Beauty in the little things: a blurb

Beauty in the little things: a blurb

Find beauty in the little things in life. When I want to just die, or fade away into obscurity and live out my life sulking in a bed, I think of all the things I would miss out on.

The sunrise as it peaks over an empty beach. The smell of seawater and the screech of seagulls scavenging for food. Holding my breath during a scene in a horror movie as something jumps out at a character, then laughing at myself for being so scared. The changing of leaves during the fall season, and their crunch as I step on them. I would miss sculling up in my bed as a thunderstorm rages outside, my windows shaking from the boom of the thunder, and my room lighting up for just a second as lighting comes and goes. I would miss pumpkin pie during thanksgiving, and seeing my relatives. I would miss my mom, and my sister and my dad and my dog. You have more to live for then you think that you do. Enjoy the little things.

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Sometimes, you can have weeks of feeling great…well, maybe not ‘great’ great, but able to keep your head above water. Able to keep your wits while in public, able to go out with friends and attend your classes and go to work and take care of the kids. But, inevitably, those days come. The days where it’s almost too much of a task to even keep breathing, much less being able to keep up with the bustle of daily living. On those days where you can’t get out of bed, on those days where your eyes are bleary with tears and your makeup is smeared onto the pillow and you’re either stuffed from binge eating or starving from not-eating, I need you to remember; this isn’t your fault. And you will not be like this forever. Recovery is not linear, and its highly likely that you will have periods of relapse.

We, as human beings, have our highs and our lows. It gets especially wonky when you are a person, like myself, dealing with depression. We have our lows and our lows and our lows and sometimes we have those good days, those beacons in the dark where it seems like the clouds have faded and it’s finally gone…until they end. There is no concrete ‘cure’ for depression; it’s simply a matter of finding a way to manage it so it doesn’t eat you alive.

And if you’re one of those people in the process of healing, of trying to move on from a dark period of your life, I give you congratulations; it isn’t easy to undergo this process, and many end up backing out. But you have acknowledged that something is wrong, and that this is a struggle that you cannot, that you will not, go through alone. You are braver than you’d ever give yourself credit for. But there will be days where life is so hard and heavy, and you feel like you’re slipping back into that darkness. It’s okay. We all have our days like that, and you shouldn’t stress it so badly that it makes you anxious, or god forbid, that it sends you back into a depressive episode. Take your day, or few days, or even weeks, to sit in bed and watch Netflix and do what you have to do. Then, when it’s passed, get back up and keep pressing on, because you have a lot of people in your corner who are counting on you. Stay healthy.

abandonment

abandonment

I re-evaluated an old struggle today, during an intense meditation session.

I’ve had difficulties forming lasting relationships with people, due to a number of incidences in which I felt abandoned by the people I most relied on. Whether I blew it out of proportion or not, it has still been extremely traumatic for me.

The instance in particular that I’m thinking about, one that, in one form or another, haunts me on a daily basis, is when my mother and father finally split. It was an unpleasant relationship when they reached the end, that turned into a nasty break-up. He walked out of the house one night after a huge fight with my mom that almost turned into violence, and he never came back. In the sense of he never came back to live with us; he moved to a place that was about twenty minutes away and started dating a young secretary that worked in his office. Today, I am the proud older sister of a three-year-old ball of terror, Mya.

Even though I still maintain a relationship with him, there is still that feeling of abandonment that is coiled in the pit of my stomach that I can’t seem to shake. Besides that whole incident with my family, I have had a number of close friends come and go, due to things such as changing interests, different personalities, and little fights that ultimately broke us up. This was before I lived with a mood disorder. As my illness fully bloomed, I began to exhibit more unhealthy behaviors, such as canceling plans last minute, leaving in the middle of spending time with friends, not talking to people for months at a time, and getting agitated over little, meaningless things. Meeting a potential person I could see in the future as a friend, I give them a bit of a heads up about me and my personality, how sometimes I can be flaky and irritated but they shouldn’t take it personally. And they shrug it off or underestimate how serious I am, and when these traits inevitably rear their ugly heads, suddenly they turn tail and run in the opposite direction.

This new challenge of bipolar disorder has exacerbated my issues of abandonment drastically. It is at the point where I have simply barred myself from forming any close personal connections with anyone; I may joke around and smile and play nice, but I can’t help but immediately pull away once I realize that there is something friendly, or even something romantic, in their interactions with me. I feel like I can’t help it. I’m stricken with terror when I think about letting someone get close. Because I’m afraid that when they see what I’m really like behind closed doors, without medication and therapy and meditation, they’ll be horrified by who I am. That they will be disappointed because I lack so much. I don’t think I have very much to offer. I don’t think there’s much to me besides the mood disorder, depressingly (no pun intended). And I think that I am unworthy of love.

I’m not sure what to do with these blunt statements on how I feel about myself. I felt this way for a long time, but I buried them deep down and convinced myself that I was happier being alone, that I was content with the friends I had, that I had better things to worry about besides romance. The truth is, I’m really not. I want to be the person that lights up the room. I want to fall in love with someone, and look forward to sending them good morning texts and midnight phone calls when we’re apart. I want to experience all those things that I missed while fighting an internal battle. I am in the process of treating my bipolar disorder so I am able to function normally, but if I want to do these things, it is crucial that I also find ways to heal from these feelings of abandonment. I’m unsure how to do that, and the task seems so daunting at the moment, but I will do it one day at a time.

Stay safe, everyone.

meditation/mindfulness

meditation/mindfulness

I found that meditation really helps with the racing mind. Being mindful of your thoughts and how quickly they race through your head is key to calming a mind that is working in overdrive. Being able to sit back and focus your brain on one thing slows down the mind and helps it adjust itself once more. When my mind is racing, it often gives me a headache. After I practice meditation and mindfulness, however, I find that my racing thoughts have retreated and it feels like the way the sky looks when the day is cloudless.

u dont get ur black card if u got an eating disorder

u dont get ur black card if u got an eating disorder

A while ago, my mother and I were having a conversation about eating disorders. I’m not even sure how we reached this topic, but she got to the issue of Bulimia, something she surprisingly didn’t seem to comprehend (my mother was a ballerina in her youth). Maybe what specifically bothered her was the fact that we were talking about Bulimia and Anorexia with black women; sometime before this conversation, we got wind that one of my cousins went to rehab for treatment for Binge Eating and subsequently throwing it all back up.
“ Bulimia is a white people’s disease,” she stated, very matter of factly and pointedly, shaking her head, “black people don’t do that…”

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Me, after throwing my brains up

I couldn’t bother to cough up a rebuttal and made a noncommittal noise from my throat. Suddenly, it was two months prior, three in the morning, as I sat in the parking lot of an empty whole foods, vomiting up the remains of espresso chip ice cream. Yeah, black people don’t get those diseases, I nodded, reminded of the time I spend huddled over the toilet, throwing up. Trying to get a semblance of control that had been taken from me by binge eating disorder and medication. No, eating disorders are not a black person’s issue, and this is why we suffer quietly, why we are less likely to get treatment, to be diagnosed. This isn’t our disease.

Lock and Key: Learning how to trust again after Depression

Lock and Key: Learning how to trust again after Depression

learning how to trust again is one of my most difficult challenges I’m dealing with as I recover from years of deep depression.

People hurt you. Friends and family have the power to destroy you from the inside out, to break you down—-so why even subject yourself to the potential pain, and instead make no lasting connections whatsoever? This has been my thought process for quite some time; even the people I consider “close”, i can’t help but keep at an arms distance. Too afraid to open up wide and spill out all my thoughts and problems and frustrations, even though they do not hesitate to spill their issues to me. I keep their secrets close to my heart; and I keep my own in a lockbox in my heart itself, never to come out. Once in a while, I speak about my mental illness, about how I feel like suicide is the best option sometimes, and the pity and fear on their faces are loud and telling, and I leave the conversation feeling worse.

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Remember these two? Sweet lord it’s been a while.

I keep their secrets close to my heart; and I keep my own in a lockbox in my heart itself, never to come out. Once in a while, I speak about my mental illness, about how I feel like suicide is the best option sometimes, and the pity and fear on their faces are loud and telling, and I leave the conversation feeling worse, because I loaded my problems onto their backs.

So I am most comfortable being stand-offish, because I’ve learned that even being sometimes nice to people can backfire. But its no way to live. I mean, it is a way to live, but one that is boring, devoid of adventure, and lonely. And I hate living like this. It sucks, and slowly, I’m learning how to let others in again. To be a nice person, knowing fully well that they have the power to hurt me and use that knowledge against me. To judge me.

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The man is other people, and the heart is me. Or is it my own heart? Who knows.

I have yet to learn that people will come and go in life. I think it’s because I don’t want them to leave, to bring that hurt into my life. I have been left many times, but I cannot be more thankful for the people that have stayed, and flourish with me.

I have a lot to offer, I think. More then I would ever give myself credit for. Slowly, I am going to unlock the secrets in my chest to someone, and I dearly hope that they will keep my secrets close to their heart as well.