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.

Some version of me + My Anxiety

Disclaimer; This is a very anxiety-ridden post so I hope you can bear with me.

What my anxiety told me today…

  1. My blog update (this very same one that I am writing now) will not make any absolute sense to anyone who will come across it, which begs the question of why am I even trying to write it to begin with. It will probably be a jumbled mess of my thoughts. No one should be subjected to reading my not so coherent thoughts.
  • Everything I will probably write here on this precise post will make zero sense to anyone. It probably is and will be an exaggeration of my said anxiety and it does not need to be highlighted at all.
  • I am incapable of writing anything substantially true and intelligent about what it feels like to live life with anxiety. I am never too conscious of it anyway, it probably is just another fabrication of my mind. Get over yourself Mercy, you can’t get any less pathetic than this.
  • I am an imposter at my own experience in anxiety which technically means that I probably don’t have anxiety at all. Nothing about my life can legitimize that I do actually have anxiety so why don’t I merely stop trying to convince the world that I do have it just so I can cover up being a weak human being.
  • Nobody likes my blog. Everyone probably thinks of it as quite mediocre and cliché. So what, that you experience a degree of sadness more often than not and that you are an attention seeking bitch which is probably why you cut yourself and have zero concept of selflove. That doesn’t make you anymore depressed than the rest of the world. The world truly doesn’t care much about what you write. They definitely won’t care about the pity party you are having with yourself right now by writing this.
  • I have no place in this world for me and my anxiety. (p.s I genuinely do believe this.)

My anxiety reared its ugly head out today. Maybe it was due to the fact that it was a lot more at the forefront of my thoughts today than it is on other days. Late last night before bed, my sister and I were having an honest conversation about why it is life feels very hopeless currently, especially for me to be precise. It is through that conversation that I was able to reveal to both myself and her just how immensely anxious I am over what is supposed to be the next phase of my life. The revelation of just how much anxiety I have for this next phase of life was both liberating to know as well as scary as hell. Later after having that conversation, I went to bed with quite a lot on my mind. Now that I knew why it was taking me so long to make any resemblance of progress in life, it left me questioning how exactly am I supposed to get past the crippling anxiety that I have.

Coming into today, I knew that I wanted to write concerning every little thought that was skimming through my mind about what it is like to have anxiety always as a voice second to that of your conscious thoughts. I didn’t know how I was going to be elaborate enough to give a sense of clear understanding and depiction of what it is like to go through the motions with anxiety wrapped around you like a second skin. Just thinking about how I wanted to project my anxiety in words, gave me major anxiety. The anxiety I got earlier just thinking about what I was going to write about was what prompted me to start this blog the way I did. I would begin by depicting exactly what it is like to have anxiety have you second guess every little bit of everything that you do. I was and still very much are conscious of my anxiety now even as I write this. My anxiety has me immensely worried that I’ll come out looking like a fraud or an imposter who’s just full of excuses over why she hasn’t made any kind of progress in her life since finishing school. I tried writing down prompts as a result of my anxiety so I wouldn’t keep repeating myself but now as I am trying to write this using them, I am afraid that they don’t seem to be making much sense to me now. That statement alone is a very big depiction of just how prominent anxiety is for me.

I have alluded in previous blogs just how weird of a child I was. As I have grown over the years, a lot of those weird quacks that I didn’t quite understand why I had them now make a lot of sense because they were merely just anxieties I had. Today, most of them would fall under what most would perceive as just personality traits and I too think that to an extent, they have morphed deeper into my personality than I care to admit. I not too long ago wrote about how bad of a perfectionist I am and maybe I didn’t dig deeper on why is the case but I understand now that it actually has a lot to do with my anxiety. For me, having everything happen in a precise and specific way allows me to gain control of the outcome. At the back of my mind, anxiety is the voice that requires me to feed on that sense of control. I have tried to never find out what the consequences will be if things don’t happen in perfect order but I am probably guessing that the world doesn’t collapse and neither does my life. Anxiety makes you too scared to find out that nothing probably does happen.

In the case of my not so foreseeable future, anxiety has taken away every sense of hope I have that adulting is not some big bad wolf that intends to gobble me up and spit me out like cud. It was a long time coming but for the past couple of months, I have been evading the subject of what’s next for me now that school is done. I have told myself and those around me of just how unprepared I am for working or looking for a job at that. Most people’s responses to my uncertainty of choice are that I would eventually have to start somewhere, regardless of whatever. As long as the rest of the world has gone down the same road into adulting, I don’t have much of a choice in it either. Revisiting this conversation with my sister was able to give me insight and perspective of just how much my anxiety has the reign over this. I probably did not take time to really go into the depths of why I was so resistant to the idea of working and of not feeling qualified enough to work in my field of expertise. Feeling anxious can do that to someone; Blind you from the fact that it is no ordinary fear but in hindsight, it is genuinely crippling anxiety that you’re feeling.

Now that I am aware of just how much anxiety has a hold on me right now, I do not know how to work my way around it. I still very much are terrified of looking for work and starting that work. I feel quite amateurish in the career I chose and I don’t think there is much I can do about that feeling, not when it will probably take me years of more studying in school for me to trust in my expertise. On previous occasions, I have had a little control over my anxiety through smoking and truthfully speaking, I can’t seem to even stand the scent of an unlit cigarette, let alone smoke it. I thought before that if I replaced self-harm with smoking, it would give me a better hold on my anxiety levels but I am aware that it merely turns into a rabbit hole that is never quite easy to get out of. I have been clean for a couple of months now, I think it’s safe to say I am trying to keep it that way.

It is of great importance that I try and get a hold of this crippling anxiety that I have over starting work and getting a job. Right now, all it has achieved is make me absolutely horrified about life and what to expect of it. My ambitions in life have become less because I am convinced that I don’t want to live long enough to keep trifling with anxiety at every step of my life. Anxiety demystifies death for me every other day. I can’t even express this to anyone because it comes off as such a cowardly notion to not want to live over the tiniest bit of change. Anyone would think that dying is too big of a reason or in their minds, too melodramatic of an excuse to do just because I am not ready to take up life by its horns… and I wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking that. Anxiety is a ball of melodramatic fear over consequences that are very much unlikely to happen. I can’t tell you what exactly petrifies me so much about the whole idea of getting a job as a counsellor and having a supervisor but I can assure you, I am convinced in my mind that I am not ready for it and if on the chance that I do start off unprepared, I will be the world’s unhappiest human being which eventually might give me reason enough to jump ship from this thing we call life.

Two sides of the same field…Entry 2 of a Girl and her books.

Over the month of August, among the other many books I got to read, I came across a book that I consider myself quite lucky to have found. I believe the book is a memoir, I am certain that it is a memoir, written by an author named Lori Gottlieb. The title of the book is Maybe You Should Talk to Someone. When I first came across it, I wasn’t entirely sure it was a book I would fully be invested in. I knew it entailed matters concerning therapy and I was a bit iffy on whether it would be artistically motivating to read. I can say with certainty now that this book is a lot more than I anticipated. I read it gradually, but loved every bit of it, including how expressive the author wrote. I am genuinely glad I got to read it to completion.

Without giving out too much of it, the plot of the book is something that quite captivated me. I learned a lot and it gave me quite the insight. I say this from the perspective of someone who has mildly studied psychology, ( I say mildly because all I have had the chance to study it, is through a diploma and if I am being honest, I still consider myself quite the amateur in regards to it). Before I can delve into my own relation to psychology, I just want to elaborate on how insightful it was reading Maybe You Should Talk to Someone. Insightful in that, it was able to bring light into the subject of therapy from both a therapist’s opinion and that of a client’s opinion. It sort of normalized seeking professional therapeutic assistance, to those who already had sort it out and equally to those who hadn’t. I found that quite wonderful about the book. Besides just normalizing therapy itself, it too humanized therapists as more than just their professions. The author who is a psychotherapist takes us down the journey of being a therapist as well as seeking one out for herself. I found that quite great because, speaking from a personal opinion, one can be quick to perceive therapists as invincible. It is easily misjudged that therapists, being what their profession entails, are too strong of human beings to go through similar motions as those of their clients. On the off chance that they do experience similar hardships, the perception is that they are equipped to somewhat counsel themselves out of those said hardships. I should clarify that it does not work like that at all. As a psychology student, it is insisted enough that therapists need their own therapists for themselves. It’s entirely a chained link of therapists seeking out therapy from each other. That aspect of the book was quite important for me. I applauded the book mainly for that, besides all the other wonderful aspects of it that were brought out.

If someone came to me and asked me if I would advise them on seeking out help from a therapist or counsellor, or even a psychiatrist, my outright first answer would be yes. It is entirely important to give time and care to one’s mind as is given to one’s body. It would be instinctual for me to say yes as my first answer, but I owe you the honesty that it will not be technically a walk in the park. This is from a very biased opinion, this is my opinion as a client who’s been to therapy, it is not the opinion of a psychology student. This is also not meant to be a discouragement towards anyone out to seek therapeutic help, not at all. Therapy is great, wonderful even, but it will require a lot of you. Some parts of you will be required, parts that you may not be quite yet aware of.

My first experience of professional therapy was with my school counsellor in college. If I am being truthfully honest, it was long overdue. I want to be very clear that when I refer to professional therapy or counselling, I mean it as therapy from a professionally trained counsellor or psychologist. One who has studied in that field and is not a self-appointed counsellor. Anyone can give advice, not everyone can offer therapy. Just needed to be clear on that. I am strictly talking about a professional psychologist.

It was quite a big step for me to reach out to the school counsellor. I wasn’t the most approachable person, and neither was I the most approaching. At school, I knew well to never be too personal with anyone. Actually, if my memory serves me right, I was incited by my sister to seek out the counsellor because my sister thought of me then as a ticking time bomb. I was convinced that I wanted a baby, ( major eye roll) and I was only twenty years old. Then, it felt like such an urgency for me, like it was the only thing that I was missing, and it would somehow complete my life. I was quite naïve then because even now, I am not remotely ready for a child. Therapy was able to show that to me. I later learned that I was overcompensating for something entirely different. Anyway, my first take on therapy was good. I found solace and empathy that I had never quite experienced before. It was as it should have been, it was therapeutic for me and I was able to go through therapy for the next three years I had in college. It took a bit of a turn for me because the relationship between me and the school counsellor progressed to a very close friendship which in therapy is regarded as a dual relationship. To be able to maintain the levels of professionalism, it is frowned up to have any other sort of relationship outside the client/counsellor relationship. It is perceived that if the boundaries are severed, the therapist will not be able to give enough credibility in her profession hence why it is important that one seeks out a different therapist when boundaries are crossed.

For me, I wouldn’t say she entirely quit being my counsellor, and I didn’t seek therapy elsewhere. She transformed into a guide to whom I sort out counsel and advice. Now she is practically like my best friend who is also my Yoda. 

Therapy was able to open me up in ways I probably would never have had the chance to before. It even motivated me into being a better student in psychology. Sometime last year, I was able to go back to the professional context of therapy with an entirely new therapist who was just that, my therapist. I only got to see her for about a month before I stopped. The experience of it was quite different than my first which leads me to my next piece of advice, you don’t have to be stuck in a therapy that you don’t feel is working for you. It is absolutely okay to decide on changing your current therapist and seeking out one who best fits you. I understand for those who have been to therapy that it may sometimes feel like a betrayal to your therapist if one considers leaving, but it is best to remember that it is your wellbeing that comes first. There will be no hard feelings from your therapist.

From the standpoint of being a soon to be counsellor, I have only had so little experience as one. I did my first internship as a counsellor at a hospital and I genuinely disliked every moment of it. I was extremely underqualified and my supervisor thought it best to leave me alone on most occasions to tend to actual clients who needed therapy. I often hope that the clients I got to see were able to seek out a second opinion from a more qualified professional. Over time, I have not had the chance to be a counsellor since I finished my diploma. Let’s just say I have been putting it off for nearly a year now. I have convinced myself that I am not ready and I am not certain when I ever will be. On multiple occasions, I have had some serious self-doubt over whether psychology is even the right course for me. Most of the self-doubt best comes from the fact that I am on most occasions, a better client than I am a psychologist. I am two sides of the same coin. Reading this book sort of gave me a perspective of what it is like to be on both sides of the spectrum. The author delves into her own therapy and how difficult it was at first to not feel like her own therapist wasn’t doing enough for her as she thought she would towards her own clients. I am well aware of how that feels because it was in that exact position that I quit seeing my last therapist. Every day, I go through it in my head whether psychology was the best choice for a career. I knew I wanted to be a psychologist when I was in high school. I knew that I needed to be able to give some form of help to those who were like me then, to kids who had never quite felt like they were ‘’normal’’. I believe that I still want to do that, even despite the self-doubt. I still very much want to help people who struggle with their mental health. All I can do is hope that soon, I will get to offer that help.

To finish this off, I would definitely recommend reading Maybe You Should Talk to Someone. It is a wonderful, insightful, inspiring, beautiful and enlightening read. Lori Gottlieb is a wonderful author from whom I would love to learn more from, especially as a psychotherapist. Be sure to check it out. One can access it on the e-reader called Z library.

Some quotes I picked up from the book that I absolutely loved…

we have to let go of the fantasy of creating a better past.”

” When the present falls apart, so does the future we had associated with it. ”

I mourn a lot, or maybe I should say I’m always mourning. I don’t mean the bitching kind… No.. I mean the kind where I’m a wreck & constantly tearing myself into wretched pieces… I’ve grown to revel in the pain it gives me. The self pity and the constant swirl of heartwretching emotion is the most I ever get to feel. So in some sense, I’m grateful.I wouldn’t call it normal. Not at all. I hate the thought that it would be normal for everyone else. It’s my specialty ; my light, the one thing I’m honestly very protective of. It’s my defining factor. Makes me my own special little girl. I’m stuck in the realms of a fourteen year old & an incredibly fucked up twenty-one year old…and maybe I’m okay with it. Being stuck that is. Or maybe I’m not okay with it & I’m just sick. I really can’t tell anymore.Do you know why I mourn? It keeps those I love with me, even despite the fact that I can no longer be with them. It’s a lot like when one misses a friend or a lover who isn’t there at that particular moment. I just like missing my loved ones with the surrounding pain their absence gives me. I like to completely drown in & feel it cause it’s all I feel I have of them. Maybe a lot of people feel the same but I honestly rather not know if that’s the case. I’m selfish when it comes to letting go. Why the fuck would I wanna let go? I’ve lived torn apart since I can remember, why would I wanna let go of all that I’ve known…‘ love, time, death… Let’s begin now… …’ I’m still very much a fourteen year old little girl who’s definition of pain no longer means struggling for air, no, she had the air knocked right out of her lungs & her heart slowly twisted out from its cage. Let’s not forget, I’m still very much the twenty one year old girl as well, the one who misses having a best friend to talk to. Still the very same girl yearning to have a fairy tale romance to sorta neutralise things in her life. Yeah ,still pretty much all that. But I’ll always be mourning, forever probably. Maybe, I’ll just learn to not show it out so often.P. S I don’t write this for any sense of pity. On the contrary, that’s the least of my intentions.

I love it how after such a while I’m able to get my writing niche back simply out of listening to country music or listening to a new song that touches my very deep rooted heart. I wish I knew where I’m going with this , I’m more of following the flow of my thoughts other than a specific notion. Sometimes I think I just find my relevance in the world when I write & after I’m done, it amazes me that something so articulate and raw can come from my mind . Yes, I just gave myself a pat on the back… revel in it and move on.

So, I’ve not really thought about the fact that the year is about to end until now & it gives me the need to reflect on what has taken place over the year. For starters, if I could give this year one general term to define how it’s been, well, wavy would suffice. I think I’ve felt every possible feeling over the year and it’s been a tidal for me. Can’t say I’ve had the easiest of times but I can say I didn’t die so I guess that counts for something. Honestly, I don’t remember much about earlier in the year which is sad since I do somehow recall that being the remotely less painful part of my year. I recall somehow feeling content with what was happening… well that’s just until the true nature of my mind took over like it always does.

Earlier then I felt a sense of freedom from a bond that meant a lot but had turned toxic. It was an adjustment but a necessary one that wasn’t at all easy. I had a tough time letting go of a toxicity I had become quite accustomed to. A second ago, I was just thinking how I tend to always turn my relationships ‘special ‘to me and I pour out every darn effort in my body so that I can’t ever have to feel less than enough for the person with whom I’m in the relationship with ,whether casual or intimate. I go into every relationship whether a friendship I don’t want to loose or a romantic one which I want to treasure, I go at it with my walls put up high but with open arms to welcome you into my own personal fort. That ‘speciality’ I look to turn my relationships into is the toxicity that I am just now realizing I bring about. That raw, true & deep way I hold people I care about so close to me is what always turns out to be my downfall because I never want to give them a chance to need someone else other than myself. I never want to feel inadequate for them, therefore I seek to be special to them, I seek to always have their attention so I can feel needed & wanted. Now that I can say it, it sounds truly pathetic & sad really…

Maybe if I’d have had my ‘I’m enough’ tattoo placed somewhere I could see it, I’d finally have a head start in believing the damn statement …I guess I’ll just have to always struggle with wondering if I’ll ever be enough for anyone. I’m not having a pity party for myself, it gets exhausting most times. So yeah, that’s probably a fair warning to people to not allow me to feel any sense of attachment to them since I might just have you under my ‘special ‘ people’s list.

Apart from that, I remember sometime earlier I thought I was happy, or at least had the illusion it was happiness. Can’t recall exactly what brought about that illusion but it was nice while it lasted. Right after that, I spiralled down and learned that a razor could do a lot more than just cut paper… Sardonically. Being the damaged person I am in my mind, saying that sounded funny to me. I learned that the depths of my deprived mind go as far as that. I think overtime, I came to terms that thinking like that is just the beginning of a very dark venture. Not to applaud it but it’s me accepting that capabilities of falling further aren’t such a farfetched notion. I wanted to drown but not to die but to see if I could find the calm in the middle of the storm. I wanted to float deep beneath the water cause it seemed less chaotic.

And finally, in the last phase of my year, it has been interesting. I feel like I had a little bit of everything, the good, the bad, & the raw. I got hurt, moved on, started a new venture that is scary but I’m taking it as a leap of faith. Now what I simply want ,is to close the year like a child on a Christmas morning. With those I love & who love me without needing me to be enough or worthy…cause they don’t have much of a choice. I wanna end the year with a happy heart and a sense of peace of mind.

This is getting exhausting. I’m all too familiar with this feeling, it’s soon going to drive me to the blink of death. It’s beginning to physically ache me. From the not so subtle tummy aches, to the sleeping too much. That’s when I know I’m drowning all over again. Just when I was beginning to catch a bearing in my sea of monsters, just right when I was rising above the swarm of hands working extra hard to pull me down. Here I am now ,back to feeling broken. Maybe I was just never put together as I thought. It just needed a little nudge to break me further into tinier pieces .

Allow me to make a confirmation here and now. If I never get to figure out what happiness for me will entail, allow me to walk into death at least peacefully. I rot inside each time this tide chooses to hit me every so often. Eventually ,a girl’s gotta give up and quit trying right?! No longer will the nudges from friends hold me together forever. If I can’t fucking stand on my own, when I’m I ever gonna learn how to walk away from this.

Twenty minutes later….

I wanna say I feel a lot more relieved but it’s just the ache in my chest that’s gone. The demons in my head are having a field day since they succeeded .I gave in to what’s become a part of my sad reality. I gave them my pain & my blood. They seem to only feel a sense of satisfaction when I feel a fraction of physical pain. They are appeased when I trade mental calmness for a few drops of my blood through my hands. I’m weak and I know it. I no longer fight it since its my only solace for now. I wish I could quit having “normalcy streaks ” every so often. It would make it less hard for me when my demons awaken. It would lessen my anxiety a notch enough for me to figure my way around it. The sense of normalcy just becomes a mirage since its so tuned out & blurry when my demons awaken. It’s truly not worth the feeling of a false sense of reality and relief.

I have no apologies anymore to give to anyone for my choices. Only in my cage, would one understand that you gotta do what it takes to survive.Even if it rips you apart .This, this is my survival.

Oh how low the “mighty” have fallen. Just in case your wondering who the mighty in this case is, it’s none other than me. I remember a time I used to write on this same very blog out of a positive niche and now, I’m doing it as preventive measure to stop myself from slipping into my pit of self harm. I’m writing this post sourly because if I don’t, sooner than later I’ll be staring at bloody wrist. I’m the mighty that’s fallen. I’m the mighty who’s weak now. I’m the mighty who can’t seem to stay on their own for less than a day without going mental. Yeah, maybe I was never mighty to begin with..

I’ve scavenged through social trying to find an answer to my twisted mind’s conception. It’s been less than four hours since what I can now term as the glue that was keeping me together left. I want to rip myself open with shame for the thoughts in my head. I’m not worthy celebrating the past twenty seven days free of self harm because they clearly were just an illusion to finally getting better or at least, less mental. How stupid could I get to believe I had it in me to conquer this because clearly, it was just a waiting game. All I’ve been is a sitting duck. Why am I surprised that I would feel this shallow & weak the minute solitude and loneliness creeps back in like the darkness in the night?? I should have known that it was just a matter of time before I sank back in.

It’s like a blanket of shame that’s wrapped around me because recently I’ve had so many loved ones & friends cheer me on for holding it together for those 27 days & now here I am, at the blink of a relapse. I’m not worthy of their cheer. I wish I didn’t know that cutting could turn out to be an addiction because that’s a lot of what it feels like at the moment. I wish I could say I am strong enough to fight this deep sated twisted emotion that’s slowly crippling me. I may fight now, but who’s to say I will fight it tomorrow… Who’s to say ,I won’t give in ?

I can no longer keep leaning on others to silence my mind. I can no longer keep up with the constant battle in my head between being rational & loving to myself over sating this demented feeling that keeps cutting through every little ray of sunshine that tries to seep in. I can no longer look myself in the mirror and think am worthy of people’s efforts to try fix me anymore. This is my battle now, I can either win or loose. In either ways, the playing field is my mind.

First of all, I wish I was a bundle of roses & was about to light up your world but sadly no.. This isn’t gonna be a pleasant surprise where I’m all dandy about life. I’m actually not sure where this is headed because I’ve lost my mojo for a while now & I understand my mind sometimes likes caging me with writers block where the words just don’t seem to come to me. So no promises this is going to be a complete entry but what the heck…

I’ve been doing a lot of wishing lately …just as I’m about to do now. How I wish I had the world’s best words to express how or where exactly my emotions lie right now. Am I still in the blink of insanity, I don’t really know. Am I still depressed or is it like a looming shadow somewhere at the depths of my mind, I don’t know either… Right now what I do know is that there’s a lot about me that I don’t really know much about yet or have any answers to.

I’m not certain of whether to call what I have been doing as soul searching or simply waiting it out.. I’ve racked Pinterest looking for a way to understand what self love is & I can tell you the most I have gotten to it is a new found intrigue in art that leans more into the aesthetic aspects of myself. So simply, that hasn’t been of much help in my new found search for the meaning of self love. Hardest shit ever. I’ve tried to understand what kindness towards myself means and it’s an entirely new concept to me besides that I need to not physically harm myself. Anything else is uncommon ground for me.

The hardest part about all this for me has been the constant battle I have had in my mind between whether this has all been a silly cry for attention or whether I am legitimately mentally unstable. I’ve gone over it in my head more times than I can count about whether my mind has been so deranged enough to convince me that I’m sad & depressed or if it’s something that’s actually chronically wrong with my brain… Now that’s been my real battle, my real struggle. Come to think of it now, in either options, my mind is still a messed up pile of shit.

Positivity …Such a bitter pill to swallow. I wish I could swallow it as a syrup because of how quick people wanna shove it down my throat. I’ve tried to warm myself to it through quotes and songs and whatnot but I’m not just there yet. How can I conjure positivity when I can’t even seems to think straight half the time. My emotions no longer have anything to do with this because I’m not sad or hurt. I’m not spending my day wallowing in bed or bawling my eyes out. I actually get to spend my day like an average normal human being, but my mind just hasn’t caught up to speed with acting normal. I’m still drawn to a darkness that I can’t explain. I’m a human paradox….welcome to my parallel universe.

The BRIDGE I crossed

I’ll try be discreet… It’s all am trying to be right now…not draw any attention to myself .Today I crossed a bridge. A bridge I never in my wildest dreams ever thought I would cross. A bridge I never thought would be in my life story .I always thought I was better than that….Ironic huh! That I would never have to feel the need to cross that bridge, but I did.

I wish I could retrace back so many steps that I took today but I can’t. It’s already done. I crossed a bridge I should never have. Not even in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would be strong enough to do it but crossing it for me just proved how strongly weak I am. I didn’t fight myself from it even when I know I should have. I didn’t try to stop it, I went ahead & did it.

As I took to crossing that bridge, I lost a bit of myself with every step I made. I could feel pieces of myself detach from me and break a little bit more .I wept for each piece of me that died today on that bridge. I wept for each person who I disappointed for crossing that bridge. I most especially wept for I knew what it fully meant me crossing that bridge. Those tears were my grief for the person who kept breaking as she took steady calculated steps across. I don’t recognize that person as myself anymore.

Finally, we crossed the bridge. The me now, took time to look over at all what I had lost over the period of crossing over. I saw the pieces of me that I will never get back. I saw the once hopeful little girl who thought that despite the little dark place in her mind that whispered to her, she could overcome it . She wept for me, she too saw the pieces that died along that fateful bridge.

Now here we are. More hollow than we ever were before. I walked away from that little girl because she no longer could save herself. I am a shell of the person I was today morning. I never quite understood what sort of peace people spoke about after crossing that bridge ;it sounded absurd to me especially since its not a bed of roses. But I felt it. It was crazy how quickly calm and collected I felt. I thought I was numb before, this calmness took numbness to an entirely different level. I didn’t feel, I didn’t hear, I didn’t think. It was QUIET. So quiet in my mind, I haven’t had such an eerie feeling before that that was that calming. I now well understand the peace that came with crossing that bridge. The whispers finally shut up because they got what they wanted. Through that bridge, I made a deal with the devil in my head and there’s nothing I can do to go back from it.