Lethargic Day

The person I am varies from day to day, and sometimes from hour to hour. I’m always the same person on the inside, but the external representation of my being varies greatly.

One day I am alive, vivacious, and passionate, and the next I am a zombie. Today I am weary and tired and I feel like a coma might do me good. I’m so very very tired. I can’t seem to exude my “normal self”, I’m more depressed today than the past few days. I am lethargic and internally beat. I just want to sleep.

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Coffee Reflections – Bipolar Ramblings

I’m sitting here at my favorite coffee shop drinking my 3rd cup of coffee for the day. I look down, and I see my self harm scars on my arm and I’m not even remotely bothered. I can’t find the energy to be ashamed of what I’ve done to cope with my brain. I used to be incredibly ashamed. I’d wear long sleeve shirts or sweaters in the warmest weather just to avoid people seeing them, but now it’s just another fact of me. I’ve come to realize that my only “fault” has been my incredibly strong urge to survive at any cost and that’s not something to be ashamed about.

Is cutting healthy? No, but it’s kept me alive. It’s taken the edge off the suicidal thoughts and it’s helped release some of the toxicity of my extremely dark feelings. We’re all trying to survive and this is how I’ve managed to stay alive. My scars are no worse than tattoos. The damage is always minimal, only just enough to take the edge off, to stop the thoughts and have peace for a moment.

I’ve done whatever it takes to survive, and because I have, I am able to be here today. If I’m honest, I’m proud of my scars, those scars came from times I wanted to kill myself and chose to live. I chose life over and over and those scars remind me that I’ll keep choosing life.

People who’ve almost died are angry at people like me, they think I don’t value life, but they are wrong. I value life more than anything, I’ve lived the vast majority of my life internally battling myself. I’ve lived with a passion and reverence for life all the while having my brain urging me to end it all. I’ve lived with my brain as my worst enemy.

I live compelled to end my life while fighting and grasping for any reason to stay just another minute, another hour another portion of time. I fight for whatever portion of time I can get because I want to live more than anything else. Every day is bittersweet because a part of me will always desire that ending. I will always be torn and even so, I choose life, I choose to continue struggling with my own brain, and I can finally say I respect my struggle for what it is. Perhaps it’s a difficult struggle to comprehend, but it’s a struggle nonetheless. So today I sit enjoy this delightful third cup of coffee and I’m thankful I lived to see this moment. It’s a beautiful moment in its mundane simplicity, but it’s moments like these that I live for.

BiPolar Diet – Shock Depression

In the past two weeks I’ve lived off 4 meals and loads of coffee. When I go to eat I get the urge to vomit. Food doesn’t sound good, it sounds quite tedious and undesirable. I know I’m depressed, I’m functionally depressed. I’m still working, I’m getting shit done, and I’m talking to people, but I’m depressed, and I know it because I won’t eat. People are telling me to eat, but there is always some new excuse not to eat.

It’s not that I don’t get hungry, I do. Just last night I was starving so I drank juice and lots of water. It’s more like I can’t stomach food even if I’m hungry. I’m on a strict functionally depressed liquids only diet. If I manage to stomach any food it’s a win.

Quite frankly I wish I could maintain this approach the rest of my life. I normally can’t say no to my favorite foods, and now, my favorite foods sound revolting. I can’t be bothered to eat, and if I’m honest I love this type of depression. I know I shouldn’t enjoy being depressed, but if I have to be depressed, I’d rather it be like it is now. As the days pass, I sleep less, I eat less, and I create more. I create more written pieces and I get more work done in my employment. This type of depression leads to an extremely efficient and creative point in my life.

In other words, my body is experiencing depression brought on by the blissful denial my mind finds itself in. My body is screaming out something is wrong, but my mind is responding with denial. So, I don’t eat and I don’t sleep, but my mind is sharp and efficient. This behavior will run its course within a matter of weeks, and at the most in a month or two I’ll eat normally again.

This is my shock depression. I get this type of depression when something truly unexpected jolts me out of the norm and leads to an internal crisis. It’s another type of coping mechanism, it’s my minds desperate attempt to regain control of my life. I can’t control external factors, but I can control my sleep and food intake and that’s what my mind does when I experience shock depression.

Philosophical Monologue – Acceptance

Everything I ever wanted and everything I enjoyed, lays waste to my soul. It’s all here laid before me, and it’s all for naught. I’m destined to be chronically unhappy. I veer towards an increasing contempt of my decisions, my desires, my way of thinking and my way of being. I am my own worst enemy, and my biggest fan.

I am constantly at odds with myself. There is great love and great hatred of all that I am, all that I will myself to be, and everything I’ve ever been. There is a raging war within me, that I’m sure I will likely lose one day.

I accept the chaos that is me. I embrace the pain, the happiness, the mania, and the enduring cloud above my head. I tread through the relentless craving seducing me to end it all. I cry for myself and I walk on. I will myself forward another day further in the hope of a glimpse of the extraordinary. An extraordinary struggle for an extraordinary life.

When the days are short, and the nights are long, I hold out for the extraordinary. I do whatever it takes to stay alive:  another minute, another hour, another day. I’ll stop when my gut tells me to stop and not a minute sooner. My mind can’t be trusted, my feelings are just as erratic, but my gut, my instincts those aren’t defective.

Believe it, or not, I love myself today. I accept the solace I’ve found in the philosophical ramblings of my monologue. There is no peace to be found in others, it’s found in the monologue of your internal ramblings. External factors merely paint the landscape of the path you must take. The journey is as great or as wretched as you let it be.

Happiness is a conscious decision, it’s not a product of your environment. Remember that. I choose happiness, and I’ve also chosen agony because, it’s beautiful in it’s own right. If my internal chaos has taught me anything, it’s that balance must reign. Without agony, happiness would be dim and passionless. I feel so strongly about everything, it’s a blessing and it’s a curse, and it’s me.

The Different “Me” – Life as Seen

Human beings are curious in their thought patterns and routines. We’ve learned to adapt to the many different climates on this planet, but that doesn’t mean we’ve learned to be the same everywhere. We find enjoyment in different routines and different life styles depending on our environmental factors.

I take myself as a prime experiment. I’ve lived in 3 states and 3 countries and travelled to 9 states and 12 countries. I’ve spent the greater part of my adult life shuffling from one place to the other.

While in North Carolina, I find myself to be an extreme recluse, too tired to be bothered to do anything for pleasure.

While in California, I find myself to be a go getter explorer; a person fascinated by the most mundane surroundings.

While in Oregon, I find myself to be cold hearted, a regular kind of social, and desirous of anything to explore.

While in Spain, I find my best self. I find a social, content, explorer, risk taker, who cares about her health.

While in Germany, I find a great version of myself. I find a health oriented, language learner, keen on absorbing every moment of life, I find a butterfly trying to break out of it’s cocoon.

While traveling for pleasure I find an extroverted social go getter, ready to party or read that book.

While traveling for work, I find a fatigued, anxious, tense individual.

A long lasting coping mechanism of mine has been to compartmentalize my life. It’s a dangerous coping mechanism. I am a different version of myself depending on my environment, the people surrounding me, and the context in which I find myself. I utterly detest my different “lives” touching or intermingling. Very few times have I gladly allowed there to be an overlap between the different aspects of my life.

We all change a bit based on our surroundings, most in subtle ways; however, as always, I take it to extremes.

I don’t like drinking coffee in North Carolina, but I live for drinking my daily coffee while living in Spain. It’s a dose of heaven in Spain and a regular beverage in North Carolina. The coffee doesn’t taste any better in Spain, but for some reason, it feels like heaven drinking it every morning in Spain. The way I interact with my surroundings affects my preferences, routines, and way of being.  On occasion the different versions of me are as different as night and day.

Yay for compartmentalizing my life! Joking, it’s a bad coping mechanism, but it is interesting to observe as I watch myself change from one environment to the next.

Hello 2018

Hello 2018. Everyone wants to be different, I wanted to feel again. You know, I just wanted to hold the one I love, and not want to let them go. I just wanted to have that moment of bliss. I didn’t want that goddamn lie of forever. I just wanted to let go for a little while. I just wanted to be vulnerable for that moment. I wanted to allow myself to want more, even if just for a moment. I wanted to feel in love again, because well I am in love, even if I deny myself the feeling.

But…When I saw him, he held me, and I didn’t let go of the pretense. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be vulnerable. Those walls, they are up for good. All I felt was an extreme fear of showing my love. All I felt was fear. I was afraid of him, and everything he can make me feel. I got what I wanted. I got to feel again, just not the feeling I wanted to feel.

So…Fuck that. You could say I reached my goal quickly. Talk about New Years resolutions actually working out!

Why on earth did I want to feel again? It sucks.

I was numb for almost the entirety of 2017. On only one occasion did I “feel”. I felt so much I tried to kill myself. So, for 2018 I let love wiggle out of its hiding place. I mean, I knew it was never gone, it was just so deeply hidden I pretended it wasn’t there. I thought, “Shit, I’ve been numb for so long, I can probably enjoy feeling a little love”. Well, nah, I was wrong. Love is a nuisance.

Love made me incredibly happy. Love made me feel incredibly alive, but you know what else love did? Love almost caused me to fail out of university. Love made me want to rearrange my entire life, and I did.

Love gave me burning passion, a passion that flows both ways.

So, fuck feeling. I took myself off medications, and I’m putting myself back on them right away. Who was I kidding? I can’t handle feeling feelings. I can barely handle my fucking brain let alone feelings getting in the way. So hello world. Suicide attempts, cutting, extreme depression, mania, it’s all old news at this point.

Another year and same old me. Nothing ever changes, not in my life. I just go through phases. Will this be the year I die? Who knows. At the rate I’m going, I think I’ll finally crack in about 3-5 years. Just have to let the crazy marinate a little bit more. Why anyone would ever love me is beyond my understanding.

So Tired

Hello Lovelies,

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything, about three months now. My journey has been long and I find I’ve moved but an inch.

This year I found a Job, I was promoted multiple times, and I’ve gotten to make decent money, but in the end it’s all for naught.

I’m now on the verge of being fired, and also on the verge of quitting altogether. I miss my freedom so very dearly. I’m tired of it all. Everyday that passes the more that utter poverty allures me. A vagabond without ties sounds immensely more alluring than the mediocrity of my life.

I’m so fucking tired of feeling stuck all the time. I’m not even living for me at this point. I’m living based on societal expectations that pressure me into living a certain way.

My spark is gone. I’m nothing more than the dying embers of a fire that once blazed recklessly through life.  I hope and dream of someone passing by and helping reignite that flame.

I’m so tired of being imprisoned within myself.