The Truth of Me (Longgg)

Here is the truth of Me.

All things said, dropping the ridiculous comparisons I obssesively bring up. I’ve lived an extraordinary life.

I’ve done nearly everything I’ve set my mind to, and I’ve experienced everything I ever hoped to experience and then some.

My depression tells me I’m not good enough, and my mania tells me I can do more, be more, and I spiral into an endless insatiable quest for more. The icing on the cake is my neverending fear of abandonment fed by my borderline personality disorder. I push people away because I don’t want to be abandoned. I’d rather do they abandoning. Hippocrital I know, never giving people the chance to go against my paranoia.

The disorders I live with impact my daily life, and they influence my thoughts and actions, but even then they don’t win. They don’t control me, at least not completely. I understand what’s wrong with me and I’m always aware of it’s control. I’m not free, but I’m also not ignorant of my issues.

This post has taken a different turn. The point in all this shit, is that I live, I breath, I smile and I cry. I am alive and successful in my own ambitions. I’ve always known to perservere for what I want even if the obstacle is my own mind, but I’d never acknowledged that taking it slow is okay too.

I never stopped to think I could enjoy gardening with my mother, cleaning my house, or simply living off the grid, in a place I never chose.

I guess you could say, I never stopped to realize that I can be happy even in reliquishing my control. I can be happy even if I didn’t choose this life, the present one.

It’s always been a competition in my life. A competition with imaginary competitors who always beat me and rules that say I can’t be happy unless I win.

I’ve never known how to stay still and be content. Success, Adventure and Knowledge have always given me a home. They’ve been my stablity and happiness. I’ve never known how to happy when Idle, when bored, when found in the perfect stability that most others find contentment in.

For someone like me, always jumping from extremes, it’s hard to be content. Content is foreign to me, it’s scary in it’s stable and neutral nature. My aversion to all things content and normal is the same aversion most people feel towards being alone in a foreign country without money, it’s fucking scary.

Being content is fucking scary, it’s like losing my identity, it’s like admitting defeat. To be content is hard, it goes against my nature, but slowly I’m learning to be content, to be appreciative for the things I didn’t wan,t but have anyway. Like living with my mom, It’s embarrasing at my age, but I know one day, I’ll appreciate the extra time I have with her now, because no one lives forever.

People like me, we get caught up in our ambition, our problems, and our lack of control, and in so doing we forget the little things that matter like breakfast with mom. We forget to see the beauty outside of our own alphabet of plans. We tend to let our loved ones pass us by.

So, I want to stop that now. Because my life is perfect and I’ve been too goddamn blind to appreciate it. My family, my friends, and I, we all deserve better than my empty ambitions. I know I’ve been lacking….

I have an Extraordinary Toothbrush

There’s an old toothbrush in my bathroom. It should’ve been thrown out months ago, a long time ago, but yet it still adorns my sink. I have too many new toothbrushes and none of them have been taken out of their packaging.

I’m waiting for the “right” day the “right” time, but really there is no “right” time. I’m waiting for a day that won’t come, to do the inevitable.

It’s just a cheap old toothbrush brought along from Germany. It’s a drugstore toothbrush I can’t get myself to throw away. It’s a reminder of a different life, a better life, a different me.

I hold on to these tokens of a different life. They’re my lifeline, my sanity, in a time when my mind slowly unravels. I grab on ferrociously to these reminders of who I once was, of what I once did, and where I once lived and what I once felt.

Silly as it may be, that tooth brush is very hard to let go. Everyday I tell myself I’ll throw it away, and everyday I think, “Tomorrow I’ll do it, just one more day”.

How desperate do you have to be for a toothbrush to mean that much? That toothbrush holds so many memories, so much happiness, and sorrow. It’s just a thing like any other thing, but somehow I attached my memories to it like a photo on a wall and a video in a phone.

It helps me recall a happier and more fulfilling time. I changed when I moved back to the USA, and I don’t think I’m quite myself anymore. That toothbrush reminds me who I am.

I guess that’s how lonely I am. That’s how unloved I feel. I guess that’s how unhappy I am. My memories, my happiness, my goals, my personality they’ve been imprinted on a plain old toothbrush that’s past it’s expiration date.

I guess I can count on the toothbrush to stick around as long as I want it around. Unlike people, the toothbrush is just an object, a painting, that evokes emotions in me that I don’t want to forget.

So, that’s my post for day.

I have an old toothbrush past it’s expiration date. It’s a special ordinary toothbrush that I can’t get myself to let go of. Why? Because I have issues and I’ve projected my happy memories on it in an effort to hold onto hope, to hold onto myself.

The ordinary turned extraordinary in my broken mind. My toothbrush.

Meaningless More

I find myself precariously dancing along the edges of crossroads leading to nowhere.

I find myself hearing words that carry no weight from people I’ll soon forget.

I find myself forgiving their insults and lashing out at myself.

I create a dystopian utopia to envelope my heart.

Where there are smiles there are factors at play: efficiency, neccesity, gains, losses and personality profiles to maintain.

It’s not the strangers at play.

It’s the people who “Love” me.

Built in flaw.

Family.

Feeling Normal

Hi Bloggers,

I’m back. It’s only been like 3 months or something since my last post. Since then I’ve gone into a manic state, I’ve been even more depressed and suicidal and now I’ve started to experience a more normal state of being. The last time I felt any real semblance of normalcy was in July of last year.

JULY…I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since the last time felt “normal” as opposed to depressed or manic. It’s the first time in nearly a year that I’ve been able to feel like I dominate my emotions and not the other way around.

Feeling normal is so damn boring, but you know, it’s boring in a refreshing way. I don’t feel like anything is exceptionally urgent and I don’t feel useless, ugly, depressed or suicidal. I also don’t feel manic.

I’d say, normalcy feels like blissful boredom. No more need to plan a million backup plans, no need to scheme, hide or be depressed. Everything is just blissfully boring in the way I imagine many people experience.

Not a desperate boredom rather a blissful one.

It hasn’t been a year since I experienced happiness, that’s not what I mean. I experience fleeting moments of happiness here and there, but normalcy, a calm in the storm of my emotions, that’s rare.

I miss my old life, but I can’t get it back. It’s gone. The past can’t be relived.

At least for now, there is calm in my soul. The clouds of depression and the racing thoughts of mania stand at bay allowing me a short breath of air.

Meds Galore-Sedated Emotions

Did I catch your attention? Cool beans.

Tomorrow I get more meds. I can’t fucking deal.

I don’t actually want more meds. I want to get off them, but if I get off them I’ll do what I truly want and fuck up my finances once more.

I’m so very very fucking miserable. The worse part? I’m so fucking sedated on mood stabilizers & antidepressants that I can’t even feel how miserable I am. You might think that’s the fucking point of these medications, and it is, but do you know how miserable it is to not be able to feel and act on how you feel? I miss my emotions. I miss crying all night long. I miss shouting at the top of my lungs in anger. I miss loving with all my might.

I feel so incredibly empty like I’ve never felt before. I’m spending money left and right trying to fill the void thats opened up.

I can stare at a wall for hours wondering what the fuck I’m doing with my life. I hate my life with all the emotion that’s left in me. I’m so very empty. I miss my emotions. I miss my thoughts. I miss my reactions. I don’t fucking care that they were extreme and persistent. They were mine. I look at photos of me and it’s like I’m looking at a different person.

Every smile is dead and every tear is fake. I can’t feel shit, or who knows, maybe this is how normal people feel shit?

This doesn’t feel right. I rather be disfunctionally emotional then emotionally dead. Every “feeling” feels so miniscule and unimportant. I’m taken over by the desire to run away and never come back. I want to start a new life some place else and do what I want.

I hate that I have to sedate my feelings to function because I need to live a life I hate, doing things I hate. I hate it all. I hate everything about my life. I wish living the life that makes me feel fulfilled wasn’t make believe. I’m not cut out for this society.

God I miss my crazy emotions. I miss me. I miss everything about me. Too bad she’s gone.

What Lies Beneath

Everyone tells me I sound better.

They say I’m doing much much better and that I’m succesful too.

I tell them I’m not, but that doesn’t matter they want to believe I’m better. No point in arguing against their beliefs. It’s a moot point. They won’t believe me anyway.

I look like I’m doing great from the outside in, but I’m not. I’m worse than I’ve ever been before.

How is that possible? The Meds. The Meds make me look more put together. They take the edge off of wanting help or arguing my point. They make me complacent.

They take away my desire to be understood and replace it with calm internal destruction. I’m still falling apart, but I no longer feel the need to beg for understanding, or help for that matter. I’m left with the calm knowledge that I’m fucked, no point in letting the world know, they can’t do shit for me.

I’m a functioning member of society now. That’s why people think I’m doing great, but I’m not. Why? Because I’m not feeling my feelings, I’m not doing what I love and I’m not living. I’m going through every damn motion pretending to be alive, when I’ve already subconsciously given up.

I’m a zombie. I wake up work, work some more, wish I could relax, go to sleep and repeat the same damn cycle every day.

This isn’t living, this is hell on earth. I can see why some people become suicidal on meds. It’s not that they don’t calm you down. They do. They leave you so calm in fact that you dissect every aspect of your life with perfect composure and then, when you find you’re fucked, with that same composure you choose to end the cycle. It becomes so unbelievably rational because you’re composed, and calm and it looks like the perfect way out. It’s not rash it’s planned and well thoughtout.

So, I’m not okay. I’m worse than I’ve ever been before because I no longer fight for what I want and I no longer care. Before I looked like I was extremely unstable because my moods and emotions were extreme, but they were mine and they were there because I was fighting for what I wanted. Now? I don’t fight for what I want. I wake up alone every day and I don’t fucking care. I’ve stopped caring that I don’t have love and that I’m not feeling fulfilled. I just go through the motions day and after day, but really I’m long since dead.

Everything I stand for, everything I believe, and everything I love is gone. I’m left with nothing but the motions of life.

I go through the motions and thats why I look better than ever. I’m no longer fighting society, or fighting for love or anything for that matter.

These Meds.

They left me perfectly docile and complacent. I’m going through the motions because that’s all I have. Everything else is gone and getting off the meds will only show the world what’s hidden inside.

So, I’m not okay, I’m worse than before, but that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, all I have are the motions.

I’m perfectly complacent and docile. The extremes are still there but no one can see them.

It’s a false calm within the storm.