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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STORYTIME: The story of Little Miss Scarface

I find that I have always grown up hating my body.

This was true for me especially after being sexually abused. I remember feeling dirty and just hating myself beyond comprehendabe words. That I wanted, more than anything, to get rid of that feeling of dirt that layed grinning, firmly attached to my skin.

So I found a way.

Something that I used to do from a very young age was scrub away at my body with a sponge.The sponge being a notted lace of mesh-like material, which was – and still is – a very popular method of cleaning the body in Africa, Ghana. This increased with a furious vengence during and after the sexual abuse. I would scrub and scrub and scrub, until the first layer of skin came off and then the second layer.

Essentially, without knowing it, I was engaging in self-harm behaviours.

It was something I did in private and my mum didn’t really know about it until I started getting acne at the age of 10. Which I was so embarassed by, so, what did I do? I scrubbed it away.

And my mum was furious. 

Absolutely furious.
She kept asking me why would I do that to myself, that people were going to see that ugly mark on my forehead and people were going to hate me.

But I didn’t really care. People already hated me, I didn’t have any friends and scubbing away my problems in the past made me feel satisfied, so why should I care? But my mum went on and on, shouting at me until I felt utterly ashamed of what I had done and felt very much that I shouldn’t have done it for everyone to see. That now that people could see it, they would definitely not be my friend.

So, I went into school the next day, with a collection of small plasters on my forehead and because they were too small, I had to place some of the sticky parts onto the open wound. I remember it hurting so much but being proud of myself because I had successfully hidden it.

A lot of people came p to me and asked me about it and I laughed it of, saying that I had skid my head on the pavement while playing outside but at least I was one step closer to being the next Harry Potter. Most people bought that and a lot more people found me interesting.

The long story short? I made friends, my self-esteem grew and without knowing it, I surrounded myself with people who somewhat cared about me.

Nakedstreetkid out x