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

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Uncategorized

NaBloPaMo and other wonderful things

So, I should explain yesterday’s post real quick. I don’t really write prose, I’m a poetry type of girl, where I’m more inclined to allow the exposure of my thoughts through poetry. But yesterday was kind of different. I really wanted to remember exactly what had happened during my commute to my very first house party.

I started that piece quite a while ago. But I had started it as more of a diary entry slash poem. As maybe you can tell because there are a lot of metaphors and similies in the text. I had grown convinced when I started I would not publish it at all because of the whole “almost diary” thing. And I thought no one would be interested in it, as it is technically a prose disguised as a blog post. So, I was worried.

But I posted it anyway because it was fun to write. And I’m trying my best to post everyday in November so I’m just going to do it. Anything I have, anything I write, it’s going to be posted from now on.

I’m talking about the NaBloPoMo by the way.

I am writing every single day for the rest of the month. This means that there will be no sudden posts containing my best work. Only posts full of raw mistakes complete with idiotic phrases strung together. And it’s okay, because those will be the best bits.

I know I’m a late starter, but better late than never. November 2014, here we roll! 😀

Nakedstreetkid out! 😛

moments

My first house party

The dull silence which usually occupied the trains in the morning was replaced with a rich thrill that ran through the mouths of many. The train became a social hub more than anything. The buzz of the train didn’t cease until it stopped at Kings Cross Station. Until then, there was laughter, girls in tight mini skirts with open chested blouses which flattered their apple, pear or pinched in figures. The guys were already having a party, each carrying their own can of laggar. I checked the time on my phone. My phone, a blackberry which carried the marks of a soldier from being thrown at the wall too many times at the attempt for it to forcefully defect from my possessions, was still alive. It had survived even to this day. What a shame. I really wanted an iPhone.

Anyway, it was only half an hour past seven. Everyone on the train except me and a parent accompanied child was a little bit more than tipsy. Their shouts and wails contained a common theme of complete abandon. Oh, well, they seemed happy enough. Each man clutched enthusiastically to an alcoholic drink while their other hand held desperately onto a pole as to not fall down flat on his face. The women were pulling down skirts, the same as I was doing. The only difference was that they made an attempt to readjust their tossled hair by puffing it up or smoothing it down with the tips of their fingers. That was something I didn’t do, couldn’t do because I hadn’t done anything to my hair beforehand but tie it up in a bun. But that was fine, I had other pressing issues to think about.

My brain kept spinning around the concept of going to a party. I had never been to one of this magnitude and was seriously worried because I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t sure how to dance, what drink to chose and what foods to eat. I was sure I wouldn’t let vodka touch my lips, nor rum. I had already encountered such things and it did not bode well for me. I was a horribly depressed drunk, with suicidal tendencies. I was not willing to return there. So, maybe, no alcohol. Wait, definitely no alcohol. At least, that was decided. How about food? Dancing? I guess, those are the things where I’m going to have to wait and see.

Anyway, the women on the train were getting a bit weird. Every time I glanced their way, I saw how they would subtly pout their lips before speaking to their fellow man. It was quite funny to watch but I didn’t dare laugh or even smile too much. I didn’t want any attention to be drawn to me. But, by the time two stops had gone by, I was pretty sure no such thing would occur. They were all preoccupied with each other. Their glazed eyes hardly dropped my way.

The train juggled them about, slamming each body against each other before purging them out of the doors as an automated voice announced their stop. Group by group the train became silent, and I was blissfully left alone in my seat as less bodies heaped themselves onto me.

It was coming close to my stop, but I refused to look up, worried that the remaining participants would realise that I had no idea to where I was going. But really, those remaining were half asleep, the bags underneath their eyes dragged their heads down before their necks suddenly snapped back up, darting their eyes around the carriage. One of these creatures asked me if they had missed their stop. I shook my head before saying no. They nodded and let their heads fall again.

When I heard my stop be announced, I carefully lifted by radio shaped bag, fiddled nervously with its dials for a little bit before walking towards the opening doors sliding away giving me room to exit. It was time to find the house.

The night air was cold when I stepped out onto the platform. The smell of concentrated urine made its appearance as I sprinted up the steps. I was late. I wasn’t sure if that was okay or not, considering it was a party. But, I was more than half an hour late. I wasn’t even sure if she had got my whatsapp messages to let her know whether I was late. I felt horrible.