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Inadequacies ….My new middle name…

So yesterday I did something very bold. I term it as bold because of how unconventional it was & risky since it would have turned out very invasive to some. I’m actively on Instagram & I was going through my followers instagram stories & I came across a picture of a girl’s arm that had marks on it. She actually wasn’t taking the picture of her arm, it just so happened her arm made a cameo and I just happened to see it. I wouldn’t say I was being observant, it was like a glance that led me to contemplating whether confirming my suspicions of what the marks were was a smart thing to do… Let’s just, my conscience didn’t fail me. That was last night and I was sure to include in my dm to her that she was at all under no obligation to answer back to me. I know I would be a bit skeptical opening up about anything remotely mental related to a stranger. Today morning when I woke up, it had completely eluded my mind that I’d sent her a message, that’s until I saw my message icon ping that I had an unread message. She was honest enough to acknowledge that what I’d seen was indeed self harm marks. Getting to the point of this story, (not really sure there’s one) , it was uncomfortable seeing them on someone else other than myself, but I twistedly felt connected to her by her self inflicted marks on her hand. I felt the bond of having another understand that one is capable of being a mess enough to hurt themselves. It was relieving but sad. I quit feeling sorry for myself after the first time I cut , I no longer chose to see it as a fault but as a survival coping mechanism. It’s just different because I relish in the feel of a cold blade to get some damn needed peace of mind.

Not too long ago I had a friend of mine frown upon the fact that I recently got a new tattoo. He’s exact question was ‘You enjoying hurting yourself with this tattoos?‘ He didn’t realize how close to home he hit by asking me that… In my own twisted way, I love the feeling of the needle skim through my skin, it’s just that this time, I’m left with a beautiful artistic reminder of things that mean more to me than others. They are the murals to those I love and to the times in my life I can never seem to erase from my mind. They are my stories, I just receive the both ends of the stick when I get them, the pain that comes with getting them, and the artistic beauty created.

It amazes me how I can never seem to let go of my mental struggles even when I’m not in the gutter . I can’t cut loose the strong hold at which I hold them close to me & how much relevance I constantly give them. I’ve written before that I felt special being ill, I felt like I belonged being depressed & fucked up generally. It gave me a sense of purpose. I was constantly sad & I got to write the best of my blogs while in that funk. Call it fear of the unknown, which in this case is anything that’s remotely good and happy… that damn H word I never seem to like very much. I just can’t grasp myself not unhappy & miserable. No need to pity me, I don’t pity me either. The most surprising thing is, despite not wanting good change, I feel inadequate for depression. I feel like I sometimes lack the magnitude needed to be special enough to be depressed. Like I can’t just catch a break with the inadequacies in my life ; I’m just not cut out for happiness or depression . Really beats the point of why I got my damn enough tattoo in the first place. I need to find a bearing of where I belong, in the darkness or the overly bright light .

Tonight I wasn’t really writing as a means to vent, I guess I just needed to release myself a little. I had a relatively good day, went out to a lovely ice cream parlor in town that touched my old soul. It’s entire vibe and setting was the eighties and it’s ice cream was as legit as legit can be. I honestly didn’t wanna leave because for those few minutes I was there ,the world around me seemed right and peaceful… content even. I wanted to stick there and live on ice cream for as long as my mind chooses it’s ready to go back to our sad reality… Sno – Cream parlor was my heaven in hell…

My true year..

I love it how after such a while I’m able to get my writing niche back simply out of listening to country music or listening to a new song that touches my very deep rooted heart. I wish I knew where I’m going with this , I’m more of following the flow of my thoughts other than a specific notion. Sometimes I think I just find my relevance in the world when I write & after I’m done, it amazes me that something so articulate and raw can come from my mind . Yes, I just gave myself a pat on the back… revel in it and move on.

So, I’ve not really thought about the fact that the year is about to end until now & it gives me the need to reflect on what has taken place over the year. For starters, if I could give this year one general term to define how it’s been, well, wavy would suffice. I think I’ve felt every possible feeling over the year and it’s been a tidal for me. Can’t say I’ve had the easiest of times but I can say I didn’t die so I guess that counts for something. Honestly, I don’t remember much about earlier in the year which is sad since I do somehow recall that being the remotely less painful part of my year. I recall somehow feeling content with what was happening… well that’s just until the true nature of my mind took over like it always does.

Earlier then I felt a sense of freedom from a bond that meant a lot but had turned toxic. It was an adjustment but a necessary one that wasn’t at all easy. I had a tough time letting go of a toxicity I had become quite accustomed to. A second ago, I was just thinking how I tend to always turn my relationships ‘special ‘to me and I pour out every darn effort in my body so that I can’t ever have to feel less than enough for the person with whom I’m in the relationship with ,whether casual or intimate. I go into every relationship whether a friendship I don’t want to loose or a romantic one which I want to treasure, I go at it with my walls put up high but with open arms to welcome you into my own personal fort. That ‘speciality’ I look to turn my relationships into is the toxicity that I am just now realizing I bring about. That raw, true & deep way I hold people I care about so close to me is what always turns out to be my downfall because I never want to give them a chance to need someone else other than myself. I never want to feel inadequate for them, therefore I seek to be special to them, I seek to always have their attention so I can feel needed & wanted. Now that I can say it, it sounds truly pathetic & sad really…

Maybe if I’d have had my ‘I’m enough’ tattoo placed somewhere I could see it, I’d finally have a head start in believing the damn statement …I guess I’ll just have to always struggle with wondering if I’ll ever be enough for anyone. I’m not having a pity party for myself, it gets exhausting most times. So yeah, that’s probably a fair warning to people to not allow me to feel any sense of attachment to them since I might just have you under my ‘special ‘ people’s list.

Apart from that, I remember sometime earlier I thought I was happy, or at least had the illusion it was happiness. Can’t recall exactly what brought about that illusion but it was nice while it lasted. Right after that, I spiralled down and learned that a razor could do a lot more than just cut paper… Sardonically. Being the damaged person I am in my mind, saying that sounded funny to me. I learned that the depths of my deprived mind go as far as that. I think overtime, I came to terms that thinking like that is just the beginning of a very dark venture. Not to applaud it but it’s me accepting that capabilities of falling further aren’t such a farfetched notion. I wanted to drown but not to die but to see if I could find the calm in the middle of the storm. I wanted to float deep beneath the water cause it seemed less chaotic.

And finally, in the last phase of my year, it has been interesting. I feel like I had a little bit of everything, the good, the bad, & the raw. I got hurt, moved on, started a new venture that is scary but I’m taking it as a leap of faith. Now what I simply want ,is to close the year like a child on a Christmas morning. With those I love & who love me without needing me to be enough or worthy…cause they don’t have much of a choice. I wanna end the year with a happy heart and a sense of peace of mind.

Is it worth it???

Is it worth it?? That’s what I’m asking myself right now cause I’m in a bubble that’s pretty different from my normal mental darkness . I’m even scared to say the H word cause I may jinx whatever it is that’s happening right now. For those who may not be following up, the H word is happiness in this case. Not too long ago I wrote about how hard it is for me to understand the concept that is happiness and when exactly one can fully say they are happy with everything that’s going on for them. I’m yet to get there….still have a lot of demons who are allergic to anything remotely good for me, therefore tend to bring out my not so favourite friend who goes by the name Anxiety.

Not to dwell too much so not to fuck it up, I’m at a better place than I usually tend to be. Something has changed that I won’t go into but it’s a significant change that’s been happening for me. I’m so worried that I’m being gullible and naive over it and letting my very betrayable feelings guide me in this case. I don’t sit well with change, of whichever kind. Bad change just sort makes things more aggravated for me. Good change is what I fear most. It tends to have your expectations higher and your judgement easily swayed. It never lasts long ; always just a matter of time before the real darkness makes itself known in whatever good change was happening. So change for me simply doesn’t work out the best . I’m transitioning currently & it’s a wild ride that is exciting, exhilarating and a whole lot more fun than I ever have had on any day. Million dollar question ; Is it worth it?

Someone close to me told me that the world doesn’t know how dark and twisted it gets when I am in my lows mentally. The lengths it takes me to pick myself up from the self induced depression and anxiety I struggle with. That’s why it has me thinking, is this sense of joy & contentment worth it, if at all there stands a chance of me completely falling back to my dark place. Could I be convincing myself that it’s not just a matter of time, that whatever I have going on won’t be my ultimate downfall ?That I may finally have my last straw and loose myself in my own demons if things go wrong at the end. Am I able to pull the plug with my mental state in one complete form or will I be in pieces unrecognizable to even myself?

It scares me. Everything downright scares me shitless. On one hand, I don’t want to not live because I wasn’t strong enough to try and fail or try and win. But I’m also not gonna deceive myself by ignoring the fact that I’m not mentally capable like everyone else. My mind doesn’t function like everyone else’s… Will I need two or three more therapists to get me out of my personal mental hell if I continue giving myself a chance to live without the certainty of the consequences of my actions. I have walls built up so high, you’d think I’m a castle… Is it worth it, peeking out to see if I’ll survive beyond the walls that my mind have convinced me are there to protect me despite being well aware I’m a prisoner instead. It’s a hard risk to take….A very dangerous one too. Asking myself how worth it it is may be the wrong question all together… Maybe what I should be asking is if I can handle it whether I’m in it or not.. ?

To jump or not to jump.. A realm of my own πŸŒ“

I had all this planned out in my head & I had the words spilling out of me a second ago, but now I’m pretty sure all my words are out the window. I should probably start by admitting that I’m one walking confusion. I’m worse than a wave because my ‘tide’ just never seems to hit any less harder at any one moment. I don’t have a calm is what I’m trying to say. In less than a week since I wrote, I feel like I’ve felt everything & it’s breaking down my walls. That, is some scary shit right there. I’ve been told time and again how much my walls don’t protect me but instead they cage me in and imprison me. What most people don’t realize, is that I don’t mind being caged if it means I can shield any sort of ‘ray of sunshine ‘ that’s gonna start of nice & calm and in the long run, it’s gonna scotch me just cause I let myself think I deserved it.

I apologize for my sacarstic metaphoric nature here. To down it down a little, what I’m simply trying to say is that over time, I’ve learned to embrace how diversely fucked up I am. Trying to cut myself some slack by thinking I can change that that’s become my nature, only ever does more harm than good. Humans are scared of change. Probably the one other thing I can say I relate to that proves my humanity isn’t all that different from the rest of the human race. I feel like I’m caught between worlds right now. I’m in a realm of my own and in time, I’ll need to jump out of it. I’m just not certain where to jump to and what it might mean for my bleak mind .

Emotions are deceiving. I can honestly say that is one thing I have come to learn the hard way. They blind you from reason, even if it’s right in front of you. I want to jump where my emotions are telling me that the ride of a lifetime is right ahead & maybe, just maybe, in the midst of the black hole I’ve been falling in for so long, there’s some ray of light. But I’m scared, petrified even . Jumping or in this case free falling with the hope of not feeling any more pain is a risk I’m not sure is worth taking. The outstretched hand that is reaching out for me to just grab onto it has me tempted to pee in my knickers… Then there’s the other jump, that really won’t be much of a jump since it won’t need me to leave my ‘prison’. It assures me that I won’t have to feel pain further than I am accustomed to. It assures me that nothing will change. I’ll be behind bars that will close off any scorching rays or unfulfilled hopes of any light at the end of my hollow black πŸ•³. It assures me no sense of change, cause it’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

I don’t wanna ever say that I failed cause I never gave hope a shot. I don’t know how long I have before I have to jump or before ‘my walls’ are penetrated (oh that sounded so wrong πŸ˜¬πŸ˜‚) but I know stalling won’t cut it for me. I could either embrace the change and run the risk of completely loosing my mind at the end, or I could live to wonder whether things would have been different if I did jump. I know that outstretched hand won’t always be there, and as much as it scares me to reach out to it, it’s beginning to scare me more to loose it.

Ripping apart.. πŸŒ‘

This is getting exhausting. I’m all too familiar with this feeling, it’s soon going to drive me to the blink of death. It’s beginning to physically ache me. From the not so subtle tummy aches, to the sleeping too much. That’s when I know I’m drowning all over again. Just when I was beginning to catch a bearing in my sea of monsters, just right when I was rising above the swarm of hands working extra hard to pull me down. Here I am now ,back to feeling broken. Maybe I was just never put together as I thought. It just needed a little nudge to break me further into tinier pieces .

Allow me to make a confirmation here and now. If I never get to figure out what happiness for me will entail, allow me to walk into death at least peacefully. I rot inside each time this tide chooses to hit me every so often. Eventually ,a girl’s gotta give up and quit trying right?! No longer will the nudges from friends hold me together forever. If I can’t fucking stand on my own, when I’m I ever gonna learn how to walk away from this.

Twenty minutes later….

I wanna say I feel a lot more relieved but it’s just the ache in my chest that’s gone. The demons in my head are having a field day since they succeeded .I gave in to what’s become a part of my sad reality. I gave them my pain & my blood. They seem to only feel a sense of satisfaction when I feel a fraction of physical pain. They are appeased when I trade mental calmness for a few drops of my blood through my hands. I’m weak and I know it. I no longer fight it since its my only solace for now. I wish I could quit having “normalcy streaks ” every so often. It would make it less hard for me when my demons awaken. It would lessen my anxiety a notch enough for me to figure my way around it. The sense of normalcy just becomes a mirage since its so tuned out & blurry when my demons awaken. It’s truly not worth the feeling of a false sense of reality and relief.

I have no apologies anymore to give to anyone for my choices. Only in my cage, would one understand that you gotta do what it takes to survive.Even if it rips you apart .This, this is my survival.

Selena Gomez …my muse❀❀

Ever felt connected to someone in the most absurd sense. I’ve always felt that whenever listening to Selena Gomez. Today, I have had the privilege to listen to a beautiful song that’s touched my very wrecked up soul. I can’t even begin to explain how connected I’ve felt listening to her new hit, Loose you to love me. I’ve never done this before where I wrote about someone else other than myself and the fucked up baggage I come with. My heart feels lighter just listening to it and it’s so beautiful and so raw. That’s why I’ve always loved her and her music. Maybe because I know she’s struggled previously with mental health and we are ‘connected’ through our struggles. So if y’all get the chance, listen to that song, if it doesn’t touch your heart ,you sure as hell don’t have one. 😳

Gullible is my middle name..

Its been a hot minute since I last wrote but I’m guessing that didn’t really matter to most or anyone for that matter. I could have been dead for what it’s worth. My God I hate my life. Anyway ,I’m not dead if you may still be thinking so. Death right now feels too infinite for me. The part me that I wish was more optimistic and even slightly hopeful believes that somewhere out there, there’s something for my wrecked soul. I may not see it now, but I at least have hope there is.

I want to say a lot has happened since I last wrote but technically, it’s not been much at all.. It’s more of my emotions that deceive me to thinking a lot has happened, since I wouldn’t be here if things were any easier for me. For those who might not know this ,I write when I’m most fucked up. I’ve created such an illusion for myself that I have been trying to have things under control but here, I don’t have to decive myself. It’s been a hectic couple of weeks, everyday is utterly ridiculously differently fucked. In the span of two months, I’ve gotten casual at ‘self hate ‘.I don’t have anything more to say on that, apart from that life’s shit, I’ve gotten over it, you should too …or not. Anyway, back to what my weeks been like ,I met a boy ,majorly got a crush, he was a douche like they all are and now I’m getting it sorted by plotting possible murder for the emotional turmoil I’ve felt for his sorry ass. My God am I gullible and dum right, I fell right into that one didn’t I? Cute boy, cute enough smile and just the right amount of asshole in him… Mercy’s perfect dose of stupid.

Over time, I’ve learned that there’s quite a lot of things that my lack of self love acts as a disadvantage for me. I’m so emotionally dependent on those I love, I pour it in torrents, I have zero left for me. Just to put it out there ,I’m a cling lover so try not getting me in love with you or remotely infatuated with you…God knows I wish I could understand what exactly it would mean for me to love myself more than I put into loving others. I’m my own undertaker. I dig my own grave and bury myself in it. That’s what gullibility is for me. So here I am, ready to cling to any one or anything capable enough of loving me for the both us. Sad isn’t it,,,Que pity party ,,,,,where’s my blade at ??

So for my gullibility to stay on a leash long enough for me to understand the complexity of self love, I’m gonna put my head down and try ‘hate’ people instead .Maybe, just maybe, it’s about time to let in a little bit of no love.

Mental Health… Friends πŸ‘­

I’m on a roll which is quite weird but oh well …This post is on how my mental health has been responded to by my friends & how I’ve responded to their reactions. I can’t say there are many who know in depth what exactly affects me. Probably they too just think am differently dark.. Who the hell knows what they think 😢? When I first started having depressive episodes last year, I wasn’t as outward with it to my friends. Then, I probably only recall confiding in my then best friend and she was there for me but I’m certain of one thing ,she had not an ounce of an idea what was wrong with me. Nobody truly ever does understand and again, I don’t blame them for it. The singularity of mental illness confides you to it and personally ensures the rest of the world looks at you like a lunatic with a high level of emotional disfunctionality.

I recall then with a certain friend of mine it was quite frustrating trying to explain that my mental instability wasn’t as a result of not being ‘positive’ or ‘not looking at the brighter things in life ‘.God was it annoying…. I remember getting so upset at him and pulling away from him for unconsciously blaming my not so positive self for the state of mind I was in then. I guess that was my first light in no longer telling anyone of what I was going through. I quit expecting anyone else to remotely understand .Maybe that’s really why I’m writing this updates of how different responses have affected me, to slowly find a way to minimize the stigma around any mental illness.

With this recent occurrence of my depression, I can happily say I had and still have amazing friends who’ve been my rocks. I honestly can’t say how grateful I am for the beautiful souls I’ve gotten to share my pain with & be embraced by so warmly & with so much love. When I first self harmed, despite the twisted high I got right after, I called one of my closest friends who lives right across me from my apartment because I knew if I didn’t, I’d probably have hurt myself again seeking that high I had first felt. She never once looked at me with any judgement or disdain. She held my hand and we went to her place & I gave her the blade I’d used to cut. From then on, whenever the intense urge to harm would creep in, I’d try pull myself out and head on to her place. Honestly, I’d not be where I am now without her support and for that, she’s not just become a sister but a best friend. I’m truly blessed for all of whom have been beside me all through.

I believe in earth angels. I have one who’s become such a friend, a buddy and a confidant. If I could place most of my happy moments over this recent period of my mental struggles, it wouldn’t miss this beautiful soul. Despite having her own struggles and life, she brought me into hers with warmth, encouragement and a joy I could never take for granted. She’s my rainbow after the storm. I know she’ll read this ‘my docile woman ‘…πŸ˜„. One of my other friends went as far as giving me an alarm code word for when I would feel the urge to cut. If that isn’t love, what is it? Sometimes it’s easy to get blinded by the fog of pain that surrounds a person, you don’t take time to see the little rays of sunshine that try to seep in through the fog. This beautiful amazing friends of mine are those rays of light for me and I am happy to let them in.

I’ve learned quite a lot in appreciating friendship. Even from the little subtle questions of “are you okay “,”what’s up “and “ I’m here if you want to talk about it “.Most of those friends would not exactly understand what it is I might be going through but their mere concern about me has been enough for me to want to get myself out of it. For every one of them, I owe my recovering process. Even those across the world who’ve expressed such concern for me and such an immense amount of love and support, I owe them every little bit of joy I feel despite this struggle. I wish I could name each and every one cause my heart swells with love for them. They push me to want to get better because I wouldn’t want to fail them. πŸ’•πŸ’•

PS. This is a dedication to Robbie, My docile lady 😜, Masheti, Liz( my word press sister from across the world), Harriet, Marie my beautiful bunny 🐰and every other beautiful soul that’s told me to be strong. I send you all my love. ❀

Mental Health.. With FamilyπŸ‘¨β€πŸ‘©β€πŸ‘§β€πŸ‘§

As I was cooking lunch today, I thought of how much my mental health issues have affected me so diversely and how frustrating it’s been trying to put it out there to different aspects of my life that just don’t really see it. So I decided to write about how those different aspects of my life view my mental health from their respective responses. I decided to start of with my family’s response and how it’s affected me.

I can’t say there’s many of my family that know about my daily struggle with my mental health. Reason being, I for one didn’t want them to view me differently & second I was hoping that they would find out when it got too bad and I probably was on the blink of possible insanity. I recall a time when I was so into my depression that I was so focused on trying to get subtle ways to relay how bad of a state I was in and I thought if I wrote so bluntly how bad things were at the time and posted it out on my social, a few of them would take their time to read and finally see how I was. Sadly, nobody ever noticed. My nuclear family is very small. I just have a sister and a dad. My mum’s absence is so the sole reason I’m this damaged. For starters, my father has no idea and I mean none at all of what I go through. I’ve never bothered to try explain what exactly being depressed in this era means because I believe in his younger times, there wasn’t much of depression or any kind of mental health awareness issues then. He’s old school and coming from an African background, it doesn’t get any easier to explain what exactly feeling depression or anxiety is like . I’ve previously been advised to try but I kinda already know it’s a dead end with him and then again, I’d rather not subject him to the torture of visualizing his youngest daughter as a cutter. So mostly, they reason I’ve not told him is a means of protection for him to not see the damaged person behind his daughters young eyes.

For anyone who knows me personally, they can attest to the fact that my sister & I are inseparable. We have always had each other since my mum passed away and so it’s always been the two of us against the world. The very first time I was aware I was depressed was sometime last year and it was a really hard experience. We live together with my sister and over that period of time, she could physically see how bad things were but she didn’t or couldn’t fathom what exactly was the problem. It seemed a lot to her like I was intentionally not willing to be happy, not willing to get out bed & not willing to help myself in anyway possible. She wasn’t so wrong on that because depression doesn’t give you a chance to motivate yourself or pull yourself out of it. It buries you and convinces you that its comfortable to feel that sad and lonely inside. That your undeserving of any joy or happiness. She’d leave for work and I’d be left in the house wallowing in my own self pity and self loathe while completely physically and mentally drained. I never blamed her for not understanding because she wasn’t in my shoes. Her personality doesn’t give her a chance to emotions like feeling remotely depressed because she believes she doesn’t got time for it ; oh how I wish I could feel the same. Later in the evening, she’d come home and find me right where she left me without having changed a thing. I guess it was quite frustrating for her to not understand what the problem was. This recent period of my depression, I realized things changed in terms of her perspective of my illness. She relayed more concern about me as much as I tried sheltering her from seeing it. Not until I started self harming did I realize that she needed to know. When I broke the news to her ,she had a stoic face on. I was so scared she’d lash out at me for doing what I had started doing to myself but she didn’t have much of a reaction. I allowed her to let it sink in and when she was finally able to talk to me about it, she told me it broke her heart and for me knowing that was a deal breaker that I needed to at least try getting it under control. I was grateful because after that we were able to try different things to help me, she even tried getting me a different therapist. For the first time ever, I was glad I wasn’t alone.

The rest of the few family members who have seemingly learned of mental struggles are actually not near me.They are abroad. When I first approached them with it, it was to get help in terms of funding so I could be able to pay for a therapist. Good therapist in my country are quite expensive, I would know since I’m studying to be one. They expressed quite the concern since the alarm that set them off to questioning that something was actually wrong with me was my constant status updates on my whatsapp that showed quite dark aesthetics of how I was feeling. I didn’t expect them to read my blog, I gave up those subtle ways of trying to cry for help. There wasn’t much I expected from them so their response to my mental instability was quite as I expected but I was grateful because through them, I was able to see a therapist.

Would I like any other family members to know the struggles of what it’s like to go through any form of mental illness, no..Would I wish they gave it the urgency that it sometimes needs, yes. I wouldn’t want them to know that it’s something that is real and so present for me because sadly, I’m aware of the stereotypical opinions they probably have towards it. I would probably get a lot of “you gotta move on Mercy, your mum would like you to accept that she’s gone and move on. “ I know that my mum would like me to have a happier life but I didn’t sign up to struggle with mental health issues. So yeah, that’s pretty much how my health mentally has been responded to by my family. I wish in all honesty that my mental health was just a me having a pity party over loosing my mum. I have had wars in my head of whether it’s been just that, pity parties or silly cries for attention. I still sometimes do think they are but it’s all in my head. When is it never.

Mental health issues are very singular. They don’t spill over to other people just because they are around you or related to you. They struggle of it is very individualistic and unsocial.