Criss-crossing on that border of mind

“Just do it” fucking sucks as a statement. It is one of those things only I am allowed to tell myself, maybe the one or two people closest to me as well. Others; fuck off. …unless you actually know what I’m going through.

Here are the things I cannot “just do”:

-answer your message

-open a random door

-attend your whatever event

-meet you and your friend

-answer your call

-try a new meal

-clean my apartment

-go to the store

-care about my physical well-being

-make my bed

-have a shower

-take out my trash

-not have a drink

-not have sex with random strangers

-get my shit together

Want to know why? Here’s why:

-answer your message; my anxiety cannot deal with the potential requirements your message comes with; needing to call you, answer you, meet you. If I don’t answer you, will you hate me forever? I do not have the mental capacity for these questions

-open a random door; I have control issues, new doors with unknown things behind them freak me out; how and which way does this door open? What’s behind it? What happens next? People will laugh

-attend your whatever event; what should my social anxiety wear for it? The shirts of me cannot have these people looking at me like they hate me and judge me? They will laugh at me

-meet you and your friend; I might love you and trust you, but now you want to force another person on me? How could you do this to me? I thought we were friends…you having another person with you is you putting me on the “need to pretend I’m great” zone even if you know I’m not. Are you betraying my trust in you by having your “friend” see my mental breakdown you know will happen? Do you hate me?

-answer your call: fuck off. Let me have my peace and time to collect myself and my thoughts. Don’t force me to quick pretend to be happy

-try a new meal; you know I don’t like new things. If I try a new meal I know you will be looking at me, watching me as I taste it. You are looking at me to hate it so that you can laugh at me

-clean my apartment: Just clean my apartment? Yes it is a mess. There are pizza boxes, dirty underwear and dust all around. I have long hair so yes, my shower drain is full, you can see the bundles of hair on my floor. Have not done the dishes in a week or two, these disposable ones work fine. And the bottles of wine? Yup, all around. I’m sure your apartment is great.

-go to the store: There are days when I cannot even get out of my bed except to go to the bathroom and receive the take out I just ordered. There are days when all I want is to stay in my bed in the darkness. I might watch Netflix, I might order food in. Glad you can walk around as you want

-care about my physical well-being: Not. Not at the top of my list. My head is not right, the heart even less. My body? Would I give a shit? No. I can’t even get out of my bed.

-make my bed – I will sleep in it, now, and next day night and day. I can barely get to the bathroom. Why would i make my bed? Who is going to see it?

-have a shower – I think my best is around 8-9 days without shower. I will lie in my bed thinking I’m fine until I start thinking I smell, after a few days of that I will shower, if I really really smell

-take out my trash – The pizza boxes, or quick food, or anything really. They will pile up. As long as I can step over or around them I am fine.

-not have a drink – Should I not drink? I want to forget the world, I want to forget me. I will drink, I will drink now and I will drink tomorrow

-not have sex with random strangers – I go to bar and grab a stranger, or even better yet, use Tinder for it; sex delivered at home. Do I necessarily remember it the next day? No. I just needed to be close to someone, I needed the sex.

-get my shit together- On it. Dickhead.

Let’s get this straight. Living with mental illness is messy. It comes with concrete messy things of dirty underwear on the floor, messy actions of getting black out drunk at office events, and messy aftermath of messages on your phone you have no recollection of. It comes with days and weeks of disappearing, calling sick for work, not replying to your friends. It comes with being unable to complete the simplest of things of taking out the trash or making your bed.

I’ve been there, done that, living there. I have been diagnosed with clinical depression, general anxiety disorder and social anxiety – that I know of. I am in therapy and my therapist might have a diagnosis or two to add to this. I’m not new to this though, this has been years of me. I’m living with it, making progress I hope, while having my ups and the sure deep downs.

The more I have worked on my problems, the more I speak to others about them, I realize I am not alone. And if I’m not alone, it means you are not either.

Fuck “Still sad?” …– “I’m on it…dickhead…”

I cannot tell you how much it humbles me to get the views and comments on my blog. I get several likes, I have 19 followers (in addition to the millions of fictional ones in my head), and numerous comments on my blog. 70% of the comments want to increase my SEO; sure, prob need action on that front – will not get to it though with you, sorry. 20% want to show me the “nudes promised” …as a girl, I’m fairly certain I did not ask for dick pics – who the fuck does (no one, no one is the answer if you are wondering…sorry Jennifer, sure you have great boobs too) … 9% of comments come with generic terms of; “love how you are phrasing this topic” – which blog would that not fit you robot you… With my math, and I was really reeeeaaaallly good at it in elementary school, we are talking about 1 and less than 1% of a chance of real people commenting…well..  

So. Dick pics, requests for nudes, rando spam comments equalling to 99%. What’s left? There are few non-commercial, authentic sounding comments and questions. One especially asking why I’m still sad, shouldn’t I just get on with it.

I am and I should. And I will.

This one comment. Whether from a robot or a real person, or a real person copy-pasting comments, got me thinking. I guess I have been all sad and all. All pain. All suffering. Gloom. Sure. In my view I’m making progress. But…

WELL. Person making that comment; THAT’S DEPRESSION FOR YOU. …fucker… Guess what? As much as I would love to come up with a magical overnight solution for depression; take this, do this – 24 hours – depression be gone: It. Is. Not. Possible. ……on another note though; totally appreciate your comment…..but then again; WHAT THE HELL…dickhead?

And on a 37th note (the first 30 something were in my head with more swear words than actual message); yup. Still sad, still depressed, still working on it.

Still. Working on it.

Why post this? Here’s why: Depression, anxiety, mental illness is a journey, it’s not an overnight cold, it’s not a virus or an infection you can just easily treat. It creeps up on you, slowly takes you down. You can fight it, pretend it’s not there, put up a front – “I’m ok”.

“I’m ok” is what feeds it, gives it power. Getting yourself to admit “not ok” takes strength. That alone takes ages; acknowledging it even longer. Working on it. Working on it. It can be days, weeks, months, years. I myself am on years-side of “I’m ok”.

I am doing better, I’m on the better side of ok, might even mean it on most of days now. I love to hear your comments (the real ones), but never ever ask why I’m still sad or couldn’t I just get on with it. Toxic comments like that need to acknowledge they are toxic. …phrase it differently and I’ll respond gladly.

My blog, this space, is about working shit out, working it through. It’s about the downs and ups and downs and downs and ups again. It is about making way – for the better.

So.

  • Comments from robots – cool – SEO rankings going up? – really do not care.
  • Comments from real people; thank you. I appreciate you and love you taking the moment to comment – let’s talk more
  • Comments from real people downplaying depression, anxiety, or any other mental illness – kindly fuck off ..unless you are realiazing you suck, then yes, hit me up, I’ll walk you through it

Mental health is like balancing in a bowl on a cone on wheels that’s on a ball that’s constantly turning

Take a wrong step and ooops, backwards you go. But. And here’s what many people don’t get, same works the other way round; make a small step forward and you will feel amazing; you can have the best day ever, cry because the color of the sky is light (not dark) blue again and you can actually take a breath and smell the flowers. You can feel the warmth, the love, the pride, the progress of the one step…and then realize you are balancing in a bowl on a cone on wheels that’s on a ball that’s constantly turning.

It’s. Not. Sustainable. You will not stay in one place, there is no mellow of a mental health problem, it’s not a chill place, it’s not like people are not doing anything to change it. People are, we are. Ever tried on balancing on anything? A board on a rock as a kid, a balancing board as a fitness freak adult, or the funny as balls as a hotshot on Total Wipeout? If you did, or if you want to try it out now (take a 2by4 and a round enough rock, I’ll wait), you will know it takes a shit ton of strength just to keep balanced, just to stay in that one place and not worse.

The energy it takes just to cope. The energy it takes to function. The energy it takes to maintain at least a bit of our social or job or economical or whatever bits of us…the energy is enormous… and if and when we try to change our position, ideally for the better, we are faced with the balancing act again. And! Let’s keep in mind that the world we live in is constantly turning, and not just in a  geographical sense…although I’m pretty sure that’s true as well…stars and whatnot, horoscopes and tectonic plates. K. What I mean is that our social worlds are changing, friends getting more kids and dogs and exes, family members getting more or less annoyed with us, jobs becoming harder and/or more filled with dickheads, tinder dates getting pissed off for…oh what a fun new post this will make! ..The world is not waiting for us to get our shit together. We are not on solid ground. Any move forward will make our legs wobbly, our hearth tremble, our brains panick…can we maintain this new position? Can we move forward? Will we fall backwards? And same with any fallback; we will take the extra panick, anxiety, shame, blame, energy, and first of all, feel like shit for the step backwards, and then for balancing us again, for again one day to move forwards; energy.

And, so, hence, furthermore, moreover, etc.; here’s the extra extra thing. While we feel like we are alone in our bowl we for damn sure also feel the entire world is watching and judging us. So. If you are yourself, or the whole damn other world, reading this you can help shift and keep the balance for you and/or someone for the better. Help, don’t hurt.

Help leave the past behind and move forward, support building the new way around for the better. Actions speak a millions words, but the rigth words will already be worth millions.

You are not alone!

Does losing my fears mean losing me?

Aren’t the fairy tales the worst (…this will make sense by the end of the blog post…maybe…). “Spend time with your fears”, “use your fears as a stepping stone”, “focus on your fears instead of your goals”. Who the fuck says stuff like that?? …for fucks sake…dumb as shit…….. Oh, right, that was my last blog post…the dimwit I was back then…I thought that was actually good advice…thought I’d solve aallll my problems thinking aaaaallllllll my problems were related to being too pretty few years ago… how great I thought this moment would have been where I could write my genius blog post with having solved it all!

Well..it did not quite go that way did it? DID IT? …no, no it did not… and also, get off your high horse you dimwit you…

I actually took my own advice…spent some time, long time with my fears. Sure, one of them is facing all the criticism that would follow if people would see me. I knew it existed. I wrote about it. I was also semi-aware of my fears of being just like my dad; overly sarcastic, charming person who eventually will hurt everyone around them by breaking their promises, cheating on anyone who can be cheated on, etc. etc.. An alchololic. I thought I’d take that on; a friend of mine was starting her annual lent journey; 40 days without alcohol or sweets. I’m in! I’ll prove I’m not an alcoholic!

40 days without any alcohol or any sweets – I did not think I could make it. And why? Here’s why: 1. The only thing I hate more than being told what to do is to be told what not to do 2. 40 days without any alcohol or any sugar; don’t think I’ve had that since I was 13…and that’s just for alcohol…with sugar we would prob have to go back to, I don’t know, when can toddlers have sugar? 3. My dad was an alcoholic and while that’s my mental image of pure hatred, how close am I actually of becoming him…?

Guess what happened? Guess! I made it. It was actually easy. I made it through 40 days without any alcohol and any sugar and I think it was harder on random waitresses than it was on me…

-Waiter: Should we start with a prosecco for everyone?

-Friends:  Yes, yes, yes, yes….

– Me; no, can’t drink alcohol right now

– Waiter: no problem, we have great mocktails

– Me: Sure, but I can’t have any sugar either

-Waiter: oh…let me ask our chef… *questioning all his best service pledges

-Waiter; so here’s a drink with cucumber, lemon and basil

– Me; It’s great *putting on a fake smile and a thumbs up

– Friend who shows up to dinner right after; oh that looks like the best mojito ever!

– Me: ….it’s water… *turning my fake smile into a sigh of deep disappointment

My learnings? Well. Damn right, previous blog post you (me?), I am my biggest challenge. And what this time of proper self-reflection showed me; the fucking fears I knew I need to, and will, deal with are only part of it. I can be without alcohol, I sure need to lose weight. But. Here’s the real shit: I’m afraid of moving on from me. I’m afraid of moving on from what I need to be to survive my past. I’m afraid of letting that me go.

I guess this might not make sense to a lot of people, but maybe it will make sense to some. In a very messed up way of putting it; I knew my life was not a Disney movie, but I needed it to be one. I had to deal with a lot, I went through a lot. I thought I needed to keep to it so that I could be “saved”. I thought I needed to have it, so that I could have my happy ending. And without it? No happy ending. Without it, I’d be one of the normies. They surely don’t get a happy ending, surely not as great as mine. I mean, if you are normal and happy and healthy and not completely fucked up; can you get a knight in a shiny armour to save you, can you save yourself? Is your story worth telling? No, not according to fairy tales. You need to suffer for it.

And oh my…does that not lead you to fucked-up-ville? You need to be properly fucked up so that next you can be happy? You need to stay fucked up so that others see your worth? So that others can look at you with “she went through a lot, it’s a miracle she’s still alive”. AND. If she’s not fucked up, she’s just one of “us”, a normal person trying to make it through life. And want to hear the most random fucked up thing? I’m afraid to give blood because I think my purpose and will to fight is tied to my blood and by giving it away I would give a part of me away! It doesn’t make sense!

What’s my fucked up biggest fear? Losing part of my fuckedupedness. I actually fear that getting better would mean losing part of me. And I do get that, I had to fight to get here, and I fought, and I will fight. But come on….I need to fucking let that fucking fucked up shit go. I for sure need to, and can, use that as a stepping stone to level the fuck up. …damn…

Arts and crafts  – not only just for the mental breaks in the movies

So I’m on my way to recovery…been on that way for a while, years, decades even, you know this, I don’t have to repeat this. I’ve been looking to enhance my well-being through a series of ways – like alcohol and memes, which my therapist seems to disagree on. …oh the eye-rolls and looks of disapproval… But! I’ve also seen enough of shows and movies where people have their mental breaks and end up in mental institutes. And. What do they do? Arts and crafts! So. I thought there  must be something to it. Sure, my therapist goes on and on about talking and crying, and weird stuff like exercising. But. Netflix shows and movies, they have millions of views. How many views does my therapist have on her stuff? One view, mine. And was I convinced, no. So. Arts and crafts.

Painting. Painting will be my thing. I went online and bought some brushes, paints, and canvas. I also googled “abstract art”. Abstract because I do know I have no artistic talent so abstract will have to do, and googling because; I am a perfectionist, and do want to be rich. So thought I’d just google what others do, kinda sorta do the same thing, paint stuff, sell stuff, become a millionaire. I thought it was a great plan.

I laid the canvas on the floor, took out my brushes and paints and started thinking of stuff to paint. What a wonderful journey it started. I painted my first thoughts, then other ones, then other ones, then… It tooks a good couple of weeks to finish. Or maybe I’m still not finished…but here’s where I’m now.

Version 1. Organized, structured. I selected the paints carefully, I measured the canvas, marked it with 10cm intervals. I drew a sketch on an excel sheet before to check the measurements and lines. I had it all planned out.

It’s funny because; that’s how I was thinking when I was a kid. Everything, everything! Needed to be planned out. My future, school assignments. I’d write down my school speeches from word to word and get anxiety pre, during, and post speeches if I missed a word. My life was planned out; married by 20, kids by 23, divorced by 30….. so structured.

But then life happened

Suddenly my pre-planned life didn’t make sense. Other things came up. But I remained calm, kept my structure. These new things, events, realizations, I’ll just box them up. They don’t matter.

They did matter. They expanded. The chaos, darkness expanded, it took over. My beautiful, boxed, structed life and plans, ruined. Ruined.

The years I spend coping with it, dealing with it. Ruined. Destroyed.

Getting help. Finally, after decades. Getting help. I felt guilty painting over it. It felt like denial; am I only painting over things pretending they didn’t happen. Should I keep them, to show I suffered? And then I realized. I’ve kept my hurt. I’ve kept it for me to see, not others, for me to see. I’ve lived my life thinking I need to suffer. I need to have my pain. I need my pain. I need to keep it.

There’s a difference between remembering your pain and letting it drive you and denying you have it. I’ve denied it, ended badly. I’ve let it drive me; ended badly. What I haven’t tried is moving on. Moving on. Remembering the pain, accepting it exists, but moving on. That’s what I need to do. Paint over it, not in denial, but in building new, building something new. Paint over it, keep it, remember it, but move on.

You paint it, you let it paint. You take your brushes, your paints, and you paint – not in denial but in remembrance. That’s what I did. I painted over. I changed it, I changed my life. I painted.

I’m proud of what came out. It’s certainly prettier than the squares I started with.

But here’s the thing. The thing I painted. It’s part of my childhood. It’s a view of my childhood and youngster escape. I used to walk to the strand from my place. 2 kilometeres and I’d be next to the sea, and this is the view I saw. This is the view, 30 years later, that’s what I painted. It was a place of hope, a place of relief for me. So, for my unconscious mind; is this a trip to the pain, or a start for something new – a new start, based on the pain and hurt, but driven by my safe haven?

I think it’s great example of life – we start with a clear view of our future, just to have it meddled with, completely destroyed and thrown over. And then we build a new. Then we build, having our past as a base, we build something new. We build. We should not forget our past, we build over it, we build. And we respect where we came from. For me, forever for me, my happy place will be by the sea looking at the world beyond. As a kid I wondered what possibilities it might bring. As an adult I want to make sure I’ve visited those possibilities. I want to make sure I can visit it all.

Fuck other’s perfect – If you want to benchmark someone’s life, benchmark yours.

Feeling like you or your life is not matching up? Like it’s missing something? Like you are not as good as others? Not as fit? Not as pretty? Not as funny? Not as smart? Not as wealthy? Not as put together? Like your life is not as good as others’?

Fuck them.

People posting pretty pics on insta. Sharing stories on snapchat. Being all perky and perfect on tiktok. Being smart on twitter.

Fuck that.

It’s not them. It’s not their life. It’s a million times edited, tried out, planned version of them. It’s perfected. Or. Maybe it is their authentic self, just a lucky shot, a thought or video clip. Maybe. Maybe they are the 1 in a million who have their shit together, whose life is perfect. Maybe. The odds are they are not. There’s photoshop, apps,, and empty storytelling. There’s the image and there’s the reality behind it.

So. Focus on your bubble, your reality, your life, you. Think about you and your mind in your bubble. Do you.  You do you. You be you. Your reality, your possibilities, your challenges. You set your self to be better. Better you. Not others, don’t better others, better you. Others don’t know where you are coming from, what you are battling, what you want and why. Others don’t know. Others don’t matter.

You do you. You.

You do you. You.

Broken – in repair

I broke my head. Not incidentally. It didn’t just happen. It has been broken for years, for decades. I broke my mind. I did. Did I? Did others? It has indeed been in the making for decades. My mind got broken. I suffer, live with it. Depression. Anxiety. It’s not great. But I manage. Until I didn’t. I know I have them, I fight them. I know why they exist. I know how they impact my life. I’m now getting help for them. For me the path – before, now and after is clear. Now. But is it for others in my life? Do they see things as I do? Others who are not me? Who haven’t experienced what I have? Others who do not understand? Others who do not know? Others who judge.

I had a broken knee a few years ago. I walked with crutches. Wore a knee support 24/7 around my knee. Had physiotherapy. Had sick leave. Told people I’ll be a bit slower now because I’m in massive pain and can’t currently deal with stuff. People would understand. They would open doors for me, carry my things. People, random people would help. Some would ask what happened. I said I fell down and dislocated my knee, bad enough to call an ambulance and got kept in an emergency ward for 2 days. People would listen, say “oh shit” and move on.

Having a broken knee sucked. It hurt. It was inconvenient to put it mildly. It was pain. So much pain. But I had painkillers, heavy, fun painkillers, and therapy, and support, and social understanding and acceptance. I needed help and that was fine with everyone, everyone.

Now I have a broken mind, is it different?

  • I have my diagnosis – broken
  • I Have my meds – to mend it
  • I have my therapy – to work on it
  • I have my plan – to fix it
  • I have me – working on it

Is it different from a broken knee? Is it?

A broken mind is not as easy as a pure physical illness. It is not as easy as putting a band aid on something or throwing antibiotics at it. It is not as easy as a clear incident in one’s life. It is not as easy as B following A. While it can be a one time event, far more often it is a billion of things, events and triggers – direct and indirect, in our known and unknown. It is a billion different things. It’s not as easy as falling down once; it’s falling down a billion times, it’s being put down a billion times – in a billion different ways. Mind broken – billion different ways – unfixable by a single thing – mendable by a few things. It can be fixed. But. It takes medicine. It takes therapy. It takes time. It will be helped by people opening doors and carrying things. It does get better with people understanding you’re a bit slower now, it will take you a bit longer to get there. It takes people to understand you are getting there. You are. You are. You are getting there.

When I was a kid me and my brothers had a saying “It can’t hurt if it doesn’t bleed”. 30 years from that I know. I know it can hurt. I know it can hurt even if it does not bleed. It can hurt so much more.

So. If your mind got hurt. If your mind got broken. Fix it. Adress it. Get meds if you need. Get a doctor. Get therapy. Take time off work, from your social interactions. Take time to heal. Find the crutches you need – games to play, friends to rely on, manager/peers to trust on. Give yourself time. Don’t take shit from people who don’t understand. Take time. Heal.

Aren’t we all one break away from getting better or worse?

What to do when all you want to do is forget. To take a break. You take a break. That’s what you do. You take a break. I haven’t written a post in awhile. I’ve been taking a break from. Everything. I’ve faced again the fun part of being mentally ill – you don’t know when it’ll hit you or how, but it might, it might hit you. It hit me. It. Hit. Me. 

I thought I was doing fine. I was not. I was drinking more and more, excluding my friends more and more, crying. More. And More. I was hoping I was on my journey of becoming better, healthier. And I still am, I hope. But for the moment I was not. I checked into a mental hospital, spent a few days there. I hated it. I hated being in a place where I had to admit I can’t cope. Hated being “lowered” to the ranks of people who need help with their lives. Where they need nurses and doctors to bring them meds throughout the day and have chats about “how to cope with reality”. I hated it. But I needed it. I was not dealing with reality. I was indeed one of those people. I am one of those people. I was crying hysterically for about an hour or two a day. And if you’re into stats, go through the DSM-V manual. Won that bingo. Easily. While you’re at it. Googling. Google “smiling depression” or “high functioning depression”. Got all that nailed down.

I was lying to others and myself. And I hate lying. But I’m really good at it. I try to pride myself in speaking the truth. I will voice my opinion. I will stand for what’s right. I don’t bow down to anyone. I’m proud of telling my truth. I will protect whoever needs protecting. I will fight for them. I will be true. Except for one thing. When people ask me “How are you?”. I will lie. 99% of the time I will lie. I will say “I’m fine” or “Doing great” or “Not too bad” or “Kind of ok for a Monday” or “Happy it’s Friday”. I say I’m fine so people won’t ask follow up questions. I say I’m fine. I lie.

I was “fine” – all the “fine”. I needed a break. A reset. A time in a place where things don’t move a hundred miles an hour in my head. A place in a time where I don’t have to pretend. I place where the rest of the world doesn’t exist. A place where I can make a decision. A place where you’re shown options for next steps. A place where you, and you alone, can and need to choose your path; better or worse, start or end, heal or consume, fight or flight. You choose.

I fight. I choose to fight. I am mentally ill. I am not well. But I am functioning. I am now getting help. I am fighting. I will have my stops, my breaks. I will allow myself the breaks; of drinking and/or crying. I will take my breaks to fall down and gather up. I will take my breaks to gain strength to keep fighting. I will take my breaks to choose. I will be better, I will keep fighting.

Dear John – The power of jealous exes; anxiety and depression

I have two very close friends. We’ve been besties since I was a toddler, well, the other one was there since I was kid, the other I met when I was in my early teens. They’ve stuck by me all these years. I’m 35 and we’re still going strong. Although, we did have a bit of a fallout. These “friends” of mine are anxiety and depression.

They are a little bit different these two friends of mine. “Friend” number 1 showed up when I was still a small kid. I remember being about 4 years old when I had my first anxiety attack. “Friend” number 2 came to the picture around age 12, and brough a lot of dark clouds with them. They seem to like each other these two. Sometimes one is stronger than the other. I know this from for example from my personal hygiene. When anxiety is in the lead I take a bath everyday day as water calms me. If it’s depression’s time to lead I won’t shower or bath for days as every little bit of interest in self-care, even the basics, is suppressed.

A few years of therapy has shown me they are, after all, not the best companions to have – and that I should try and break away from them.

And I’ve worked on it! I have worked on building my distance, ghosting them. I’ve, each day, worked on ignoring them and moving on. I’ve tried and sometimes, more each day, succeeded in ignoring their late night DM’s of “You up? Want to cry hysterically for a bit?” or them wanting to bring up all my cringe worthy moments of my entire life.

I am on the winning side though, I am letting go, I am building my distance and trying my best to ignore their calls. I don’t want to go back to them.

The problem is we had something. Something real. Something meaningful. A real connection. They understood me like no-one else and were there for me when others weren’t. Sure, they are slightly obsessive in nature and didn’t really allow me to have other friends. They even tried badmouthing others with “they will hurt you”, “they don’t care for you, your’re nothing to them, they hate you”, “they laugh at you”, but they were there.

So. Enter a new acquaintance; moments of happiness. Whether in the form of a new bathroom carpet or a drink in the sun with no worries, my previous besties aren’t too happy with this new addition to my life. The threat of a break up is getting real. Maybe we aren’t just going through a break, maybe the strong feelings we once had are no longer there? Maybe we aren’t meant to be after all?

I’ve had so much fun with my new friend. I started a diet three weeks ago, a keto diet, and have already lost 5 kilos, I’m sleeping better thanks to my new bed, and I’m re-gaining my work motivation. I’m doing so much better, and actually feeling positive about the future. And what do my jealous, neglected exes of anxiety and depression do? They raise their ugly, obsessive heads. They’re hurting me, trying to beg and force me to come back. They bring up all the negative emotions – a true saga of how everyone, including the universe, has let me know. They play their games, they keep me up at night, and this morning, they won. They won.

They won. My anxiety doesn’t allow me to sleep, my depression want’s me to suffer. This morning I woke up sleep deprived feeling all things depression. The tears started falling from my eyes, my brain checked out, and my body was calling for quits. I was a mess. But! Little did these fuckers know I’ve grown stronger, there is a part of me that will not give up, and that part, that part is now in the lead. That part. At 9 am this morning assessed the situation and decided that given the emotional turmoil I’m in I cannot just ignore it, I need to let these tears flow and the wave of negativity to pass. I’ll allow it to have it’s time, hear it’s message. Let it have it’s time, tell it’s story . And then waive good bye to it.

I created a list of all my negative emotions, and went to the store to get alcohol. This morning by 10 o’clock I’ve done a lot; sure, I started drinking but I’ve also had a look at my emotions, reflected on them and addressed them.  I’ve burned that list of negative things, literally, I wrote my feelings down on paper and lit them up. I’m not in a happy place. My mood is all kinds of negative – all the betrayal, neglect and hurt, they are all with me now. But I burned that, and I will keep burning it. That shit needs to go. I might have lost the battle today, but I have not lost the war. The prosecco I’m drinking is dry, the vodka I might start with has no carbs. My keto diet still stands. I am still working on bettering my future. Depression and anxiety; you are nothing but a small bumb on my way. I will keep going.

I know you will keep messaging, and screwing with my head. We did have something, something I thought would last a life time, my ever after. But I’m now after my happily ever after. So. F you. You can keep trying. But we are done. Sincerely yours not anymore, me.