Tag: lies

those days are the hardest

tumblr_onwblkhEce1w0l6yoo1_640Depression is a disease – a sickness that doesn’t go away with just chicken noodle soup. When the world is spinning and I feel like I can’t get back on my feet, I cannot tell people how I feel.

Sadness isn’t a feeling. It is a state. A constant mind-numbing state that drapes over me like a scarf that is too big – engulfing me with useless thoughts from the past. Remnants and echoes of “why are you here” and “you aren’t worth it” hang heavily around my neck, around my head, in my mouth and under my skin. Sadness feels like I am sitting at the bottom of the pool, watching the world go by in slow motion. You know that feeling when you’re underwater? When everything is muted, rippled, and stuck in time? Watching people wonder why I am just sitting and not swimming. Hearing people yell my name in frustration and tell me to “just swim.” How can I just swim when I’m stuck in a ripple?

Those days it’s hard for me to breathe. Those days I want to stay in bed all day and stare blankly at the ceiling in a dimly lit room. Yes, I would rather be wrapped around in blankets, than go out to parties because these blankets did not lie to me. These blankets did not leave me. And these blankets did not touch me without my permission.

The ruffles of these blankets have wiped away my tears, pushed away my fears in the dark, and hugged me until I fell asleep. The tears in the corner of these blankets have seen the world hurt me, have seen me hurt myself, and have felt me tugging and ripping at its seams as if they were my veins.

I want it to stop. I want this feeling of constant nothingness to go away. I want to stop breathing because, with every heave of my chest, I am just breathing in more water.

Those days it is so hard for me to breathe that I just want to stop breathing. I want it all to stop. Those days are the worst. Because no one ever gets it. “You were fine yesterday,” someone will mutter, and “It’s all in your head,” someone will state, with that matter-of-factually obnoxiousness that I have learned to ignore since the first day.

Those days I want to run and run and run away from the noise inside my head, from thoughts that trail after me like my shadow. I don’t want to see. I don’t want to hear. I only want to feel the thumps of my beating heart under my skin reminding me that I am alive.

The only thing depression taught me was this: people will say they love you and they support you and that they understand. They don’t. I realize that when I talk too much about my depression, people get uncomfortable. They try to butter me up with awkward ‘don’t you feel so much better today’s as if they can try to make me whole again. As if I’m something broken they think they can fix. But I’m not.

I am not broken. I am a person. I think, I feel, I am normal. Just a normal girl with perhaps too many feelings, too many thoughts – but a normal girl, nonetheless. Depression is a part of me that I’ve come to accept. Some days it’s easier to manage than others. Some days, my friends act like lifeboats and bring me above the surface. I can see the sun again. I can breathe again. Everything is fine again. But there will always be those dark, high tides that I cannot escape. I will plunge underwater and I will be pulled deep down again. But I will always find my way back to the lifeboats. I will always find my way to the surface.

To everyone: Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. And just because you don’t understand it, doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.

Think before you say something. Your words might be the last thing someone hears.

fill in the blanks

and send to the haters who “miss you”

Posted on July 2, 2018 by loony katoony

 

dear               ,

you say you miss me.

to clarify, you don’t miss me, you just miss the way i made you feel about yourself.

you miss the attention and validation i gave you.

you never gave a damn about how you made me feel.

[in case you were wondering, i felt                             .]

you lost the privilege of having me in your life when you                                           .

thus, with all due respect, fuck off.

 

regards,

                                        

simple truths

adulting meIt’s hard to tell the truth. But here’s my version. Within each statement is a simple truth, just how I feel. If you think that this is how I’m projecting my relapse – you couldn’t be more wrong. I would have never posted this a year ago, or hell, even a month ago. I don’t think I could’ve even gotten myself to write this. I know these aren’t great sunshiny feelings but they’re my feelings and I’m working on them. This isn’t a call for help. I’m proud of myself, and I’m proud of how far I’ve come. I can’t believe I’m including a picture of myself in this. I hate having my picture taken but I think it’s important for me to realize that I am a part of others’ memories and that they actually love me. Thank you for being a part of my journey, I wouldn’t be here without everyone’s love and support.

Here are my truths.

 

I am nineteen.

I have accomplished nothing.

 

I like writing.

But I am not good at it.

 

I have had my heart broken twice.

I’m scared to fall in love again.

 

I don’t like it when strangers look at me.

I think they’re mentally stripping me.

 

I’ve been taking sleeping pills every night for the past month.

Because when it gets too late at night, I want to hurt myself.

 

I miss my father a lot.

But I still remember the belt he used to strike me with.

 

I love reading.

I need to escape. I need to forget.

 

I paint my nails often.

Because if I look put together, no one can tell that I’m falling apart.

 

I like getting sick.

Because having the flu is a better excuse for me to stay in bed than depression.

 

I have recurring nightmares of drowning.

I’m scared of the disappointment I feel when I wake up.

 

I’m always sunshine and rainbows.

Because if I’m not, no one will like me.

 

I don’t like it when people tell me to shut up.

It’s taken me a while to find my voice. 

 

I intend to keep it.

 

 

 

 

a previous life

The bustling city of Bangkok was busier than I remembered. Amidst the tightly packed cars like sardines in a can, the distant grey heads rushed around, enshrouded by the airy fumes. Skyscrapers and company buildings littered the streets – a permanent shadow that followed me everywhere.

This used to be a place I once called home, but now, I am nameless. faceless. Lost in a sea of conformity. I am disgusted by the society. And I am disgusted by my self  and my inability to escape the relentless cycles of power, politicians, and prejudice.

The car rolled into the suburb, uniform houses stood next to each other— the ones with a small porch and a garage. We drove past the empty playground. The once green grass lay overgrown and deserted, the swings creaked softly at the departing wind. I noticed the peeling paint off of the merry-go-round as we drove past the barren land.

I remembered spinning round and round, peals of laughter in the air. Giggling with my sister as we rolled around on the grass. I can’t remember the last time we talked.

My head snapped back into the moment as she asked casually, “so how have you been?” — as if she knew me—as if she cared while I was away this whole time.

“I’m fine. And you?” I reply automatically.

If I’ve learned anything at all, it is that, people ask you questions, not because they care for the answer, but because they don’t have anything else to say. This isn’t true for everyone of course, but it will always be true for my mother.

An awkward pause. A horn blares from the opposite side of the road, filling the empty silence.

“Fine.”

I looked out the window, wishing I was anywhere else but there.

“So, Psychology, huh?” she looked proud, as if knowing what major I was in meant that she was involved in my life.

“Actually, I switched to Journalism six months ago.”

“Journalism? That’s great.” she chirped.

I could see her crinkle her nose in disdain through the side view mirror.

 

*

 

My old bedroom looked smaller than I remembered. A bed. A dresser. A desk. My eyes shifted from the small twin sized bed to the tired table. I pulled out the chair which groaned against the ashy hardwood floor. Old books and novels lined the shelves— a thousand lives I wish I’d lived.

I smiled fondly at memories of old detective novels and reminded myself of the light in my eyes that could never be put out. I was ferocious and determined to take on the world. I wonder what happened to that little girl.

The oblique golden rays shone on the stained cardboard boxes, the fine coating of dust marking the years it has been left behind. A gentle gust of wind drifted through the creaky window, as the thin white curtains danced against the soft light.

There was an element of something almost magical at the untouched pale-pink walls. Plastered with polaroids of family trips and middle school dances, I almost didn’t remember the thrill of being asked to the first dance. Almost.

I don’t feel anything anymore. There is no thrill. There are no emotions. One word text messages, leftover Chinese takeout, and quick fucks. This is the new norm. The scary thing, I think, is that I’m starting to get used to it.

Scratches on the pale walls made by the end of metallic rulers. Names of crushes, dates of first kisses. Tally marks of days spent alone and nights spent lonely.

I sigh.

It’s not that much different now. Except, I no longer feel whirlwinds of emotions. My heart never skips a beat. There are never butterflies in my stomach. The empty pit beneath my chest is still there though.

I am reminded of all the times spent in the corner of my bed- curled up and alone. All the times spent looking up at the artificial fluorescent glow, wondering when it would all get better.

It doesn’t.

I breathe in deeply.
Late night conversations on the phone and tears that ended up with scars not on the walls.

There are no more conversations. There are no more tears. All that’s left are fading scars and a numbness that never goes away. 

The fluffy white blanket gave the illusion of being comfortable and safe but its frayed hems said otherwise.

I wonder what parts of me I have left. 

Opposite of the bed stood my vanity. The polished structure that once stood strong now wilted. Staring defeatedly at me, as if asking me why I abandoned it. The mirror hung, lone and depressed. But wiped clean, without any fingerprints or marks or trace of life.

Stupid, stupid table. Of course I’m going to abandon you. Stupid piece of shit. Reminding me of my shit life. 

I stared back at myself.

— Who am I?