Peace

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 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?

Cosmic doom

Hi, I’m not enough, what’s your name? When you realize what you were doing was trying to project magical qualities onto someone that totally do not exist. You, you beautiful thin distraction with most forms of intellectually stimulating media and I spend moments alone and the quiet terror of being alive is growing louder and louder.

Two black holes silently and violently orbiting around each other, trying to get drunk every night to block out this consciousness that which feels like rodents in my day dreams, trying to block out the error of our romanticized fantasies.

I am enjoying the unreplied texts to death, I’m ghosted by death itself. Now it doesn’t even matter when humans ghost me. My inner demons are already tired of my inner monologue.

Our affair is so empty even the void is jealous of us. We definitely should perceive other realities. But nothing tastes as good as this void. Cosmic aloneness, my main bitch. We fucked reality and married fantasy. Taking walks on the beach, drinking coffee and imagining situations that cannot happen. I got something for you this valentine’s, disappointment. I don’t think you’ll feel it though…you know, with the lack of expectations and all.

Please deny my existence. Before that let’s go eat off the bare earth the delirium from which we were born. Like out of all the abysses in all the land, you had to stare into mine.

Not tonight love, I have to spiral into uncontrollable anxiety. Maybe we could avoid each other again soon, yeah? Even the skeletons in my closet won’t talk to me. Movie and chill? No thanks, but we could binge watch the rapid loss of our sense of self and compare darknesses together.

We are obsessed with ourselves, comes with mental illness territory, no good can sprout or be maintained from us and we secretly like it. We know it.

You know why I do not care what you do to me or anyone really, unintentionally or not, because it is like a confirmation bias with my inner self. With my fucked up ness I am okay with it. Don’t even apologize, that’s for people who care.

Be free, be enchanted, be ready to be cosmic dust. I released you when my fantasy of you ghosted me. I now belong deeply to myself. In a complicated relationship with my sense of self, self destruction, blue period, trying to find the return policy on the gift of life.

Maybe one day you will come over and binge watch my manic episodes.

I am not leaving. I was never there. Petals of illusion. I need to focus on being my own pestilence, you can destroy me, I want it but I want to do it myself, the satisfaction. I am desperately clinging to an endless day dream of drug fueled art parties.

Constant thoughts of decay. Everyday I am questioning why I am alive. Our depressions are not compatible. I wish they were. Maybe our silences won’t be so loud. I am being held hostage by human consciousness and that is the war I am fighting every day. All you tell me is what I go through but you may just be blind to that with the concept of how nobody understands you, so I will not my head and listen. I m done wanting to be understood.

That awkward moment you realize how cold you’ve become but you still want to say, “let’s dress up as our vague sense of incorporeal dissatisfaction and dance under the pale moonlight.” because you have nothing to lose.

“Loud music is playing in the next room. I’ve closed myself in a room. I have a knife with me. I’m pressing it against my thigh. Suddenly I’m getting texts from people who care about me.”

I wrote this on Sunday, January 2017 at 2.49pm. I had crashed again, I was wondering when I would go down again, it had been some days after the last episode. At that moment I realized, my ‘happiness’ will always come at a cost. I should live through each moment not knowing when the drowning will begin. I got two more piercings but I’m the only one who knows how much I had missed some kind of physical pain. It begun to hit me whether getting all this tattoos and piercings was my way of self harming. That pain.

They were looking for the knife and I could hear them asking around. I heard them say they don’t know. My door was locked and then I got a text from them, “Don’t cut yourself.”

Too late..

I visited the mental institution I was at

Okay, I’m not horny right now…based on my previous  late night post.

From getting into a matatu and alighting at the institution, it felt surreal. I kept thinking of the men and women with whom I was admitted with. The tall kind one who loved watching television and knew when certain shows would be on, the constantly drugged guy under detoxification who wore sneakers and shorts every day, Pinky, the very confused etc. I could feel that numbness I had when I was told I had to be admitted. I thought being admitted would help me.

I remembered the waiting hours when I’d be visited. What time would my mother show up at the door? I’m not drugged enough to sleep till she arrives. Would my friends show up today? What time? It’s already 3pm. My cousin always visited me. He would come with a bouquet of flowers then leave for work. The goodbyes at the end of the day was always the hardest. As a person struggling with loneliness, waiting for people and seeing them leaving each time did not do well for my anxiety.

I was the only suicidal one. When the patients were being detoxified or treated for other mental illnesses, I felt fine. I felt normal. I was not like them. They shook their heads when they learnt I was admitted because of suicide attempts. I could not relate to anyone. There was someone else with bipolar but he was rather annoying.

I remember being asked if my cousin could sneak in cigarettes. The person asking was so medicated that white foam was on his lips, he smelt like a dispensary and his eyes were barely open. He was a banker, good guy. I wondered how he felt having that drip on his arm every day. I saw a lot of boobs, yeah. Butts too.

Days were very long if I was not drugged enough, if I didn’t have a counseling session or playing badminton. Playing badminton was my favorite thing to do. I was one of the more ‘sober’ ones and finding another sober player was quite tricky. The annoying guy used to play with me mostly. Well I found him annoying cause he thought he could rap.

I remembered how some patients would wait patiently for a visitor to be opened for the gate and try to sneak out as if the guard would not identify them. It was quite hilarious but very relatable. Everyday I would look through the gate when it was being opened and closed and that glimpse of the outside world made me wish to run away. I’m in a fucking mental institution! How did I end up here?!

The kindness of the nurses was so good. That was one place I did not feel judged or questioned about my suicide. How they took care of me after my Electroconvulsion therapy was pleasing. Everyone from the janitor to the cooks were sweet and friendly and were constantly available to listen to how you think you shouldn’t be admitted there. How normal you were.

Do I want to be admitted again? Hell no.

I went for the walk. I left the house without a word to anyone and kept walking. The moon was bright, beautiful, mysterious and I asked it to be my guide tonight. I started listening to the latest Frank Ocean album and kept walking. I was receiving messages from them asking where I was and if I needed company. I wanted to be alone, I did not want to return. I wanted to keep on until my legs hurt. I had no money in my pockets, a little self conscious of not wearing a bra and being alone in the middle of the night. But I was not afraid. The guilt was bad though. I just wanted the pain in my chest and the shaking of my hands to stop.

I wanted to sit down with a stranger and talk about life while we watched the moon. I was willing to distract myself with anything. Thirty minutes later I had ignored the calls but I replied some of the messages. One ate at my heart,”For better or worse?” Then they reminded me of the word we were to be using when we needed time to breathe. I used the word.

Apparently my father had left the house to look for me around the area.  That somehow made me more upset than I expected and I felt like a brat, stupid child causing unnecessary anxiety. I told him I was okay and I just needed to breathe. I told myself if there was Hell, there was a special place for me. One hour later I was no longer shaking. I decided to turn back as I regained clarity of how deserted the road was getting.

I’ve always wished to be alone when my bipolar is erupting within me. I don’t want to worry anyone, to be seen so irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable and enmeshed totally in the blackest caves of the mind. I wasn’t like this a few months ago. I guess my illness is progressing instead of healing. I don’t want to be anyone’s worry and problem.

There’s something about having someone to come back to though. Someone who can calm you down. However, I am at the point in my life where it would still be okay if no one was there.

I’m sitting opposite them in the cafe and I can feel myself drowning. I can’t breathe. My chest suddenly hurts, I’m scared. Can they see me drowning? They do, and it scares them. They try to make me laugh. I don’t want them to feel like they need to make me laugh. The distraction is good though. But I feel the pain in my chest, I want more air. I’m panicking. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. I don’t think I should be alive. My soul needs to be in another world. Nobody is ready for me here. My truth is overwhelming me. I was holding it together very well the last couple of days. I want my pills, I want those pills to make me forget even for a minute, an hour. ..forever? I want out of my skin, I want to scream, I want to crawl into a black hole, I want to close my eyes. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.  I don’t want to be touched, my nerves are ripping apart. The smells of food are making me sick. I want to break things, I want to run. I feel dangerous right now. My hands are shaking. Maybe I should go for a walk. Maybe I shouldn’t return.

To Myself, After I Was Diagnosed

You still remember the relief you felt when you were told you have Bipolar II. There was a name to how you feel. You called your mother, she was at work and you could tell she was busy so you told her the news and she told you to identify the triggers and the call ended. I’m sorry she did not call you back because she thought you needed the space to research on what your illness entails. I know it hurt you. You told the rest of the family and your father exclaimed and your brother asked if there was a cure. You went back to your apartment and did some more research on what Bipolar II is. It was good to see you find relatable articles that you could share with loved ones so that they could understand. Even though they did not read them.

Days passed,you started feeling overwhelmed. Why is this happening to you? Don’t worry,one day you are going to be at peace with it. You started seeing articles on how relationships do not survive a bipolar partner. Somehow you knew this was going to be a problem but you did not say anything. You told your then partner and she took it well,maybe. All the bookmarked articles that you read night and day overwhelmed you. You were not ready for so much information just yet. You were already feeling depressive and you felt like no one was on your side. You had your partner but you just didn’t want to bother her with how you were feeling. That made you more lonely and it broke your heart.

You went to the bathroom and you looked at yourself in the mirror. I could feel your whole being break and you felt so weak. You started crying, using the sink to support yourself. You went to sit on the bed and I’ve never seen you feel so much in one moment, asking yourself why you are like that and how lonely your life is going to be. The walls felt closer, it felt colder, the darkness so comforting. You fell asleep on the covers that night.

You depended on your partner for support because no one else could understand. I’m sorry you two did not make it. I know it fueled your suicidal intentions, you have never felt as alone, you believed no one will ever love you, you believed so many things and honestly you are going to struggle with them for some time to come. You did not have any more strength and suicide felt like the only way to peace. I’m sorry for the hospitalizations.

You are going to know who your true friends are, who will stick by you, who will try their best by you. You will struggle with when will their patience run out and being a burden. You are going to meet other patients and form friendships in the hospitals. Too bad the ECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy) is going to make you forget so much from streets to how to make food to where you hid your things and unfortunately some of the friendships you made at the hospital. Well you kept having the ECT after a day and whatever had happened the previous day would be wiped out so new situations kept disappearing from your mind making it hard to have a proper memory. Get ready, memory loss is not fun.

Today,2 months later, you are at peace with your mental illness. You know how to manage it, what to do and what not to. It’s still not easy,but it’s better than before. You have decided to face 2017. You have somehow met someone who is going through shit and for whatever reason the universe has, you two are able to see each other’s darkness and it is going to be the most comforting thing. You are still going to be scared because not many can handle who you truly are.

Keep fighting, even though you are still passively suicidal, take it one day at a time. Only you can protect you.

 

When my mind makes me physically exhausted

It’s been several days whereby my mind has made me physically exhausted. My whole body feels like I have done a 6 mile run and my head feels like concrete. During my research on depression I read that one does get tired because of fighting daily battles no one knows about. Now I am experiencing this fatigue and all I want to do is stay in bed. I do not realise how fast days pass or how long it has been since I took a bath. I have not had a decent meal (I have said this severally…I think).

I went to the beach in the morning and in the middle of my walk my legs did not want to keep moving. My pace slowed down so much and I wondered what the fuck is going on. I reached my usual spot,said hi to my two friends and proceeded to strip down to my underwear (which works as my swimming costume) and settled down to continue my writing. My head was killing me and I started regretting leaving the comfort of my bed. A few hours later I could not take it anymore and I lied down on the bench and took a nap. I woke up later, dressed and dragged my ass back home. All I wanted was my bed and the internet.

Daily battles with the mind is something I cannot explain to anyone. You are constantly trying to find the logical opposite of what you are thinking. At the moment I believe I am a burden to everyone and I do not deserve to be understood. I do not need to put up my depressing posts because nobody cares and I am only seeking attention. I am doing this so that people feel bad for me. I am trying to tell myself I am not doing any of these for anyone but myself because if I don’t write it out I feel worse.I am struggling to be able to keep talking about what I’m going through with my mental illness but this voices that tell me I shouldn’t,make me push away everyone. Everyone has their own life to live,as do I. Nobody needs to keep hearing how I couldn’t stop crying last night for no reason at all.

I have been trying to be honest with myself and letting myself feel this feelings without ignoring them. Yesterday I was watching some videos from a black lesbian youtuber Ari Fitz and one of them was on cheating. From that video I was able to resonate with a few things like how exactly I felt during my relationship this past year. I finally saw this break up as a blessing in disguise. I was not happy in my relationship for a very long time and my friends started to notice and tell me. I felt undesirable, unworthy and lonely. I always wondered if I am polyamorous and if I needed to find someone to love me on a deeper level emotionally while still in the relationship. But I believed I am not the type of person for anyone to choose me.I believed(still do) I was unattractive and I was lucky to even be in a relationship. This felt like a power play that fucked me up inside. So I held on, unfortunately. I was expecting the break up and I just wondered when it would come. I did not want to end things because I believed two people who loved each other can work through things and find ways to be with each other. The break up still broke me as I was at that moment not mentally okay. The last thing that held me together was taken from me,I was feeling betrayed and all this emotions started off the beginning of my suicide attempts.

Right now I am focused in finding who I was 3 years ago. That girl who did not care about being single and was a free spirit. I am alone now. Telling myself I am alone now means a lot of things to me especially in fighting my anxiety. This might only make sense to me but that’s okay.

I hope to keep finding strength.

 

Warning: This is a depressing post.

Since last night I have been rather off.I feel angry. I feel so angry and restless and sad. I found it hard to sleep even while reading or watching more YouTube videos. I’m not eating well and I don’t feel hungry. I’ll take my breakfast at around 10am and drink soda throughout the day. I am angry at my mother I am angry at my brother I am angry with everything. I  have asked my father to wean me off the medicines because they make me feel horrible. I told him I don’t think I can be helped. I hate seeing how helpless he looks after I tell him what I am feeling. Yesterday I went shopping with him and I saw this sisal ropes and I felt my heart beating faster. I checked the prices and refused to admit to myself that I am scared of killing myself but I know I can do it.

Right now I just want those pills I took the last time I attempted suicide. I’m craving a drug that will numb me from everything. I don’t want to wake up again.I’m scarred by the last attempt (literally, I have 4 scars on my hands where I was tied to the bed). This 4 scars always remind me of that night and how far off the edge I had gone.

I have not replied messages from 3 of my friends who are asking me if I am okay. I don’t want to worry anyone anymore. Please allow me to go. Let me go. It’s okay if I am called selfish, I don’t mind. I know I will hurt a lot of people who care for me. I wish I could feel the care and love.

Right now I just want those 60 pills.The feeling is so strong I just had to type it out, maybe it will reduce?  I will not call anyone like I did last time. I want to be alone.I want to do this on my own.

I go through this feelings daily.  I’m still here fighting to see another day even though my mind does not want me too.