would have turned out very invasive to some. I’m actively on Instagram & I was going through my followers instagram stories & I came across a picture of a girl’s arm that had marks on it. She actually wasn’t taking the picture of her arm, it just so happened her arm made a cameo and I just happened to see it. I wouldn’t say I was being observant, it was like a glance that led me to contemplating whether confirming my suspicions of what the marks were was a smart thing to do… Let’s just, my conscience didn’t fail me. That was last night and I was sure to include in my dm to her that she was at all under no obligation to answer back to me. I know I would be a bit skeptical opening up about anything remotely mental related to a stranger. Today morning when I woke up, it had completely eluded my mind that I’d sent her a message, that’s until I saw my message icon ping that I had an unread message. She was honest enough to acknowledge that what I’d seen was indeed self harm marks. Getting to the point of this story, (not really sure there’s one) , it was uncomfortable seeing them on someone else other than myself, but I twistedly felt connected to her by her self inflicted marks on her hand. I felt the bond of having another understand that one is capable of being a mess enough to hurt themselves. It was relieving but sad. I quit feeling sorry for myself after the first time I cut , I no longer chose to see it as a fault but as a survival coping mechanism. It’s just different because I relish in the feel of a cold blade to get some damn needed peace of mind.

Not too long ago I had a friend of mine frown upon the fact that I recently got a new tattoo. He’s exact question was ‘You enjoying hurting yourself with this tattoos?‘ He didn’t realize how close to home he hit by asking me that… In my own twisted way, I love the feeling of the needle skim through my skin, it’s just that this time, I’m left with a beautiful artistic reminder of things that mean more to me than others. They are the murals to those I love and to the times in my life I can never seem to erase from my mind. They are my stories, I just receive the both ends of the stick when I get them, the pain that comes with getting them, and the artistic beauty created.

It amazes me how I can never seem to let go of my mental struggles even when I’m not in the gutter . I can’t cut loose the strong hold at which I hold them close to me & how much relevance I constantly give them. I’ve written before that I felt special being ill, I felt like I belonged being depressed & fucked up generally. It gave me a sense of purpose. I was constantly sad & I got to write the best of my blogs while in that funk. Call it fear of the unknown, which in this case is anything that’s remotely good and happy… that damn H word I never seem to like very much. I just can’t grasp myself not unhappy & miserable. No need to pity me, I don’t pity me either. The most surprising thing is, despite not wanting good change, I feel inadequate for depression. I feel like I sometimes lack the magnitude needed to be special enough to be depressed. Like I can’t just catch a break with the inadequacies in my life ; I’m just not cut out for happiness or depression . Really beats the point of why I got my damn enough tattoo in the first place. I need to find a bearing of where I belong, in the darkness or the overly bright light .

Tonight I wasn’t really writing as a means to vent, I guess I just needed to release myself a little. I had a relatively good day, went out to a lovely ice cream parlor in town that touched my old soul. It’s entire vibe and setting was the eighties and it’s ice cream was as legit as legit can be. I honestly didn’t wanna leave because for those few minutes I was there ,the world around me seemed right and peaceful… content even. I wanted to stick there and live on ice cream for as long as my mind chooses it’s ready to go back to our sad reality… Sno – Cream parlor was my heaven in hell…

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.. ?