Save My Soul.

Trigger Warning.

‘’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. 

I smoke among the dead at night…

I smoke among the dead at night. Most people would be shaken at the thought of that mere occurrence but I’m not. When I think of it now, I wonder why that little aspect of things has never really phased me considering I have been out there at the wee hours of the morning. My mind has fears of its own, dead people just isn’t one of them.

Maybe it is the silence that calms me. It sure isn’t the cigarettes I’m taking twice a night and four times a day. Or maybe it could be the darkness of the dead of night that gives me a sense of resemblance. It shows me that the darkness inside couldn’t possibly be that scary, at least not scary enough to stop me from staring at it alone, with the company of the seven gravesites in the backyard of my balcony. How about, it could also be that those dead folks who are buried there can feel my silent screams from the inside every night as I exhale the smoke out of my lungs. I try not to cough, we have a no sound policy out there when it’s just our souls that seem to come alive.

I hope they know of the nights that I wish I was in there with them, buried under the soil to where it is said to be peaceful. The adage, ‘’rest in peace’’ had to have had a mild relevance to the fact that besides your soul, your body and mind too can rest on the ground six feet under where not a beep of the darkness of depression can touch you. I smoke in the midst of the dead. I feel nothing and everything the darkness has to offer. I welcome it with open arms just as I do with every inhale and exhale of the cigarettes that lay print of their smoke in the middle of my fingers.

Free thoughts on Mental Health.

If I am being genuinely honest, I don’t know where my train of thought will lead me while writing this. Today being the tenth of October signifies something quite salient to me. In obvious nature, I should have too many words on it, instead, I don’t feel like I have quite enough words; or even the right words to begin with. Today is World Mental Health Day. Mental health is the subject I am not quite sure I have enough words to scribble about.

Every day, I happen to come across one thing or another that is in direct relation to matters on mental health. That’s how important it is. I can’t deny that it is being spoken of more often than it was in the past, but I believe there is still quite a lot on it that isn’t said enough. I am well aware, that the progress of it can’t all happen at one go. I am well aware that my words and two cents about it here won’t create some sort of epiphany on mental health that’s not already been put out there. It is for those exact reasons that I had considered not mentioning anything at all in regard to today’s importance. But I also know that not regarding it or ignoring it doesn’t make much progress either. Better the little progress, than no progress at all. Time and time again, I have come across different stories on people’s different experiences with their mental health and for sure, I have read some of them and just as much, brushed others off. It is basically what will genuinely happen to all the stories I myself have put out, in the same spirit. Despite all of us being aware that our stories won’t move mountains or souls, we still go ahead and tell them. Maybe it could be because most of us are a sad lot of human beings or, most of us truthfully hope to connect with others whose stories are similar but haven’t quite gotten out yet. Our reasons may vary entirely, but the sole importance of it all at least for me would be the fact that issues on mental health are viewed to be less alien-like to one less person.

As I was skimming through ideas on what I would write about, a question popped up in my head on whether I ever would have been remotely interested in matters of mental health had I never experienced any form of mental turmoil in my life. I can’t truly say I came up with a substantial answer to my question if I am being truthfully honest. It posed the challenge of me having to try envisioning myself in a life that I can’t say I have ever lived. Consciously or not, my mental health has always been at the forefront of my thoughts, my actions, my mannerisms and my outward being. I was too aware of it as a child and I am more aware of it today, as some version of an adult. I recall being too much in my own mind. I can’t speak much for other kids, but I do recall having too many conversations in my own head than I did out of it. My opinions were safer projected out in my mind than they ever could have been being said out loud. I think a lot of that still is very much how I live today, stuck in my thoughts. I knew it wasn’t entirely how most kids were because most kids were quite uninhibited to their opinions. I must have felt like such a weirdo being all silent and enclosed in my head whereas every other child couldn’t wait for their turn to speak up. I guess as I grew up, it wasn’t too hard to pick out who was different between me and those kids around me. Reserved is what I eventually got to regard myself as. Different but reserved.

I am sure that enough of you who may read this, have had the term triggers be thrown around a lot on subjects of mental health. Besides the term’s general meaning, I didn’t see what the big fuss over the word trigger was. My naivety was at its peak. Triggers in mental health are very important. They serve as a guide in regard to identifying what exactly ‘’ticks one off’’. I understood the real impact of a trigger not too long ago. Thought I was strong enough to brush it off, but my mind knew otherwise. It’s easy to think that one is invincible to a degree, but that’s the thing about dealing with issues on mental health, as long as it is a part of your being, anyone is liable for having a mental health trigger. Don’t rule yourself out.

To end this weird post here, I just want to leave it at this. Your mental health matters, regardless of whether every day for you feels like rainbows and unicorns. It mattered from the start, even when you might never have been conscious of it. I hope that through these few jumbled words, it starts to matter. As cliche as this has been made to sound on countless occasions, nurture your mind as you would nurture your body, soul and spirit. Try not to wait on those triggers because as much as they are put out there, they are not always as easily detectable. If you could find a means on avoiding the darker sides of mental health, do so. It will save a lot of you, might even save your life. If you have already been down the road of difficulty in mental health, I just need you to know that you are absolutely amazing, whether you are still struggling or are out of the struggle. Don’t falter at trying to be happy, it is all that’s worth your life. Hope you have a good World Mental Health Day.

Naked Truths.

Do you ever have truths about yourself that aren’t exactly known to others but are quite obvious to you? Well, if you do, I do too… Some are always there, like some permanent life fixture that doesn’t change. Others, are new every other time. Without further embarking on the specifics of what type of truths I’m talking about, allow me to share a few of which have been skimming through my thoughts for the past while.

Oh, and by the way, now I will refer to them as Naked truths …hopefully, it will make sense along the way why I refer to them as so.

Naked truth no.1

I don’t think I have friends anymore. Be rest assured that I am not saying this in some search for a sense of pity or sympathy. It is partially my doing that I am not acquainted with others besides my immediate family. I must confess that I am not the most tolerant of people especially if there is not much to tolerate about them. Pardon me for sounding like a bitch; it is not entirely to mean that I am surrounded by intolerable people, I just don’t do well in the area of creating and maintaining relations with others. This is especially when I most often don’t feel like people genuinely do want to maintain long-lasting friendships with me that carry some form of bond. I have had friends here and there, a few acquaintances, but none who have stuck around long enough. It has always been seasonal relations that are a matter of circumstance which is fine, not everything is technically meant to last. All I am truthfully saying is that I have a lot of temporary friendships and they always never feel solid, if I may use this term lightly. So yeah, that is one of the recent naked truths that recently dawned on me. I wouldn’t say that I am exactly disturbed by that truth. On most days, I am comfortable with the little cluster of people I get to interact with every once in a while. I also, as I admitted earlier, feel like a partial reason for this fact is because I don’t make much effort in being a friend to others. I admittedly tend to be caught up in my own mind and nonfunctional life that I easily get exhausted having to mingle with others outside the walls of my life and mind.

Disclaimer:  If anyone who happens to read this first paragraph gets offended by it over the meagre chance that they actually do consider themselves my friend, I am immensely sorry and maybe we can catch up sometime when either of us is somewhat ready to communicate. Cheers mate.

Naked truth no.2

I am a wimp at trying out this thing called living. Like my history may show, I am more of a survivor/ exister more than I am a live’r. Death is often painted in my thoughts as some form of escape from having to go through the day to day agonies of life. Before this turns out sounding a lot like some version of suicidal ideation [probably slightly is], let me elaborate.

Do I want to die sometimes? Yes. Do I always want to die? No. Is the idea of death as an escape romanticized in my head a little too often cause I am a wimp at life? Absolutely.

When it’s hard to conceptualize that life isn’t meant to be easy on most days, I struggle with myself over why I have to live through it. I find difficulty within myself over the fact that instead of simply ceasing to exist, what is expected of me is that I am supposed to trudge through the hardship, tumbledown, pick myself up and move through it with showing just enough weakness, but not too much. In those moments when life has dealt me a hard one, it is usually a strain for my mind to not want to jump ship. It is like my mind, loses all ability to conjure a better way out which is very cowardly of me now as I listen to myself say it out loud. I never said my mind was strong. With my history of things, it is quite obvious that mental strength isn’t exactly a stronghold of mine. I allude to this to why I think I might not be the one to live till fifty, perseverance sure doesn’t sound like a stronghold of mine but who’s to say how strong I will be in the future. With the uncertainty of things, I may as well surprise myself. I may probably survive all this while still believing that I was never quite cut out for it. So for now, I choose not to be too worried about it, at least in the hope that I’ll keep on surviving long enough to live somewhere in my life.

Naked truth no.3

I have mentioned before in previous writings that I have occasionally been a smoker. Quite recently actually, I would admit that I went beyond the limits and became a light smoker. When I started smoking, it turned into quite an enigma for me. It was something I picked late last year and might I say, I arguably don’t really regret it. It didn’t necessarily serve the intended purpose that I had initially thought it would, but it worked for me somehow. I will never forget the first night that I had my first real cigarette. For starters, I considered having my first cigarette mainly because I thought I would look cool, being a female and smoking. You would understand what I mean if I could paint a better picture for you outside of my mind. It was a cheesy reason, I know…no need to roll your eyes too hard. I had thought of it for a while but never did I quite get around to trying it. Finally, when I did get around to doing it, I was alone in my sister’s apartment and I felt like there was never a better time than the present. I might have convinced myself that I needed to unwind and calm down a little, from what exactly, I don’t remember. It was quite the experience and truth be told, I did feel quite calm afterwards. I could have imagined it, or it may actually have worked. I remember smoking that first night in the house on the couch while directly facing the mirror in the living room. I was so enthralled by seeing myself pull out smoke from the cigarette and then slowly hold it in for a second or two before releasing it to the air. Over the next few weeks, I smoked at least two cigarettes a night. It was in those moments when I felt invincible to a degree. Like nothing much could hurt me, as long as I could smoke it away into the night. It was a mild sense of power that I had never quite felt. I liked it. On the downside, I began to smell like cigarette smoke and my lips were turning a shade too dark for my liking. Then over time, I stopped it for a while, picked up the habit again later and now I stopped again. Now, like four days ago, I bought myself one cigarette thinking that maybe my intolerance for it had sort of reduced …I was incredibly wrong, the moment I lit up and took a go at it, I was beyond nauseated, I could hardly stand it. I am still working out what theories could explain to me now over why I can’t in the least stand the smell of a lit cigarette. Maybe, I just don’t consider it so cool anymore.

For now, those are just but a few naked truths of myself. I can assure you, I’ll be revealing more in time. Maybe it could become a segment of mine. We will just have to wait and see, now won’t we.

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.

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.

Coming to terms with the bitter sweet…

Not too long ago, on this very platform, I did something very unlike myself. I let out emotion and vulnerability in what I believed was love. Now, a lot of things just took a turn and I’m not here to take back what I said but I am here to unarmour myself again and to somewhat cry for lost love, unrequited love and a tinge of heartbreak.

It seems as though I may have bitten a bit more than I could chew earlier when I got into the current relationship if I may at all call it that anymore. When I first spoke of it, I was certain that it would be different, it would have me wishing for nothing more. I wrote of how I was trying to navigate the whole idea that love didn’t equate to time as I had perceived it for quite a while. Now when I think about it, I just might have to stick to the ideology that it does, at least for the sake of myself and to possibly avoid anymore misleading emotion. Can’t really say that the current downfall of my relationship right now is sourly the fault of my perception that maybe love could happen in a matter of a couple conversations and what felt like one’s show of their heart. It wasn’t an absolute misjudgement of my part, sad to say, life happened too. It was SHIT, it still is. I never thought that apart from situations in the like of long distance relationships or toxic partners, I’d ever feel out of emotion for a person due to issues not exactly their fault. I’m embarrassed to say that I can’t quite reveal my reasons for just yearning to end this so called relationship because it genuinely would paint a poor picture of myself. I’ve gone back and forth with myself on whether my reasoning is anyway valid to ending this and I believe in the midst of it all, I stopped feeling so strongly for him and now all that’s left is some form of dull care. The kind of care that in time fizzles out.

You might be wondering why I’ve not ended it yet. I question myself over it too. I realized that I had banked so much hope for this working out, now it just feels like a failure I don’t know how to let go of. A dead heart that I’m still trying to resuscitate. It leaves a bad taste in my tongue just having to admit that even despite thinking it was God sent, it still didn’t work out. Maybe that’s where I went wrong, I misplaced God’s unanswered prayers for one that was entirely my doing. So here I am, trying to work out how to let go of an already sank ship. In the time I’ve had to ponder over how to let go, I came to terms with the fact that I’ve grown scared. I’d secretly held out hope that it was finally no longer going to be lonely for me anymore, that I’d not have to go through life as a lone sailor. I was undoubtedly overjoyed when we started, I knew he’d slay through the thicket and climb over my walls, past the monsters both in and out of my head and through the tight locked door where I stood, ready to quit being alone. It sounds selfish, that the only thing keeping us from absolute disintegration is my fear of being alone. He undoubtedly deserves better than that. I believe in leaving things on a clean slate, I’ve never been one to carry a grudge, at least when it comes to boyfriends turn exs. My poor soul can’t stand to have someone mad at me, it’s a terrible perk. I’m aware that I’m gonna have to sever the ties, regardless of my fears. It’s all I can do to hope I will find contentment within myself and being by myself.

So yeah, with finality in my heart and my mind made up, I know I need to end this. Our so called love was virtual, it spoke and felt volumes of what we wished we would have been. Promises were made, deep words were thrown around in hope that we’d be together in an unbreakable bond. It’s also been terrifying to think of going back on my promises, promises that shouldn’t have been made at all now that I’m no longer under the haze of clouded infatuation. Truthfully a lesson to be learned not to throw around words like ‘need you‘ and ‘can’t survive without…’ around all willy nilly because as of weeks ago, neither of us could keep to our promises of need or survival for each other. The distance between us hasn’t entirely severed my affection for us, for the the short time we got to share whatever we did. I likely still hope, even against my better judgement that maybe just maybe if I’d have the soul to wait, we’d still work something out. But I need to make this final first before I can jump into anything else. It’s all I can do, to hope that it makes sense to him why I am doing this. I can’t speak for where his mind or heart lies in all this but I can hope that it at least makes a tiny bit of sense as to why this is our possible best shot. I will miss what we could have had. I’ll hurt, that’s for sure.

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.

Choosing to Care just a little bit More..

To be truthfully honest, I am summing up courage and will to put my current thoughts out here. I’ve kept repeating to myself that maybe it’s a bit too early to be expressing what I’m about to write out to the world but what the hell, it’s sorta now or never. It’s in the same concept of how I view loving someone and when is it more than just love…when is it the right time to admit not just to self but to others that you are feeling in love. Stereotypically, I’ve come to the acknowledgement that I affiliate love to a period of time. It always has seemed absurd that people could bring themselves to believe that in just a couple of months of knowing someone and exchanging vulnerabilities, one could peg themselves into thinking that they were in love with the person to whom they were getting to know. It was more absurd to me if I mentioned to a friend that I was talking to someone new and their first question would be whether I love the guy… It just doesn’t seem possible to feel such intensity in such a short manner of time. Though, maybe I am wrong because I’m beginning to see that what might have been and felt impossible and beyond absurd to me, is slowly & steadily changing right before my eyes.

Earlier in the year, in what I’d call my Faith moments, I prayed to God for a boyfriend. I told Him that I wanted someone who’d make me their world and not just a part of it but more so all of it. I was quite serious with my prayer and I was devoted to believing that God would come through. Over time, I fell back into routine where praying just kind of drifted away from my mind (p.s God forgive me) and I completely forgot that I’d been praying for a boyfriend with specifics in check. Now, over near three months later, here I am deliriously happy in a relationship that isn’t even a full two months old. It seems I’ve been breaking a lot of my own ideologies concerning love & falling in love. I’ve always separated the two aspects of love. Even the term caring hasn’t been one I’ve used lightly before, it’s actually what I’ve considered a lot of my past relationships as, them based on care rather than love. Caring to me is showing affection for one’s well-being and maybe due to that limiting factor, I didn’t suffer the intense aggony people seem to feel when they part with their partners. In my previous relationships, I struggled quite a lot to let my walls down and my guard as well. I had boundaries my partners didn’t even know existed. I was well aware I cared for them, for the physical and mental well being but I couldn’t bring myself to involve emotion into that sequence. I cared, but not too much. I let my guard down, but just enough for them to feel my presence. I didn’t love them and I wasn’t in love with them either. Back to the present, something has changed. Things have supposedly become everything emotional. Maybe it’s because, my current significant other showed me his flaws before he could introduce me to the rest of himself. Or maybe it’s because he expressed love for my flaws before he could see the less damaged sides of me. I can’t be certain what among the mirage of things between us has made our relationship special but I can say with certainty that emotions are now the biggest part of our relationship.

On the day we asked each other if we could be each others significant other, I remembered the prayers I had talked to God about giving me a boyfriend. Before then, I was ridden with doubt that this would turn out to be just too good to be true but in that moment when I remembered that I’d prayed for this, every sense of doubt dropped from my shoulders like I weight I had been carrying. I told myself that I’d take that as my sign that God had heard my prayers and He’d given me what I had asked for. A boyfriend who’d show me that my vulnerability to emotion could be something beautiful. That I didn’t need to time myself to how fast I’d care more than I was accustomed to. Now, I kinda do believe that love knows no time frame because it’s early in my relationship but I know for sure that I love him and he has relayed to feeling the same towards me. I’m no longer gonna just put one foot in and the rest of my body out. I definitely do deserve to be loved by someone with the emotional depth of more than a pin cushion and I definitely deserve to express more than just care to someone deserving of more love than my mere words can express.

P.S I’m not too sure if I’ve made sense with this post but hope it’s clear enough to have brought across the point of it all. Love, 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. 😅