I throw off the yoke of control that made me feel safe, and I jump into the strong currents of my depression as it leads me to the edge of chaos. I’m hoping on a miracle, like Musa’s mother did. I close my eyes, relax my mind and open my heart. I’m as prepared for a hopeful conclusion as I am prepared for an existential death. Whatever the case, I’m here.
On the days my depression is bad, I clean the house to feel safe. For others to be ok with me even when I’m not okay. For others to not think I’m lazy or selfish on the days when I need to rest the most. I can’t rest whilst feeling unsafe. I can’t rest in my resistance towards myself. My self-hate for being this way. If I was a phone I’d throw myself against the wall. Break myself for being broken. Standing out is the worst feeling ever and depression is like a car wreck on a super highway. It took 6 suicide attempts for me to begrudgingly learn to feel my feelings. Out of the 12 years, I’ve not actively fought myself for 4. By not fighting I mean the bare minimum of accepting that the depression is out of my control.
But I still fight myself by trying to redeem myself. By trying to grill my feelings to see if there’s any possibility I could do anything to make it less crippling. Anything I can do to fix it. I still find it nearly impossible to just accept my feelings unconditionally, without first trying to make them qualify the level of disability I feel.
Give me a reason, anything, as to why I can’t make it to my therapy session for the 4th week in a row. She’s going to be so disappointed in me. This whole week is going to be a self-loathing for not having gone. Exhibit 13 in the case against Mulki and why she’s a write-off.
I DON’T BELIEVE IN MYSELF BECAUSE I’VE NEVER REALLY TAKEN THE TIME TO GET TO KNOW MYSELF BECAUSE I DISSOCIATE EVERY TIME I FEEL ANYTHING SO. I NEED YOU TO BELIEVE IN ME AND I’LL SPEND MY LIFE DEVOTED TO MEETING YOUR EXPECTATIONS TO GET ENOUGH VALIDATION TO FEND OFF THIS EXISTENTIAL ANXIETY THAT IS TEARING ME APART. AND IF I EVER FEAR NOT MEETING OTHERS EXPECTATIONS, I’LL GO ROUND AND ROUND IN A PANICKED FRENZY BECAUSE UNCERTAINTY + EXISTENTIAL ANXIETY IS A DEADLY CONCOCTION AND I DISSOCIATE BUT THEN THE PARAMETERS OF REALITY START TO DISSOLVE BECAUSE I WAS ONLY EVER GROUNDED BY BEING FOCUSED OUTWARDLY ON GOALS THAT DID NOTHING BUT APPEASE OTHERS EGOS SO THAT I COULD GET SOMEATHAT TRICKLE DOWN EGO JUICE. IF I START TO DOUBT MY ABILITY TO ACHIEVE THOSE GOALS, WHAT AM I? WHO AM I?
WHY DO I EVEN LIVE IF I CAN’T EVEN PROVE MY INNER BULLY WRONG?
Hello suicidal ideations, my old friends
Place : Alvesta, Sweden
Picture: Madre, padre, me. 1st birthday party. December 1st 1990
Ages 0-14: Sweden
Age 15: Kenya [spent half a year in Somalia+ Kenya at my behest so I could escape bullies that made life hell for me at school 😒]
Ages 16-21: Kenya [moved to Kenya permanently with my family after I finished 9th grade]
Ages 22-23: Egypt [ Moved on my own to study. Lived with friends]
Ages 24-25: Sweden [back after nearly 8 years abroad. First time fully acknowledging the teeters my mental health was in and how much moving around destabilized me as a highly sensitive person]
Age 26: UK [ temporarily moved to the UK in what in hindsight was me bypassing the healing I needed to do. I wanted to fastforward shit so that I could rejoin society as a ‘functional’ member. Fell into the clutches of highly toxic and manipulative people I thought were friends]
Ages 27-28: Sweden [ First time I’m accepting my existential task and my lot. Spent all this time in introspection, mindfulness and weekly sessions with a psychologist. Road to healing isn’t quick but it’s meaningful and long lasting.]
Theme of past year : Enduring the tension of paradoxes
Theme of this year : Allowing the divine will through my imagination, unhindered by fears or preconceptions
I’m locked up in my squalid life because I don’t want others to come in and look at me with that look I’ve been avoiding mirrors for. I’m locked in darkness because the dark protects me, covers me, buries my existence, and with it, the painful reminders of my life. I don’t see much that is redeemable. All I see is what’s wrong with me. All I hear is the muffled wails imprisoned in my throat. All I feel is the jagged edges of my being. All I know is the echoing of my thoughts.
This life, this corporeal existence, is really about choosing to follow our egos, which is a detached entity with arbitrarily constructed perceptions, or our intuition which is the window to the divine. But that choice doesn’t have the significant impact we’d like to think. We like to believe that if we work harder and faster, that we can make something of the temporary blip on the radar that is our lives. And if someone doesn’t beat time and space before the time is up, well, that’s a wasted life.
How can we be so deluded as to think that something as ethereal and mysterious as life essence is subject to the validation of the masses? Because let’s be clear, when we think of making something out of our lives and leaving a legacy, we depend on the recognition of our works. Anything that can’t be quantified or labelled is not important. Life lessons carved from heartaches and lonely nights spent writhing in existential agony are useless. Unless you can bottle that and market it, then that’s when your experiences truly matter.