journal

Rock Bottom

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For the last few months I’ve been stuck in this horrible limbo of giving up on life and not quite giving up on life. And I honestly thought that no one out there would be able to comprehend such a static way of living until I met my friends. And with these friends, I went out with during the entire weekend, drinking heavily, snorting a lot of cocaine and sleeping very little each night. Before finding myself in the exact same position on Monday morning, feeling much worse for it all. I was now broke, both financially and emotionally.

The days after was filled with avoiding my bank statements which continued to decline in 100s. I was minus 200 one week and then minus 500 the next. Emotionally, my depression was reaping havoc on my days and the sister of depression – suicidal ideation would pop it’s ugly head and whisper sweet nothings into my ears. And all the while, I saw nothing intrinsically wrong with my life.

But I do remember one morning telling my friends that maybe I was developing a terrible drug habit, that my bank account was empty and that I had accumulated this horrible debt that never stops hanging over me like a black cloud over my head. And what did they do? They laughed at it all as if I was insane. Saying that their addiction was worse than my own as I only went on a gram binge every weekend, that my 700 pound debt was nothing, I’ll eventually get out of it.

So, instead of feeling insulted, I just felt like I was going insane. That my method of getting out of rock bottom was working. To drink more, snort more, smoke more, sleep less, care less and strive for less. All of which was the perfect antidote.

But I’ll tell you something now, it never was.

Hitting rock bottom is this funny thing. I thought you’d know when you reached it. When you felt the fiery ground at your feet is when you went into a sudden but cleansing mental breakdown. Kind of like a volcanic eruption, that bathes the foundation in its destructive upbringing ready for something new.

But no, it can be quite different. Quite deliberate in its torture of you. You can feel the cold ground of the bottom glazing the soles of your feet, your entire body submerged in this icy water, your nose just sticking out slightly to sniff the snow. Your organs frozen, your heart gripped in a damaging growth and your brain deteriorating slowly but surely. You can be ready to cry for help but for what? How can you explain the numbness to another, how easily and ready you are to go into a slumber. That you haven’t been fully awake for days, for months. It’s horrible. It’s how my life has been.

And I don’t know how to get out.

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journal

Exploring the Stupidity of Emotional Dysregulation 

I’ve recently experienced so many fucking emotional flashbacks that it has been unreal. 

I’ve had to delete my whatsapp and disconnect my phone because the very idea of having to communicate with another human being while in this state of mind has been strenuous. Strenuous due to the high levels of just pure anxiety it provokes. 

I should start with the fact that during the weekend I went back down south to see old flatmates and make new ones. But I was just… I completely checked out. I couldn’t process through anything, I was feeling so stupid, so embarrassingly stupid because I didn’t know what I was doing. 

The thing is, what I usually fall back on are pre-existing experiences, copying what I did there so that they still come across authentic and then applying them in a chosen situation. However I couldn’t. I had never experienced house hunting or anything of that nature. 

I found that I was frustrated with myself, my internal critic gabbering on and poking fun at me. All the while physically, my face was completely blank and any affect in my voice was barren. I realised in that moment I was dissociating. I was internally reverting back into that little traumatised girl, having the same emotional capacity, believing that I was beyond a disappointment, failing everyone around me. 

I was walking around with the belief that I was, am, inferior and that I was a defective human being that deserved to die. 
Now, this didn’t start – or rather restart – this weekend, it started about a week ago  (shout out to that boy Bobby Shmurda). This idea had been cultivating inside my own mind for so long and I had decided to – whether passively or actively – ignore what I was feeling. In doing that it had found a way to thrive into this toxic energy that not only effected my own esteem but also the way I interacted with others. 

I am so sure that I’m fucking up every single relationship – friendship or otherwise – that it seems impossible to see a way out. Now, that may just be the depression talking but it is scary and I am scared. I am frightened being in this head space, during which I’ve suppressed so many emotions that now they are coming to the forefront of my mind and just burning there. And it feels so entirely uncontrollable. 

This is what emotional flashbacks feel like. And this is what emotional dysregulation looks like for me.

Because last week was where I was completely checked out, completely numb and dissociating all the time for the slightest reason. Now, I’m feeling excessively depressed, like I want to harm myself in any sense of the word. But in the next two weeks, I’ll be as right as rain, brighter than the sun, smiling all the time, having forgotten what this pain feels like. No longer as distressed, and I’ll be happy. 

until the next time where the process 

                                                                      Starts

                                                                                  Again. 
Nakedstreetkid out x

journal

What to do? 

I’ve been crying a lot lately. 
Ever since my 20th birthday, I’ve become increasingly depressed. This depression stems from me having a mixed bag of both successes and failures in the past month, and my inability to focus on the good. 

The long and short of it is, I’ve been focusing on the bad. All the mistakes I’ve made, all the risks I’ve taken and the negative consequences as a result has knocked back my confidence. 

I’m back to questioning “Am I good enough?”

To which the answer has been a deep, resounding “no”, and that is terrifying. 

Over the past couple of months, I’ve made huge strives in recovery. I’ve stopped self-harming, I talk more openly with friends and family, and I am taking deep control and responsibility for my future. 

But that feels like that is no longer the case as I am going through another bout of depression and thus going in and out of dissociative states. 

To be honest, I haven’t a clue of what I should do to feel better, but writing has always helped in the past so… I hope this works. 

Nakedstreetkid out xx

random

Waving My White Handkerchief

I have this permenant hatred for myself that despite me constantly trying to work on myself, never seems to quite go away. And maybe the reason it never goes away is because I’m always working on myself. 

Strange, right? But think about it.

In my mind’s eye, constantly working on myself has convinced my instinctual nature that something is inherently wrong with me.

And guess what!?

That can really lower my already horrendously low self-esteem! (Yay!)

Which turns out to make me sadder and sadder until low and behold, I’m staring at the face of depression as my barely visible hand in my crowded mind spasms a wave of a white handkerchief. 

Point is, I’m not happy.

I’m not happy one fucking bit.

Uncategorized

An honest story about Child-on-child sexual abuse

Child abuse is something that makes a lot of people uncomfortable. 

Child-on-child sexual abuse (CoCSA) damn right cringes people the hell out. 

I’m here to talk about both, if not now, then for a short time soon.

What amazes me is that it’s not widely talked about and victims of  (CoCSA) are shamed into silence about it or are mistakenly blamed for the sexual assault they encountered as a small child. Like, “no, that wasn’t sexual abuse! That was you exploring your sexuality, you little deviant!”

But guess what? 

If you’ve had to suffer through unwanted sexual contact as a child from another child, that is CoCSA. That experience shouldn’t be explained away, it shouldn’t be brushed under the rug nor should it be minimilised. 

Your experience is very real, incredibly valid and shouldn’t be silenced because it makes people uncomfortable. That’s not fair on you or your experience. 

I’m sick and tired of people looking down on victims of CoCSA because they can’t wrap it around their own minds how one child can violate another in such a way, but holy hell does it happen. And it happens in the thousands. 

One way or another, that experience can very well effect your functioning. 

I know because it has effected mine. And I hate it. Absolutely hate it with a passion and I wish I never had to go through that but I did. 

I did.

Nakedstreetkid out x

Uncategorized

Suicide: A short but needed reflction

I messed up.

I messed up big time.

Two months ago, I got the exceedingly strong impulse to kill myself. This was all after spending a horrendously long time consumed by depression, anger and self-hatred. After overhearing an attack on my personality I was no longer being able to keep all of these feelngs contained in a tight bubble and it all burst open.

The thought, like a cancer, by that point had metastasised in my mind to just kill myself. My reasoning? It was the only way to be kind to those around me and to my future self.

But, I obviously didn’t and here’s why:

I realised that the way I was feeling was temporary. Powerful, all-consuming, suffocating but ultimately, temporary.

And even though my brother calls me weak and selfish for wanting to kill myself, I know that his stance on suicide is ruled by his own unresolved past suicidal ideation. 

The reason I have messed up?

Because I think that explaining myself to him will solve something. It won’t. He has his own issues and I have mine. The truth is we both have entirely different experiences despite co-existing in the same orbit for so long.

At this point I need to take a step back, be selfish in the right way and work on myself. I need to be a little more self-compassionate, learn to manage my fluctuating emotions and stop isolating myself so much.

I just need to grow.

And I’ll be damned if that’s not what I do for the rest of the year.

I’ll be damned.

Nakedstreetkid out x

Uncategorized

Spiralling Thoughts and Murdered Truths

I have an interview three days from now and I’m not quite sure what I am to do. I’m struggling the most with getting out of my bed at the moment.

In fact, I’m struggling to do just about anything recently. Because if I can’t get out of bed, I can’t revise. If I can’t revise, I can’t feel confident. If I don’t feel confident, I am less likely to talk. If I don’t talk, I can’t communicate this to anyone. If I can’t communicate this to anyone, I won’t overcome this bout of depression. If I don’t overcome this bout of depression, I won’t get out of my bed, I won’t revise and I will fail my interview.

It’s all quite stressful, actually.

Although, I don’t believe the anxious collection of thoughts spiralling out of control is helping a bit. So, that is most likely the first thing I need to tackle – this level of anxiety and every disastrous thought that comes with it. I think that once I’ve sorted that out, forgiven myself for my moment of anxiety and depression, I can lift my head from the comfort of my pillow and leave the comfort of my bed.

Easier said than done though.

I’ll tell you how it goes.

Nakedstreetkid out xx