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Tag: depression
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june still
I’m a fan of Kobido. I absolutely love it! Maybe this kind of “slapping the face” helps me come to my senses?! I was there again two days ago. You know what? Indira, the girl I adore (a wonder with hands like vises), decided to put so-called “tapes” on me to help maintain the effect of the treatment. And you know what? She chose super colorful, rainbow ones for me. She said, “I thought these would suit you perfectly.”
How easy it is to not be able to guess what truly lies within a person.
Now I feel really good. I’ve done a titanic amount of work to feel the way I do now. A huge effort, driven by the will to live. Yet, even though sometimes it seemed to me that it would be easiest to end this process, I found my notes from that time, not so long ago after all. As I read them now, written on paper, on my phone – whether in emotion or completely without any – that version of me had a significant impact on who I am today.
I am still ill, but I am already taking care of myself.
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june 10, 2024
A look — especially today. Especially because in my (depressive) cycle, there are moments when a lot changes, and this is dictated by… my forgetfulness and a break in the “chemical supply” to the brain, where, after all, changes have occurred. I probably shouldn’t write about this, because in depression treatment it’s forbidden to stop medication on one’s own. So when am I really myself — when I take the pills, or when I stop them, wanting to see how much I can tame the Beast drugged by the chemicals inside me, which painfully makes me clench my jaws, causing tooth grinding. Which slyly whispers in my ear: “Forget the fools, despise them — show them!” In return, it offers me unbearable ringing in the ears, annoying buzzing. It commands my head to “spin” cruelly, somehow unable to keep up with the image, causing painful feelings of isolation, incoherence, aggression. Monster, Monster, will we always live in this almost complete symbiosis?!? Is chemical anesthesia the only way to you?!? If I fall in love with someone now, is it me or you, Deceptive Serpent?? I hate you, and at the same time — arrogantly and utterly absurdly — I quietly adore you, because I have a pharmacological advantage over you. Appearance only. Yet, you allow me to see in yourself stories I never dreamed of before.
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November 2020
The worst is when the Demons take over your mind. You sort of know it’s happening, you sort of want to fight it – for the sake of your child, for others… But deep down, all you really think about is letting it all go. Giving up. Resting. Not having to feel, not having to think. Not clenching your teeth, which have been aching since dawn from the constant tension in your jaw. I’m not myself. I can’t control my emotions – swinging between aggression and tears, which endlessly lick my face like they’re a being entirely separate from me. I have no control. Not over this, not over myself, not over anything. I don’t know how to take care of my mind anymore, because this is no longer me. The biochemical shifts in my brain have taken over, swallowed me whole. I’m drowning in this fucking numbness I’ll probably never get out of. I want to scream for help without a sound. Can anyone hear me?! I doubt it. All I hear is: “You bring these problems on yourself.” Maybe they’re right.
Honestly, I don’t know what’s worse – “The Man Who Left” during the hardest moment of my life, when I needed his scent more than anything, or me, slowly giving in, accepting whatever life throws at me: financial mess, the looming fear of a terrifying illness. “You’re great, but it’s also great without you.” Am I really that hopeless?! Probably. I’ve always felt like I don’t belong in this world. A world full of excess, illusion, and lies. Narcissistic arrogance. All that glitter for show – everything, and yet nothing that truly matters. I fell for the bait of attention. Me and my blind soul. Too bad the illness didn’t give a shit about my blindness. Fuck it.
I claw my way back up only to crash back into the shit again. Sometimes from high up – and they say: “Your energy and constant cheerfulness are impossible not to love.” Cute. Fucking great. Inside, it’s a total shitshow. Only I know it. And the doctor, who tries to save me with prescribed pills so I don’t hurt myself: “Please eat, for your brain.” I don’t want to eat. I just want to sleep. I can’t tell anyone. I whisper to my Beloved Furball: “Help me, help me survive! I think I want to live.” Bullshit. The only thing on my mind is how to disappear. But I can’t tell anyone. They’ll say I’m wallowing – because of the money problems, because of the maybe-real cancer, because someone who meant more to me than I wanted to admit left. Fuuuck-this-shit.