Like life, this post is pointless.

All I know is uncertainty, in all of its intolerableness.

I told my parents that I wanted a gun for Christmas and they reminded me I was mentally ill.  I remember when I used to tell them that and they would never believe me, blind to my suffering as much as I was.  My mom once told me to kill myself, to see if I would actually do it.  Every time they talk to me, the inside of me swells up.  I feel like I’m gonna die without even doing it myself.  But they care though, I guess they just don’t know how to do that very well.  Well my therapist assures me they care and I guess I have to trust her.  I can never think of something to talk about with my therapist, but we always end up talking abut something.  That’s always a big insecurity is not being able to talk.  And whoever my therapist is at any point in my life is one of few people or the only person I can rely on, and I’m not even making that up from my insecurities, it’s usually just true for people.  I always prided myself because my therapists always either really liked me or thought I was their most interesting patient or etc.  It’s been one of few validating experiences for me on this earth.  That’s why I get nervous that I might start to bore them.  My life is really boring right now and I don’t have any friends.  Even when I think nothing’s happening, though, I guess it’s not true, because I always want to die, if only they knew.  I bet I’d be good at dying. My suicide note would be a beautiful gratitude list mixed poetry and emo sayings.  I’d definitely wanna go out with a bang.  If I can’t love my life I’m sure as hell gonna love my death.  I remember taking this african dance class when I was still in college and the teacher would always play this song that would just repeat the phrase “I love my life”.  I always thought she was crazy but I’m starting to think now that there’s no such thing as craziness, just different experiences.  That woman was crazy to me because loving life wasn’t normal to me, only hating it was.  I never thought I was crazy but everyone else did.  I never know how things originate. Like did people thinking I was crazy make me suicidal and not feeling like I belonged in the world.  Or did my  suicidality make people think I was crazy.  And if the ladder is true than maybe all the reasons I feel like I don’t belong aren’t real.  But I never felt like I belonged and people always thought I was crazy.

 

 

 

Too Many Passions

Is there such a thing? I’ve been waiting and waiting for clarity to come, and then I waited some more.  When will I figure out what I’m going to do?

Here’s my story: I spent more than two years at a really good college until my mental illnesses and addictions put me in the hospital twice and my college basically told me that I needed to take some time off to get my life back on track.  I could come back when I was mentally stable.  Long story short, I’m not going back.  I really enjoyed what I was learning about, though.  I chose the major American studies which is a lot of sociology and psychology and political science and a lot of other things mixed together but focused in America.  We learned about hegemonic systems and American ideology and how they got to be the way they are.  So just learning bout fucked-up ness and how things got to be so fucked up  and how deep the fucked-up ness goes.  I loved it.  I felt like I was doing important work.  But once everything came to a halt and I ended up in a daily therapy program, I got to reevaluate my entire life and find out what I was really interested in.  Turns out, I really love art and fashion.  Which I always kind of knew because I loved to freak people out and draw attention with my unique clothing choices.  But I even got into making all different types of art, getting more into makeup, and even making my own clothes for myself.  I also started to really journal in therapy which motivated me to start writing about random things which eventually led me to creating this blog.  I started to actually acknowledge all the crazy ideas I have about things and want to write about them.  I also got really into yoga which was apart of our therapy program which manifested into its own lifestyle and the holistic and spiritual side of life.  I started collecting crystals and meditating to add more to my yoga practice.  On top of that, going to therapy everyday for months and confronting the many demons I have helped me to realize how much help I could be to others going through similar issues.  I really loved connecting with others in my therapy groups and giving advice, so do I want to be a counselor on top of all of this?

For months my mind has been scrambling to make a decision and actually start down a path instead of just staying stagnant as a 21 year old living in my parents’ house.  I always felt like there was nothing out there for me, but now that I have all of these things that interest me, it doesn’t feel that different.  The only thing that’s changed is that finding myself through therapy gave me the confidence I needed to actually get into all of these hobbies and interests.  I never felt good enough to write or create etc.  But I still feel like I can’t move forward.  I don’t want to open one door and end up closing all the other doors.  Can I just be a full time student as my career and just never stop learning about all there is?

If I want to do all of these things like possibly write a book, work in fashion and even possibly make my own clothes, help people with struggles like me through possibly art therapy, be a yoga instructor and help people cultivate their spirituality, and also pursue social justice in some sort of way, where do I start?  Is it possible to combine them all?  How do I get into these things without spending my whole life in school?  Will I spend my whole life thinking/learning about this stuff without actually doing anything?

I always thought being a passionate person was a good thing and I characterized it as one of my strengths.  Is there such a thing as being too passionate?  Or is it a blessing in disguise?

Comment back if you can relate.  I’d love to hear other experiences.

Thanks,

Young and overzealous<3

Meeting People Where They Are

I’ve been attending a therapy group everyday for a while now.  It’s an IOP group that’s usually used to transition out of a partial hospitalization program to help patients use the skills they learned to transfer back into the swing of things.  People come and go from the group all the time and today we had a young girl who had her head down the whole time and never made eye contact with anyone and when our therapist asked her questions about her situation and what she needed, her responses had an immense effect on the rest of the group.  See, most of us in the group had already been to the hospital and went through partial; so we had already made a lot of changes in our lives and took long strides to get better.  Yet this girl seemed to be at the very first step, which is actually wanting to try to get better, so basically, I began to figure out that she should really be in the hospital, or at least in partial.  And I’m sure through battles with anxiety, depression, self harm and other mental health struggles, we all always wanted to get better, we just never want to actually take steps and make changes in our lives to actually change our situation and feel better.  Usually it comes to a point when you hit rock bottom when you realize that you do want to change because you can’t take anymore pain.  So here was this girl who was very depressed and suicidal, who kept making very black and white statements like “I’m never going to get better”, “None of this matters”,  “These programs are a waste of time” and so on.  And after a while, other group members were getting very upset with her, because they had already been through these programs and put a lot of work into them.  These programs had basically changed our lives and helped us immensely, so many took offense to her saying that it was a waste of time.  And those feelings are totally valid; of course I felt that too.  But why is it that once we already have taken big measures to reach stability and have recovered in many ways, that we so quickly forget where we came from.  I’m sure there was a time that all of us felt the way that this group member expressed.  We all felt at one time that we were never going to get better and that everyone that was trying to help us were just feeding us bullshit.  And sure, this girl probably made it a bit worse since she didn’t make any eye contact with anyone and didn’t care how she made the other group members feel or try to apologize or anything.  But once we make so many changes in our lives, it’s so hard to relate to ourselves months before we started.  Does taking strides to lead a mentally healthier life detach us from most other people in the world?  Is it that easy to forget where we came from?  We started off as extremely self destructive and hopeless people.  Is seeing someone the way we used to be so difficult because it shows us that are battles with mental health affected those around us too?  Is it too hard to see how mentally ill we were before that we choose to ignore it and judge others’ still in that position?

I found this situation today really interesting.  It brought up a lot of these types of questions.  I think it says a lot about the way we are quicker to judge others than we are to try to relate to them.  Our feelings should be things that bring us together.  When we share about them, there’s usually at least one other person to say, “I feel the same way.”  Connecting with others is a lot easier than we think.  When we make ourselves vulnerable is when we’re able to connect with others the most.  And we can’t change people until they’re ready to change.  We need to meet people where they’re at, not where we wish they would be.