Hey you!

Just wanted to remind you that you are amazing! … Like really! Hang in there sweetie, you can do it! – Xo Marie


Why can’t I cry?

I read on a blog a few days ago that crying is being weak. (And here I take a long pause trying to find the post where I read it so I could be accurate, but I realize I have no idea how to find the exact blog, since it was a random one I found in the ‘tags’-thingy, and that crying being weak could be a statement I found anywhere, so it probably doesn’t really matter to those who read this where I read it. Sorry for the long blurb about what just happened … OMG! What’s the matter with me?! Anyroads:)

I disagree. I totally disagree.
I think crying is being strong. It’s about letting yourself feel what you’re feeling. Letting go of the control and letting your body experience the emotions you’re filled with. It’s accepting the different reactions we as humans have to the world, sadness being one of them. Being able to cry means being able to live freely. Restricting yourself, and holding tears back prevents you from experiencing the depth of our lives. Crying can feel good, but I would say crying hurts, it’s painful. So that’s why I’m saying that crying is being strong. And sometimes crying is being brave.

My eyes fill with tears. There’s so much pain, hurt and sadness inside of me, and that makes my eyes water, but I do not cry. And it’s not because I hold it back intentionally. I don’t know why I cannot cry, I don’t understand it. I feel my eyes get wet, but I simply cannot let the tears fall. There are times I’m overcome with emotions, and it’s terrible, everything is just terrible, but I don’t cry.

My therapist asked me something a while back, and I said that it was poetic, and it was, but he responded that no, it wasn’t meant to be, it was just the truth, a truthful question. He said “If you let yourself cry, do you think you could ever stop?”

I did something brave today

I know that some might say, ‘the fuuuck, that’s not brave, that’s easy!’ or ‘woooooah, man, that’s stupid!’, but I’m gonna be honest with myself, and nice to myself and say that I think it’s brave.

My mom showed me this article on a Norwegian news-site, a debate post from a reader. It was about suicide. The title read ‘Suicide is the Last Taboo’. I read it and thought it was an important piece, and well-written. Spot on. And I thought: more people should read this. And normally I would just leave it at that. But today, what I did was post the article on my Facebook. I wrote a short message about reading it and that others should read it too, because it was important. Yeah, it was uncomfortable and sad, but they could do it.

It’s been 8 minutes since I posted it, and there are still no reactions. Makes me scared inside. Because even though I don’t wanna give a shit about what people think of me, I do. Of course I do. But I did it still. Because I’m starting to figure out I would rather be that person who does what she can to shed the light on something she thinks is important. And really, this is so small, but if it can make 1 more person read that article maybe it will have the butterfly-effect. Maybe one day it will have mattered. And if all it does is make people think I’m a lunatic … then the heck with it, let them. Because if posting that is gonna make someone think I’m a lune … then that’s not on me.

… Gosh. I really wish someone would comment or like it already.

Depression’s a bitch

I feel like I haven’t evolved the last year. Like I haven’t moved an inch, not even a millimeter. I look at my life and feel like I’ve been stuck. For years. But it’s not true. I have evolved.

YES, I’m not better than I was last year. I haven’t come further in my education. I haven’t got any more work practice. I haven’t got any new friends. I haven’t moved out of my parents house. I’m not anywhere near an intimate relationship, or anywhere near wanting one. I’m still depressed. I’m still struggling with anxiety. I haven’t figured out a way to want life, or to be in life without it hurting. Yes, yes, yes. I’m not better than I was last year, I’m still sick … And it hurts so much to admit that, to know that. But denying the truth won’t make me get any further, denying reality won’t make anything any better.

YES, I’m not better than I was last year. I’m not further, faster, stronger. So what have I done all this time. Hung around, chilling, letting my life pass me by, going to waste? No. Because I’m not better than I was last year, but I have evolved. 

I have ‘developed, changed, transformed’. I have evolved. 

I’m not really into etymology, but I looked it up and the word comes from ‘unroll, unfold’, and that’s what I have. And things might not be any better yet, and I’m not any closer to a feeling of purpose or meaning, but I’m honest … Or, more honest (pause) than I was.

I have been fighting, and holding on with all of me, with all I’ve got to give. I have made it through another year. And yes, I’m at the same place, with the same people, with the same pain. But it’s not the same. It’s 2014, not 2013, or 2009. And maybe that’s all, maybe that’s enough. Because I could beat up on myself for not being well yet, and keep telling myself I suck, and that I’m not good enough, but what good is that gonna do? None. So I’m trying to tell myself that I have evolved. But really, I don’t know.

Feeling like a ton of waste because who am I to complain, when I don’t live in a third world country and have food on the table and heat in the floor. I try. I fight. 

No more

I’ve been saying I’m fine, a lot lately. This last week’s been very high. I’ve been laughing, and joking and smiling from ear to ear. My face has enjoyed using the right muscles for once. The world around me’s been unreal. Like, not unreal as in amazing, but unreal as in unreal. I’ve been looking at all the people around me and not understood how they exist, or that they exist. I’m not sure whether they are or not. And I know that my therapist calls this derealization, and that it’s a symptom of mental unbalance, which I do believe I’m in, but it doesn’t make me feel as if anything is more real to know that … And even if I’m smiling, and saying over and over that I’m fine, and that nothing is wrong, I know that it is. Because the pain’s not gone. It’s there. Just hiding. But now … now it feels as if it’s all crashing back to me.

It felt good being fine for a while .. though, I wasn’t really fine. You’re not fine when you cut yourself and laugh hysterically when you see blood oozing from a hole in your skin. You’re not fine when you’re searching online for ways to obtain drugs, for your death. You’re not fine when you see the people who love you in pain and don’t feel a thing. You’re not fine when all you can think of is dying. But still, it felt better being ‘fine’ for a while. It was better than the pain owning me, humiliating me, using me. With all the smiles here, though they’re fake, the pain just … sits there. Quiet, in a corner of my heart.

Now it feels as if it’s all coming back to me. That the pain is taking control again, owning me again. And I can’t stand that. I can’t take that. I can’t take any more.