New Post, Who Dis?

I haven’t morphed, just evolved somewhat.

You may or may not have noticed I changed my username. I now go by what you see because I’m carrying less regret than what previously burdened my shoulders.

Life? Life’s being lived vividly I dare say.

My therapist kinda sucks so I’ve taken the liberty of trusting my gut (as always) and counting on the sweet release of chemicals thanks to my medication. Hashtag not sponsored but Prozac, hit me up. Truth be told, I think I have a clearer mind now that I’m shedding off my anxiety.

I’m doing things with a relative ease I didn’t possess. Here’s a list of things happening:

  • I’m going on a trip abroad. For anyone that knows/knew me, my distaste for experiencing other cultures is significant. Hey, it turns out I want to do things so I’m travelling to a country in Europe that shall not be named for internet’s sake
  • I’m doing a seminar and expanding my artistic horizons in a way I had never tried before. It had been a distant dream of mine as a teenager and now it’s kinda happening
  • I’m more open to expressing what I really think without censoring myself and worrying if people will like me. Suprisingly, people like me even though I’m weird in a ‘me’ way
  • I’m less worried in general
  • I’m happy?!

September 10th

Happy World Suicide Prevention day, if that’s something we’re supposed to say! There are many people out there that need to be informed about how suicide affects all of our lives. There’s someone out there that might need your help, that might think they have nobody left to stand up for them or stand by their side.

I went to an event at a suicide crisis center, listened to the statistics and stories of people silently suffering through life because fuck, mental health is still something we whisper to each other. I made a mental note to be more open about it from now on, not just for my sake, but for someone else that might be too scared to start the conversation themselves.

Some of you might know that my best friend is suicidal and how it was quite a shock for me.

Thinking back to those days, six or seven months ago, I was scared but certain that we’d pull through. She’s headstrong and cool in that way… but I worried about what would happen if she tried to kill herself and succeed. I selfishly pictured my life empty and much less weird without her and it was terrible, not just for the people she could have left behind but for herself as well, for the immense potential she’s showing every single day (despite her best efforts at saying she’s a turd).

I can’t speak on her behalf because she’s done all the work. In retrospect, she’d probably say it was worth it.

It’s scary to feel alone but there’s always someone there for you, it could be a stranger on the internet or your cousin or your best friend. You might think they won’t care or won’t understand or that you’re a burden, but you’re not. I promise you’re not.

So, to all of you out there, take some time and breathe, talk to someone you trust and seek help from medical professionals.

With love,

Me.

The Urge To Smoke

I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’ve had two coffees today but I’m itching to smoke to take this edge off. Obviously I wouldn’t actually smoke but fucking hell, sometimes it takes extra willpower to remain looking calm.

Honestly, if there was one thing I could do without consequence, I would pick smoking cigarettes. It’s a fake kind of relaxation but it worked. Or maybe I was willingly killing myself slowly and had embraced that path I had chosen.

Anyway, tomorrow is a new day and I actually have plans to do something instead of sit around at home and pretend to sleep when sleep doesn’t come. I need to be productive because my anxiety gets worse the less I challenge it. I must stimulate my mind and push to get better because believe it or not, there are times when I wish I could be a little more normal and a little less me.

With ultra regret,

Me.

Dreams and Antidepressants

It’s almost three weeks since I started taking Prozac and I’ve been having very vivid dreams the past two nights. The first night, I dreamt that I was falling and I woke up, leaping out of bed.

Last night, I dreamt that I was hanging off a balcony and screaming for help while people were staring at me and not helping at all. Instead of waking up, I actually fell and landed on the ground but it was a very soft landing, as if there was sand beneath my feet.

It’s interesting to say the least. Can’t say I’ve had any negative effects yet except for my mouth feeling like the fucking desert!

A Family Tree That Needs A Gardener

I decided to write about my family, more specifically the mental issues many of my relatives faced or face, mostly in an attempt to make some sense of what is hereditary or not. In order to understand myself, I have to see what my genetic information is made of.

My mother grew up in an unstable household and she craved a family bond that was never there. She’s a great mother to me. Unfortunately, she struggled with eating disorders during her young adult life because she needs to be in control of something, even at this age. She’s somewhat neurotic and strives for perfection. Sometimes her fixation with food and my well-being makes me angry because she comments on my fitness in a way that feels mean-spirited.

My father is the middle child and has always tried to do things his way but at the same time, he cares too much about people’s expectations. I think he feels that he hasn’t accomplished much compared to his older sibling. I know that he feels depressed but he hides it by being bitter at things. His childhood was him being ignored by his parents while they babied their eldest son.

My grandfather probably had what is now called PTSD. I overheard a conversation my father was having. Apparently, sometimes my grandfather would walk outside and was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice people waving at him. He was in the Second World War and had a gun pointed to his head. He was saved when a fellow soldier shot the German. It was a cool story to hear but it never occured to me to think why he told it so often or why he was so quiet after saying it. In many ways, we are alike. He was honest and funny and didn’t apologise for being himself.

My grandmother is somewhat of an enigma because she has no personality, except for many being a bitch and only caring about what others will think of her. She has some form of dementia so everything is nice and dandy for her because she doesn’t know what she’s done. Anyway, that’s another story. I think she was a product of her time, what women should be. Back then, she was destined to be a wife and a mother and that’s it. One time, when I was a child I made her cry by telling her that women didn’t have to be quiet and coy. I used to love her.

There have been many cases of untreated shit that’s gone on for too long, so I’m hoping to make a change. My family is a strange one but the moments that shine the brightest are when we’re laughing all together, telling stories in our typical fucked-up sense of humor.

I just… need to set some things right with myself.

Probably No One Has Been Perscribed Anti-Depressants This Fast!

Yesterday was less stressful than I thought. I guess your body and mind know when it’s time to man up and be an adult with problems that need solving.

I took the bus, there was one in my neighborhood that oh-so-conveniently passed right by the medical center I was going to.

The bus ride was uneventful and so was the time I spent waiting in this desolate waiting room. Let me paint you a picture; imagine a hallway, filled with sad posters that tell you to cover you mouth when you cough. There’s a distant drilling noise since it’s not just a mental health clinic, it’s an everything clinic and there’s a person having their teeth drilled by (hopefully) a dentist.

The appointment itself was painless. It’s not like I have anything against psychiatrists, I just never thought I’d be the one needing one since I’m so in charge of my life.

The woman was neutral, the beginning was awkward since she asked me why I’m here and what my deal is. It’s awkward confirming that you have problems, or at least it is for me. Sitting there and talking about myself to a person that has no idea about me is strange.

To cut a long story short (my appointment took around half an hour), it was decided that therapy and medication would help me out most. I literally just took my first dose of Prozac, so that’s that. I don’t know how this will change me, but she also perscribed me a light anti-anxiety sleeping pill which helped me sleep last night. I hadn’t been sleeping for a week, so this was a welcome change.

Anyway, I’m curious about how all this will change me, since I’ve lived almost half my life depressed. It’s never been as crippling as it has felt the past few weeks but it’s been a constant companion.

Back, Like Something That Returns After A Hiatus

And it’s time to make this blog more personal.

There’s an actual human being typing these words. And I’m depressed. I said it, without injecting tasteless humor.

I don’t know when the last time I fell asleep like a normal person was. Every night is my eyes begging not to be so dry, while my mind fights me and keeps me awake while I keep thinking how I have to brace myself for everyone’s upcoming death.

I’m scared of losing people, of dying, of wasting my time, of not being there, of being too late, of being too distant or too clingy, I’m scared of losing every single person I love and I’m ruining my life over it and it’s time to get some help, actual professional help, because being quirky and having a dark sense of humor just won’t cut anymore, no matter how invigorating I was, like a breath of fresh air.

Who knows what this new chapter will be like. I’ve never been to a psychiatrist. I’m scared and also not scared, maybe finally I’ll be rid of whatever is holding me back. I don’t know why my brain works this way.

I guess I’ll be less faceless on here.

I will have my point of view on things you never asked to read, but there will be shit that’s going on in my actual life. Like how this depression thing will go.

Cheers to whatever’s coming up.

With ultra regret,

Me.

She May Or May Not Approve Of This Post

I have a friend, my best friend, she’s been mentioned in a lot of my posts directly or indirectly and she’s my best friend, you know… the kind of friend that doesn’t judge your fascinations about serial killers or questions your inherent fear of the subway. She’s the only friend I have and I currently don’t want any more of them.

It’s no secret to me or her online followers that she’s suicidal and depressed. Her blog is scarily candid about the shit that goes through her head.

The first time she posted about her contemplating suicide, she told me not to read it. When she finally gave me permission to view her mysterious post, it was like a rug pulled beneath my feet. Here I thought she was just strange and the dark but hilarious jokes we shared were all fun and games. Nope, it was a way for her to share her reality and I hadn’t seen through that.

This universe that was thrust upon me was scary and uncertain. This person who is fearless and beautiful and so unique doesn’t really want to keep on living and I had no clue about it.

I called her and pretended to be cool about it.

Like… “Oh, hey… I just read your post. Is this true? Why are you rehearsing your suicide? Please call me whenever you feel like this!”

I was trying to be calm and adult about it. I had never really been in a situation quite like this. I had to google stuff and try not to sound like a cliche cunt while throwing inspirational words at her face, like keep on living, it’s worth it etc.

 

Truth is, I don’t know how she does it. I can’t imagine how it feels but it seems vulnerable and I’m sure she feels useless at times by accepting help. She was looking for a confidante to share her suicide with but in reality found someone who would stop her and force her to do something she never thought of doing, getting professional help.

It was never an option not to help her. If I could, I’d be even more involved but she doesn’t let me. She thinks she’s a terrible burden and that I shouldn’t blacken my soul with her worries. Too late for that, I say. I don’t know why I’m so determined to be there but it’s because I want to, not because I’m supposed to. Her existence means a lot to me… and a universe where she doesn’t exist is a doomed universe.

I noticed recently that all of my previous friends had never really complimented me on anything. Somehow, she’d notice things I was good at and brought them to my attention at times (with me of course incapable of accepting the kind words) and was actually interested in finding out my opinion about small things. For most people, these are trivial things but I’ve been unlucky with people in general. These tiny insignificant things matter.

She matters a lot.

 

Closure

yep

The thought’s been hovering in my head since forever but I still haven’t taken that final leap of getting closure.

My grandfather died in 2004… I think. I say I think because I’m mentally trained not to even ask about it. It physically hurts, even now. It was July and my sister, mother and I were at a local swimming pool on an island (we have a summer house there). It was all fun and games up until my mother got a call. There had been an accident and it was serious.

I remember getting on the first ferry out of there and it was all a daze. The very same night, we arrive back to the city and I know that I have to be there to see him because my grandfather would probably like it for me to be there. You see, we have always been best friends, almost in an us-against-the-world kind of way. I knew that me being there would change everything. My parents thought it was a bad idea. He had been hurt when a car ran through a red light and I shouldn’t see him that way. One could say he was… killed?

I guess that what I really wanted was to say goodbye. My mind goes back and forth on that, yes, it would be terrible to see him dying but then again, it might have made things easier in hindsight.

That same night my sister and I were told that he died. I don’t remember how I reacted because I pretty much spent the rest of the time wishing I had called him that morning just for a second, so the car would have passed, so I could have prevented this with such a simple solution.

I was already a strange kid but this fucked me up a lot. I didn’t cry at the funeral because I was so angry at everyone pretending to be upset, people my grandfather made fun and people that never seemed to care when he was alive. I felt like it was up to me to represent him so I couldn’t cry, I had to be strong.

Honestly, the rest couple of years were a blur of just lying in bed and wishing that my life would turn into a Hollywood movie. The movie where you wake up and it was all a dream. I wish that movie cliche happened in real life… but guess what? It doesn’t. I’ve never tried to conjure anything as hard as I wished my grandfather was alive.

The divide I always had with people now had visible boundaries. They could so easily get over things. Who the fuck cared about grandparents anyway? Weren’t they just old people who gave you candy? What kind of relationship could you have with them that matters so much?

Well, it mattered to me a lot. He was my best friend and this loss haunts me a lot. I don’t know when it will become a fond memory, how many decades are supposed to pass me by? Let’s try and put down those countless dreams where I randomly see him in a crowd and holy fuck, the mind can be so scary because I can see him in every single detail. And I’m always asking him how come he’s here, he’s dead, long gone, how can he be here and talking to me?

I don’t like to admit to bring him up but it’s not healthy to react to his memory in sadness and tears anymore. I want to remember how he hated having people over and would wear his pajamas and proclaim loudly to the guests that he was sleepy.

So… I want to get closure.

That’s by confronting family members instead of having fantasies about it.

That’s by going to the cemetery and visiting his grave for the first time since he was buried. I’m not religious or spiritual but knowing that there’s just a layer of dirt between us feels soothing.

I think I’d like to do that.