Depression

Depression:

It has many meanings. It is blind to race, religion, gender, sexuality, age…. It never ceases to surprise with how hard it can punch a person in the gut and render them paralyzed.

My depression comes and goes, it can last days, weeks, or even months. It gets better and deceives me into believing it has gone forever. So I let my guard down and relax and try to enjoy the happiness… but I’m always wrong. I’m so filled with paranoia now; I never let my guard down. It will always lurk there, in the corner, eerily glaring at me, making my skin crawl and bones shiver. A poltergeist in the cavernous home of my body, but more importantly my mind.

That constant fear of it, awaiting it’s return every time it falsely bids me goodbye, has caused me to welcome its return more than anything. I’m so comfortable in its arms as it wraps itself around me and whispers ‘honey I’m home’ into my ear and once again poisons my mind. I don’t have to fear the fall if I’m already standing in the dark pit at the bottom right?

Fear and The Wall

I’m running into the night

My feet shoot bursts of energy

they propel me forward

each step, one step closer

Each footprint, one step in the past

the force from the balls of my feet so great,

I could take flight…

No

The weight of the world pushes me down

heavy boulders of cares and worries that lie –

on my shoulders, the immovable and stubborn

digs my toes into the ground

don’t stop moving

hurdling into the unknown

hurdling into a wall.

Did man simply turn back when struck with a wall?

He created a door.

I’ve been on a pretty good mental spree lately, but recently I fell ill, started binge watching the office, unmoving, and my mental state has fallen again today. I’m so full of worry; I’m crippled with it. I’m worried about university. The fact that my courses will be completely in german, and I’ll have to write essays and homework and assignments completely in german… well to be frank, it scares the shit out of me. I’m so used to english, the way it flows out of my fingertips with ease. The way I can coordinate sentences and paragraphs and essays without really having to think about the language, and just the content. With german it’s completely different. My level of vocabulary is nowhere near that of my english. In german I will be regarded as sub-par, my articulate english skills will be overlooked (okay I can’t go as far as to say articulate, but at least I can express myself adequately in english, whereas in german…. not so much). I’m also really worried about finding a job. I’m really broke, my family is broke, and I need to find a side job I can do. I’m scared of being overwhelmed again and falling into the same bad habits and then back into a severe depression where I might not be able to come out of it anymore. I’m scared that I will have to leave my brother alone in the house, and he’s dealing with severe manic depression and is on medication. We’ve been together for most of the year, and I’m so worried about his well-being. He spends most of his time holed up in his room, without our interactions every day I don’t know what’ll happen. I’m worried I’ve made the wrong decision by passing up law school (bachelors of law LL.B) to go and study Arabic and Middle Eastern studies. I’m not even sure I want to study that, I just wanted to experiment and decided that I’d try this out and if I don’t like it I can always transfer. I just feel like I might have made the wrong decision and am now wasting my life. I’m scared of so much, the normal things like ending up loveless and alone, or unsuccessful, but also irrational things too. I’m so afraid of everything that I’m most likely missing out on everything good, I just can’t help it.

You laugh like you’ve never been lonely

I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. I’ve also had premenstrual cramps for over a week, maybe that unbearable pain had something to do with it. I’ve just been very imbalanced. I should also mention that I finally began to workout again. I’m scared I might injure myself again cause I always push myself too hard once I start. Staying motivated is the tough part.

So I’ve been having anxiety issues, due to this stupid application process to universities here in Germany. My depression has gotten a bit better; distracting myself with tv shows helps. I’m feeling super emotional right now…. it must be the stupid menstrual cycle that has been inflicted upon this so-called ‘gentler sex’ *scoffs* If we were the gentler sex, we wouldn’t be able to withstand the horrible pain of cramps every month… Am I right, ladies?

I’m sitting on my bed currently (currently being 2:10 AM) in the dark, trying to type quietly since my friend is sleeping about a meter away from where I’m sitting. At least I have some music to keep me company. I’ve been avoiding moments like these, mostly through TV show binges, because I know that if I give in and think about my life and things in/out of it, I can just spiral out of control.

I was listening to this song again, after not having heard it for a while… and this song just gives me such an emotional response, I thought I’d share.

And you laugh like you’ve never been lonely
That’s alright honey
That’s alright with me
Oh you laugh like there’s hope in the story
That’s alright honey
That’s alright with me
Oh you laugh like I’ll be there to hold you always
Always here
Always honey, always here

And you love like you’ve always been lonely
That’s alright honey
That’s alright with me
Oh you love him with all of your body
That’s alright honey
That’s alright with me
Oh you love him like he’ll be there for always
Always honey yeah, always near

I think people who battle mental illness have become remarkable actors in their daily lives. Howard just took that person who felt like no one saw them, or their pain, or their misery, and made them feel seen. Made them feel like their issues were valid and that he would be there… even if it was just to silently accept. That resonates with me more than words could possibly say. This depression and anxiety have eaten me up, and not one person realized that I was dying internally, because that’s part of the deal, the game… How you play – show them you’re at the top of your game working super hard, staying super motivated…. Don’t crack now. You master the art of learning to hide it, behind smiles and laughter and silly actions that distract from the real issues. You’re at the top of your game if you know how to hide it this well. I think that’s a talent.

Nights are always the hardest; unless you’re constantly distracting yourself, it’s as if you just fall into a dark pit. The plot lines of fictional characters that move across my laptop screen with such precision and perfection are my distraction. At this point it’s hard to discern what is real and what isn’t. I need to stop but I can’t, because life. is. to. much. That’s it, simply put. I have to tackle my issues head on, but instead I run.

Those fleeting heart beats stop in their tracks, the hot tears well up starting from the bottom of my throat. The geyser builds up consuming energy, building pressure. Tears claw their way through suppression. Push the fucking tears down! ARE YOU A CHILD?! They tumble over one another, out of the ducts in your eyes – streaming. your lashes hold on to them, trying to pull them back. Emotional convicts on the loose. You give in, and you realize you no longer have power over yourself.

Numb//Punctured Lungs

Two days ago I couldn’t breath.

my ribs shattered into millions

of tiny

pieces.

puncturing my lungs so they began to scream

for mercy.

Puncturing my lungs-

rupturing my vessels till i’m numb–

I swear this isn’t fun.

Aren’t I supposed to be running in the sun?

Getting stoned, or having sex

or at least feeling something run it’s hands along my skin.

Yet here I lie in a corner

Shadows cut themselves into my skin

and my punctured lungs cease to breathe.

-a friend of mine co wrote. 

So Many Faces

So many faces

pass us every day

with beady eyes and marble expressions

we look at one another

but our eyes graze past

we draw the blinds, can’t see

the loss, the pain

the hope, the shame

the nuances in expression

little holes in the facade

cowering behind our fortresses–

no one has the will to knock them down.

So many faces,

with beating hearts

and pulsing veins

with endless light,

and endless pain.

Blood is thicker than water they say

yet as it trickles down your wrist

its fickleness insists

to be noticed.

Mind the gap

between platform and train,

platform and train?

or people and pain?

Sinning and gain.

The rain trickles down their faces

so many faces

the dark, reflective prints

left on the floor…a

Colossal Chaos of Stories.

Erosion – Wither

i amafraid
that if
i open
myself
i will not stop
pouring.

(why do i fear becoming
a river. what mountain
gave me such shame.)

-Erosion // Jamie Oliveira

I read this on a page called Berlin Art Parasites and I was so unequivocally moved by it. It resonates so much with me, I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up to be quite honest. Oliveira is also so talented and writes with such simplicity yet with overwhelming emotion. I’ve been having a really bad time lately, so I thought I’d go back to the roots, and write a bit. I wanted to write something as a sort of parallel or sister to ‘Erosion’.

The circuits are fried,

The power unplugged,

Out of Order, scrawled across her forehead

like a machine that ran too long,

over-processed, over-indulgent, over-used.

See the fine line traced in the sand,

with tiny hands,

no longer capable of holding on,

the fight is gone.

Oh mighty tree.

Your roots dug into barren land,

The earth is cracked and thirsty around you.

Your stump is strong,

your branches brittle.

Oh marvelous tree, blossom.

you shrink back, into the soil

Withering.

Does the sun scare you so?

Does the wind you breathe?

Or do you have nothing left to give?

Fucking Fucked Fuckery…. The Swear Jar

There once was a girl who worked for a charity,

they all got along so it was just a travesty,

when the boss had decided to put in a motherfucking swear jar.

Now this girl had had no problem with that,

except for the fact…

it took away the ease and comfort,

and didn’t even fund a communal fucking benefit.

The money would go towards a big fucking white board,

instead of ice cream, beer or anything of the sort.

So this girl staged her protest, which was fucking silent,

because no matter how she saw it she couldn’t abide it.

They called her cheap and stingy and such,

but for a girl with no income, enough was enough

If she was to drop coins into a jar,

it would be for something that would probably involve a bar.

So disappointed and maddened she showed her game face

and vowed to place her rage into cyberspace,

because a rage is a rage, no matter how small,

and this blog is a blog that had already met its downfall.

Sehnsucht

It’s like I’ve lost the ability to write. To express myself.

I think I’ve written hundreds of drafts, just trying to sit down and take the time to write something. I think I’ve just lost the content. My words feel hollow now.

I took the test, I travelled to London, I started an internship…. yet nothing feels like an accomplishment. I have entered another one of the depressive phases. I feel crushed at the moment. I can’t communicate properly…. and I’m considering just going off the radar for a while. Just switching everything off, taking time off my phone, and perhaps just writing and reading. I don’t know if it’ll even work. I don’t know what to do anymore. I just feel like constantly screaming and crying. I’m so sick, my body is physically defeated and my soul is mentally defeated.

Fatigue, exhaustion, whatever you want to call it. I just have pain in my whole body. Skull-splitting headaches that turn to migraines…. that by now have simply become background to everything else.

I feel all my relationships slipping from my fingers. My being constantly sick doesn’t help my attitude towards people here, and it makes me more selfish with all my online communication. All my closest and most valuable friends don’t live in the same country, some not even on the same continent. They are all sipping that sweet iced tea that I so crave, the sweet tea that I just seem to choke on whenever I attempt to. It’s also called ‘moving on’. I seem incapable of swallowing that sweet tea, though I crave that relief from the longing I constantly feel.

One of my favorite words in German is ‘Sehnsucht’. According to Wikipedia it is…

a German noun translated as “longing”, “yearning”, or “craving”, or in a wider sense a type of “intensely missing”. However, Sehnsucht is difficult to translate adequately and describes a deep emotional state.

When breaking the word down you have two words. The first, Sehn, means to yearn or long for, and Sucht means addiction. I find it one of the most powerful words in the german language. It speaks volumes to a state of being that can’t be described in english. I have this Sehnsucht for another life I suppose, where my friends surround me, I can be with my great boyfriend and have a shot at a real relationship where virtual presence wasn’t a necessity.

There are a million things going through my head. I just can’t say them all right now.

Woah

Three weeks ago Biscuit surprised me. He showed up at my door on a chilly Friday night, and my heart felt as though time had stopped. I was in my bedroom, just chilling in sweatpants and a sweater, looking like hell, and we were texting. We hadn’t texted that day –which I thought was strange– so I was just catching up, and then he says: could you first open your door please? I’m thinking ‘this isn’t possible, he probably just sent me a package or something. But it’s too late for a package to arrive now, unless he is the package… I don’t know what’s going on.’ And as I open the front door, my heart starts to race, and there he is, none other than the man himself, Biscuit. Yepp. Standing in Berlin, in front of my building, with a suitcase in hand, and my sister of course filming the whole embarrassing ordeal. It was like the most natural thing after 7 months of having not seen each other, and so much having changed within those months… it felt like an overwhelming sense of comfort and anxiety simultaneously washing over me. I hugged him and pecked him on the lips as if it was just like a reflex. That was our first kiss since a very sloppy (and kinda gross) 10th grade make-out. It’s so weird when you realize that after 3 years. The guy you liked, then hated, then made out with, then hated, then liked, is now someone whom you love. That exact word. I’ve never used it other than on my family and closest friends. It’s a very different type of love; this overwhelming heart-racing, loss-of-words, belly-filled-with-butterflies, unable to speak, kind of love. Yet this unnatural comfort, much like being swaddled, or sitting on your couch covered in blankets, drinking hot chocolate and watching a perfect mood movie. It’s being able to say whatever or say nothing at all. After not having been able to see one another for so long, it was (in an understated version of the event) ecstatic joy. Not only did I spend the weekend with a boy (he’d prefer if I’d say man) whom I’ve this newfound ‘blossoming’ (as some cringe worthy 80 year old romance novels would say) relationship with, but my friend whom I haven’t seen in almost 3 years came to Berlin. She was doing a sort of historical tour before her THIMUN conference, with her UN youth group. She moved to New Zealand a few years ago so I haven’t seen her since then, however we’re still great friends. Anyways I was so happy to see her after so long, and even though it was great spending time with her and Biscuit (they were friends with one another before I even moved to the school), it was a strange sort of nostalgia.

Now I’ve been pretty stressed and nervous since my exam is on Tuesday next week, but I’ve got a big 5 day mini-vacation planned and that’s the only thing keeping me motivated to go on. I’ll write about it soon.

Van Gogh and RuPaul

I should really blog more….

I don’t really consider myself a proper writer, as much as I wish I could, I just feel I completely lack the skill to put my emotions into words. I think that I struggle sometimes with that. You know that feeling when you really want to be good at something so badly that it hurts all the more when you realize you just aren’t that good at that thing? That is me with writing –with a lot of other skills too, but writing is at the top of that list. Self-doubt and self-hate are two states of mind that I’m really trying to conquer this year.

If you hear a voice within you say “you cannot paint,” then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.

~Vincent Van Gogh

It’s extremely difficult to tell oneself that one can do anything with a little willpower and determination, but it has to be on repeat, on loop until one believes it. What’s been on loop for the past 4 years was ‘you CANNOT do this, never, you aren’t good enough, strong enough, smart enough, kind enough, patient enough. Give the fuck up.’

NO. no no no no.

I need to fight this voice. Do the things the voice says I can’t do and SILENCE IT.

I’m in love with a boy and terrified of the future, and the voice keeps saying: this won’t work out, you don’t know how to love someone. You can’t beat distance, you can’t even love yourself how are you supposed to love someone else?

As RuPaul says,

True words from a true Queen

I’m working towards it. My first goal:

STOP WITH THE SELF DEPRECATING, SELF LOATHING COMMENTS!

The less I externalise it, and put it into the universe, the less I will internalise it, right? That’s what I’m hoping will happen.


On a happier note, I’ve been so elated, walking on air for a few days now. Ignoring my frustration about getting into university or money problems, I’ve been happy. Happy because of him. I don’t like to rely on others to make me happy, but he makes me so happy. I like writing that word since I rarely get to write it down. We aren’t in the same place, country, time zone, but it doesn’t matter. And I’m always so apprehensive of that distance and difference, but I’m trying to be happy. To do what makes me happy. My best friend and I were talking about it. I asked her what she thought of my decision. She told me ‘It’s okay to be reckless. If it makes you happy who cares if you’re being reckless?’ That was all I needed to hear.

I still need to write all the letters to the people I want to thank for helping me and being there for me when I needed them. I told myself I would, and I will. I just have to stick to that plan. It’s hard finding the words though, but I’ll try my best.