I feel angry. I missed my medication yesterday evening and for the first time I feel free of the worry or feeling of nothingness that medication has brought me. Worry always comes even without a welcome invitation. Feeling nothing can be both a comfort and a curse for someone living under medication. Medication can be a comfort so you don’t have to bear the hardship of ever shifting moods that gives you the feeling of surrender, and a curse as if you’re constantly feeling as if you’re drifting out of yourself, on auto-pilot, alive but not really living. For the first time after a very long time, I felt angry and I have never been happy and proud to feel something. It made me feel alive.
I don’t even know if I’d want to start sharing what made me feel angry, all I do know is it was because of the past relationship I had. For the first time I felt a jolt of energy kick in inside of me telling me that defending him for all his mistakes towards me is enough. Today I realised that I have been too good, too forgiving to a person who does not even look for forgiveness. Perhaps I have been gradually heading to the direction of being full-blown mentally ill, however, it is only now that I have realised that “he” had something to do with this too and that I should stop blaming only myself.
I’m sure if I were to talk to my therapist right now he’d ask me the question: Why are you angry?
And my response would be:
I am angry because I have never felt so low in my life to raise someone high. I am angry because now I know that I deserve better things than the words he last shoved to my face. I believed those words more than ever because I placed him on a pedestal. I let those words fuel me with fear and constant self-doubt that I will never be better than who I was before him. I believed that he was better and that I deserved less.
More than fighting with myself, today I learned while feeling angry that I need to love myself first.
One day without medication is enough for now. It’s a good start.
I’ve been floating for quite sometime now. I want to feel the earth beneath me. My mind’s been feeling like a mush from all the medication and I don’t know if I’m just over thinking about it a lot or if it is right to voice out how being on medication makes one feel on a “steady”, “safe”, “almost-autopilot” like feeling. I don’t even know if it is right to be in this state. Somedays I feel confused on what to feel. I overthink and end up not knowing where to place myself.
There are days I contemplate if it is better to be off medication to feel something, but then not being on medication also meant feeling too much.
There’s something in me that wants to speak out but somehow I’m caught not knowing how to begin a spiel about how things are going with my life.
Refresh and stare.
I’ve been refreshing the blog page for a couple of days now without no end in sight what I really want to achieve while doing this. I guess what I really want is for things to change. Some wonderful thing to happen that I can write things about and be proud of which hasn’t happened for the longest time. I’m expecting for some grand post to change the way things are.
I’ve been trying my best to be better. I’ve been trying my best to be okay but somewhere inside of me I feel I’ve plateaued. I guess I’ve been pushing myself hard to be better these past few months. I know the medication has rendered its help to me. I know I’ve done and I’ve been doing what I can to pick myself up. There are days where I celebrate these victories of zero casualties but I wonder until when will it be like this.
Resounding and heavy to the heart. That is how I always feel whenever I listen to beginning guitar wails of Always in My Head. It’s a song I don’t choose to listen to, but whenever it comes playing on my long saved playlist on Spotify, I can’t help but feel an ache tug me from within no matter how you tell yourself to stay still. Memories come flashing like tides—Pulling, pushing and making you crash midway. I’ve always been a fan of Coldplay, but I only remember listening to this song for the first time when I was on the verge of a heartbreak. I guess I’ve heard it before but didn’t put that much attention to it as I did in the past. It’s one of those songs that when it plays on a certain occasion, it marks you and becomes somewhat an anthem of that “feeling”. Unfortunately, like the song, the memories and feelings attached to it are painful, yearning and as haunting as the inaudible choir of words in the beginning.
“I think of you.”
Yes. True. Until now.
I cannot remember the last day I stepped on my old self. More than a year ago, I began being vocal about how different I was beginning to feel. I spoke to my dermatologist, who I began feeling comfortable talking about my life, and my ex boyfriend about it and began expressing how I felt. I thought that it might be something hormonal to which I also thought contributed to my growing skin problem during that time. I had so many questions inside my head and I wanted answers to the growing uncertainties. I asked about the possible effects of suddenly going on a halt on the pills I was taking during that time. I was self-diagnosing. I contemplated about the possibility of any possible medical explanation that might have contributed to what I felt, leaving mental illness at the end of the long line of things I would consider.
I knew I was “sad” but I wouldn’t really want to label it as being “depressed”. I constantly cried each night, barely had the energy to sleep or feel wake. To best describe it, I was keeping myself at auto-pilot or feeling like a zombie most of the days. I felt like that for quite sometime even before I was diagnosed. I can’t seem to trace the last day I felt “something” for my life. I was full of life but the next day I wasn’t. Everything was in grey scale. For me, it was worse than black and white. Dark shades with no hope of light. I wanted to go back to who I was but the slope was the depth of grand canyon in proportions, steep–but without the beauty and the grandeur. The space inside one’s head, majestic but lifeless. You start questioning all the “freeness” inside your head. Your thoughts race. Your life seems purposeless no matter how much effort you dig the word “sense” and “self”, “faith” and “hope”. You “try” to win your battles everyday and hold on to every triumph but every slip of FAILURE becomes a landslide that buries you deeper to a landfill. There is no climbing up once you fall to the pit. The word failure sits like a period at the end of each racing thought. FAILURE. FAILURE. FAILURE even when there is nothing to fail about. Then comes constant Fear and the Anxieties of Failure and Depression (To which I admit I still feel most of the time). FAILURE, FEAR, ANXIETIES, DEPRESSION.
Depression is a senseless pit of pain. It is a parasite that lives through the vitality of life. A crab that pulls you down just when you’re about to successfully go out the bucket. It is a blackhole that sucks you for no apparent reason. The day I started slipping was the day I realised I might never gain back what I did, the things I loved and who I was. It was painful to think but it was only then that I realised too that I need to accept where I am in. Maybe some people grow gracefully knowing where the lines on the palms of their hands will take them, while some not. Perhaps the lines mean nothing and here I am deciphering through thin air, pushing myself too hard to deliver or prove something to no one. Perhaps I need to lean how to accept my life’s uncertainties, embrace the lessons and let go of the failures.
Take what you need. Do what you can to be better each day. Take your medication, go to your therapies, turn to your faith. There is no shame in needing help and in seeking treatments. You cannot achieve happiness by waiting for it. Happiness itself can be a grand labor you have to continously work for.