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?

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.