The house was dark even though there was a half moon outside. I heard the door open and I turned my head towards it. I wanted to open my eyes but I couldn’t. It felt like it was a tall slender figure coming towards me against the dim light through the door. My heart started beating fast but I did not talk. The figure walked towards me and sat at the edge of the bed and looked at me. I asked,
“Who are you? I cannot open my eyes.”
She took my face in her cold hands and lifted me off the pillow gently,she was smiling,then she said,
“I wanted to check in on you,I miss you.”
“I’ve just realized I can’t tell your voice in the dark.” I felt disappointed.
Finally I could open my eyes,I was just dreaming and it felt like an out of body experience. There was no one else in the room.
I am in a state of melancholy, filled with apathy and the wish to be by myself. I travelled home for a few days but I cannot seem to make any conversation. I have barely talked too. I discovered Modigliani today. He died too, at 35. Any past artist I feel a connection to or I can relate to died young and their lives weren’t that brilliant: Mapplethorpe, Vincent Van Gogh, Sylvia Plath. He is described as ‘a passionate individual with a decadent, self- destructive lifestyle’. My, don’t even know where to start on that. Does being an artist come with all this, the whole package of..mess. Do they have narratives on how awful and beautiful it is to feel everything? To have no one understand you. You try to talk to one of your best friends about this but they bring a story on how they know someone who loved drinking so much, he had a lot of money but he realized he was going to die but now all he does is water. Good for you, I’m proud of you. That probably sounds sarcastic but it isn’t.There’s constantly a war in my mind. I’d love it to stop, I’d love to have better things to describe my mind times like this. I want to go a whole week without being disappointed that I woke up. Thinking of how all these artists have an almost similar narrative before I even knew about them, before I was even born. What is cliché? Is it a fundamental characteristic to be mentally ill and be an artist? When thoughts of..I might not grow old, I might not actually make it. Then I feel this sense of peace come over me. There will be an end to this madness: the constant fight not to relapse, an end to being a fuck up, an end to be being destructive, an end to the thirst of being intoxicated because it can silence my voices and delusions and I can live. I am normal when intoxicated. (Why do I have to be normal.) I won’t feel the crashing feels of love, I always love, understand, love love love unconditionally like please stop, you’ll still get hurt however unconditional you are. But I’m not like that, I can’t stop being vulnerable and not everybody receives you the way you are. I want an end to the fight to remain soft.
One day I won’t need to act normal, I won’t have to be amoebic, I won’t have to say, ”I can’t defend myself right now because what I did happened, it wasn’t my fault but I take full responsibility”, I won’t have to keep apologizing just because. An end to the rapid cycling bipolar episodes. I want a morning that I have not cried. I want peace. I just want peace.
I am love.
It is a ludicrous thing to say but I believe it. All this romantic platonic love I have for people makes me feel good. It satisfies me the way a single relationship cannot. I am not afraid to express my affections to the people close to me. I want to experience moments with different people that I meet randomly and by chance. Making every meet count and them seeing me as an experience. Making them feel something new,giving them something to think about, seeing them let go and be open with me,letting them realize what and who they can be: mad.
Sometimes I stumble upon a song that rocks my world. ‘Rock’ my world is not the word I want to choose though. The feeling is more of that moment when the beats reach your ears and somehow your mouth opens and eyes close and your face turns up and it feels like you are breathing in new air and this warm feeling like you are glowing and once again you know what love feels like.
Every single person is different in their own right. No one person is normal. Each person is mad in one way or another. I accept that I am unique in my own way. I know I am a highly sensitive person, I am creative, I see the good in a person first no matter what, I am fundamentally good, I love unconditionally and I can get crazy.
I often go against the norm and I see how I get treated for it. Why can’t you be normal for once?! I hear. Being highly sensitive it affects me but over the years I have learnt to get over it,some days it’s easier some days aren’t.
I do not have the time to keep picking myself up from rejection and or judgement from people who are meant to love me for me,not accept me, but love me for who I am. When I was in hospital my mother told me some women asked her if I was in a cult because of my tattoos and that I need prayers. Then my friends showed up with face piercings and body modifications and tattoos and you could see the nods.
You can’t chose the family you are born into, but I am going to make my own family. I have a family, I don’t call them friends. I am choosing them. They have chosen me.
I was burning an incense nutmeg stick, I was dancing to music and doing a cleansing face mask. I thought I’d add to all these good vibes an orgasm or too. So, I got out my vibrator and got it started. I was just about to reach the first plain of Os when it died on me. A year of free vibrations because the charger died and it stood by me all this time not it has died. The music suddenly said we can do without batteries, it’s a Sia song and I burst out laughing like okay Sia, okay.
I am better today. I have not been for the past four days. I am trying to be good to myself. It is rather hard if you imagine, to deny yourself love that you can so willingly give unto others. It is self-emotional abuse. Nobody can be harder on me than I am. Nobody can destroy me the way I can destroy me. It removes any power from any human but that is beside the point. In the situation I was in I did mess up, it was not intentional. I also admit that I should not be drinking. Three of the people who helped me that evening are telling me not to be hard on myself and to be good to me. It does make me feel better.
I make my own realities, I am not a victim of circumstance. I am a good person who messed up, does not make me a bad person. I do not owe any one any explanation nor do I seek forgiveness. I will make peace with myself with time. Also, nobody can judge me harder than I can so shove your judgement up your ass.
I cannot say you can’t hurt me, you can. I’m just numb and have been for awhile. I can’t develop feelings with anyone I like anymore. Each time I get hurt a harder layer of wall forms around me. It feels more of a coldness, a void that I sink into deeper and deeper. Like I’m floating in this void, suspended in it and alone. Someone told me the other day they are afraid they will hurt me. I literally laughed knowing how that is not new and I said it is fine. I’m nowhere emotionally close to feeling normal and any jolt is welcomed. Actually no, no more jolts. Let me float in this suspension. Today morning someone in my life held me for awhile while I was asleep before waking up and going to make breakfast. That was sweet.
I still have moments where everything comes back at once. I struggle to feel it, let myself have this moments where I am emotional and I am agitated and the days where I have managed to block out a pending downward spiral stops and I am knocked down to my knees. I am really fighting to be on my feet every day. I feel like my medication does not allow me to experience my emotions the way I used to. I cannot plummet the way I used to and I somehow like it cause I am now in ‘control’. However it is not control, I never want to imagine I have believed the delusion of being in control. It feels like your body wants to throw up, it reaches your mouth, you taste it but you swallow it back again. Every day. I get punches left, right, center and I am expected to remain okay. Because I am on medication. Trying to get back some parts of my life that I had 5 months ago. It is as if no one realizes how much I lost and just. I don’t know, I just don’t.
I have been going through a shift of my lifestyle, for the better. I have been able to come out of my depressive episode (as seen from a lot of my previous posts) from which I had given up hope about. I never thought it was possible. I accepted I was sick and began medication again and so far it has been good. In the beginning I could feel my mind trying to go back to that dark place and I would close my eyes and beg myself, please don’t please don’t, let me have this moment.
I began running every morning from 7.30am. It is therapeutic especially when listening to the audio of Erykah Badu live at the Jakarta festival 2012 or Dance this mess around by the B-52s. I come back and take a cold shower. Sometimes I fall asleep again cause I used to sleep till 12pm. I’m eating better too, less junk food. My skin is really good, I have not had a break out since December.
I keep thinking when will this ‘feel good’ end, when will I snap again, where will I be this time. I overdosed last month but I was not thinking of suicide, I just wanted to be in the clouds, the stars.
I’m about to get my own place again, my mother cried. She says she has not yet healed from the tragedy that happened last time I was living alone. She understands I have to live my life, she cannot cage me.
I cannot remember where I read about people who died, were already acting in ways a little dissimilar to themselves. They were more loving, they said it a lot, they were caring and touched a lot of lives. They were not aware of this. I’ve also noticed this from the people who died and the testimonies people give when they are gone. I have been acting this way the last couple of months. I have so much love and feelings for friends and acquaintances that I turn friends, my family members that I didn’t much care about. I find myself telling this group of people I love them, spending time with each one of them and listening to them. I am having some profound and intense moments with my close friends. Being told I have awakened their love of nature again that was lost, how to live each day fully not knowing how tomorrow will be. I get into conversations about life and spirituality with a friend of a friend at 3am on on a balcony and tells me that star, points at it, will guide me. My medicine touches so many people, affects them and I don’t even know it. He said I have something for people and I have to give it out. I thought he was delusional until he started saying things that hit real close to home. I wish I could stop feeling so much because it is heartbreaking for me. Not everyone knows how to give it back, and it is okay. I’m okay with it. Not everyone has good intentions for you either.
I’m I dying soon?
To the ones who fall too fast, too soon because they don’t know any other way.
To the ones who fall in love at first sight, the ones who believe in romance, the ones who get attached to a comforting word, a tender touch or a deep conversation.
To the ones who fight for love and see the best in people.
To the ones who think that everyone will appreciate their love because it’s unlike any other.
To the ones who can’t sleep thinking about people who are not thinking about them.
To the ones who don’t always know what they’re getting themselves into but they take the plunge anyway.
I hate to tell you this because I hate telling this to myself but maybe we need to stop, maybe we need to slow down, maybe we need to park for a little while before we start driving again.
Because we’re only hurting ourselves, we’re only breaking our hearts, we’re only giving our all to people who are giving us nothing. We’re only fooling ourselves when we wait for those who don’t even try.
Maybe you need to take a few steps back instead of taking a huge leap of faith. Maybe you need to stop chasing people and let them chase you instead. Let them find you. Let them choose you. Let them get your attention first instead of giving them yours right away.
Maybe we are just living in the wrong generation because we don’t know how to cage our emotions, how to pretend like we don’t feel but we’re also killing ourselves when we live this way. Things die inside us when we’re always faced with rejection and heartbreak.
We live in a world that doesn’t appreciate people like us, we live in a world that doesn’t understand people like us.
And maybe we shouldn’t change who we are completely, but let’s hide it, let’s keep it for a few special ones who prove they’re worth it, let’s be selective in who we choose to love and who we choose to build up.
Because we keep building up people who destroy us and we keep loving people who don’t love us back.
And maybe we need to stop falling for those who don’t want to catch us, maybe we should wait for those who fall for us first so we can fall together and maybe we should fall only when we know it’s safe, only when we know it’s not going to break us and only when we know that we’re not going to
Rania Naim from Thought Catalog