Tag Archives: mental illnes

Stop over-thinking

You don’t want to climb the mountains
but you want to kiss the peaks
you’re aiming for the islands
but you’re scared of the sea.

You want to reach the horizon
but you’re fearful of the sky
you’re falling to your insecurities
because you’re too scared to fly.

You don’t know what lies ahead
and you’re afraid of all this load
you want to carry your dreams
but you can’t see the road.

You want to find diamonds
but you won’t look around
you want to plant your victories
but you won’t touch the ground.

You want to win the marathon
but you refuse to run
you want to embrace the light
but you’re afraid of the sun.

You want to see the rainbow
but you don’t like the rain
you want to be strong
but you can’t stand the pain.

You’re dreaming day and night
but you’re still asleep
you want to win so badly
but you aren’t taking that leap.

Love,
you won’t get anywhere
if you stand still like a stone
it’s about time
you come out of your comfort zone.
Yes…
you will fail
and fall
and crash
and burn
but that’s alright
because now it’s your turn
don’t be afraid of a little bruise
how will you ever caress victory
if you’re afraid to lose
today may not make sense
but it all adds up to you
this is all a part of life
so stop over-thinking
and do what you have to do

Self-inflicted war

The most damaging wars are the ones we fight with ourselves. When our mind transforms into a battlefield and our heart becomes a no-go zone. It’s like we’re torn between shooting emotions, bombarded with sentiments. We’re ripped between reasons, opinions, and facts. And that is the moment where we lose all sense of what is right and what is wrong. It is in that little time space where either everything makes perfect sense or the things that did make sense become undecipherable. We become so captivated in our own thoughts that everything happening just seems like a blur. In that instance what should we trust- our instincts, gut, heart or that tiny slit in our brain magnifying every possible threat there is to existence.

But why is it that this war we’re fighting is leading us nowhere?
Why is it so hard to understand that this self-damage is incurable? 

Maybe because we’re already destroyed, that no damage can cause us more pain then what we’ve been through. Like we’re about to explode. These are the types of sparks that cause flames within. But in that case, which fire should we put out first. The one inside of us or the one outside.

Wars are never easy to fight. Because they sketch their marks all over. Whether they’re fought on land or inside our head. But
I guess we’re all soldiers placed in different battlefields with different weapons.

The worst part is that I’m unprepared for this war and I’m scared. If I don’t have an enemy then why does everything around me feel like a threat? I have no weapons yet here I am fighting with my bare hands.

Will I win?
Do I deserve to win?
Why does failing feel like a better option? Maybe because I’m afraid to rise. I’m afraid of whatever awaits on the other end of the battlefield. What if it’s a bigger storm, a bigger war, a bigger threat?

But just because you didn’t win doesn’t mean you lost. Why can’t you just be in the middle? Establish a cease-fire and maybe stay there. I’m not saying that losing is good but why does it have to be so bad.

Sometimes threat does not come to me holding a sword. She comes to me with a pretty smile, draped in poisonous flowers that smell like Eden. She comes to me holding a mirror, and the threat I see looks exactly like me. And that is the moment where I don’t know what to do. Attack myself? Or wait for her to attack me? Either way the outcome will leave me damaged and there is nothing I can do.

It’s like I have no choice. Is the war worth fighting? Is it better to be safe and lose; or win and be completely broken? Why does victory have to come dressed in blood? Why can’t it shine like the first light of day?

A day with Anxitey….

Sometimes I don’t wake up to sunlight peeking through my windows. I wake up to a dark invisible cloud looming above my head. I don’t hear the chirping of birds and the rustling of wind. I hear my own heart bashing against my chest and the blood surging through my veins, and it is in that moment where I want to lie back down and pull the cover over my head and pretend that everything is okay, even though I know it’s not. I’m having anxiety or maybe heart failure. I can’t tell the difference.

My brain isn’t functioning, and a headache is threatening to spill. I’m shivering, and I feel like my heart is about to pop out of my chest. Tears are forming in the ducts of my eyes and I can’t seem to breathe, but I have to force myself up, even when every cell in my body is begging me to lie back down.

The simplest things seem like a burden, and I can’t explain the explosions going on in my mind and in my stomach. The day won’t go well; I know this beforehand. Deep inside, I’m wishing for night to come so I could hide beneath it, but the hands on the clock seem to be moving slower and slower and there is nothing I can do to make them move fast enough.

I drag my legs out of bed and change for school. But I silently sit on the sofa hoping my mother wouldn’t notice the panic crawling on my features, but she does, and she asks me. I can’t get the words out. I can’t tell her that I’m having anxiety. I can’t tell her that everything around me is ticking like a bomb and I can’t control my heart from beating at a rate I can’t calculate, or I can’t control my limbs from shaking. I can’t explain that I can’t breathe because it feels like I have a heavy elephant sitting on my chest.

“I’m okay.” The words seem rehearsed. I lie to her and she believes me, not because she actually does, but because she has seen me like this, and to her this is normal because that’s what I make it look like.

I have to force myself from leaving the house, but incoherent thoughts erupt in my mind. The stupidest things that would make any normal person laugh, are haunting me. I’m afraid the pizza guy next door is an agent and he’s trying to kill me. Even though deep inside I know he’s a kind father of five and he won’t do anything to harm me. I’m afraid that a meteorite will burst out of the sky and against all possibilities it will fall on me. And the one thing eating my insides is that I’ll have a panic attack in the middle of nowhere and the people around me will laugh. They won’t understand because no one ever does.  I have to bite back the tears and suck it up even though there is a storm brewing inside of me.

School isn’t better either. There are familiar faces that look so distant. I have friends gathered around me and I can’t tell them that I don’t want to talk. I can’t tell them that deep inside I am drowning. I’m scared that if I tell them they’ll either leave me to drown or they’ll drown with me. Both possibilities are equally terrifying.

It seems better to have no friends. I know I’m hurting them because I am being hurt, but it’s just something I can’t control. And they don’t ask me, because they don’t know. But how do they not see? How do they not notice?

It’s hard telling them why I cancel plans last minute. It’s because I don’t know when my anxiety will tow with me. And even I don’t understand how it transforms into depression, and then it morphs into anger and I can’t control it and I hate myself for that.

Sitting in class is suffocating. It feels like the walls are closing in on me. I can’t focus on the teacher’s words because I’m scared that the girl sitting next to me will hear my heart, or that she’ll see I’m sweating even when the classroom is cold.

It’s hard explaining to my parents that even though I’m brave, that even though I look strong, deep inside I’m not. Sometimes I feel like I am breaking, and I am falling apart. It’s so hard telling them that even though I’m a grown adult, I still need them to hold my hand. I still need to lean on them. I still need them to speak for me because I honestly can’t do it.

It’s this odd suffocation that can’t be cured with oxygen. I’m drowning, and I can’t be saved with an anchor. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is: I am ashamed to feel this way. I would rather burn and turn to ash than to accept that I have a mental illness. I feel like a disgrace. There are times where I am disgusted with myself. No one around me knows how to deal with this, but I can’t blame them, because I don’t know how to deal with it myself. I’m afraid of being judged, afraid of hearing the word ‘Mental illness’ because it feels like some sort of plague that will spread if I accept it. Like it’s an airborne disease and I’m not allowed to say it out loud. I come from a culture where Mental illness is taboo. Something we don’t speak of. Something we don’t acknowledge.

I am just one, out of countless people who feel this way. Mental illness is not something that will go away on its own, even though sometimes I wish it could. It’s not a phase that you’ll snap out of. It has the ability to transform and morph into something new. Something much worse. It can lead to depression and even suicide. It needs to be addressed. It needs to be talked about. Like any other disease, it needs to be cured.

Picture drawn by me.

I am a Hero

I am a hero.
A vigilante.

I tell this to myself every time I stand in front of the mirror. I can see my invisible cape and the skin colored mask covering my face.

I am strong.
I tell this to myself every time I find my thoughts slipping away into an empty abyss.

No!
You’re nothing.
You’re a lethargic weakling.
A mediocre.
You aren’t worth anything.

That’s what the villain in me says. He’s evil and he has this way with words that I find myself attracted to him even more. It’s easier being pessimistic, but it’s not worth it. The evil villain in me isn’t like the Joker in Batman or the weird lizard in Spider-Man or even the cyborgs in Avengers. My villain looks exactly like me and sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between the vigilante and the villain. The villain sometimes gets stronger and I find myself surrounded by monsters who want to tear me apart. I can’t fight those monsters because they’re in my head and I can’t see them through the mirror. No one can. Those monsters scream at me. Yell at me, and I can’t explain this to anyone without sounding like a monster myself. How do I fight what doesn’t exist? How do I defend myself with the same sword that wants to stab me?

Unlike Superman and Wonder woman I don’t have superpowers. Like Batman I don’t have money, like Black-widow I don’t have slick moves. Like Daredevil, I don’t have a guru who can teach me the art of saving an entire city because right now I am incapable of saving myself.

I’m just plain ordinary.
I’m a vigilante in my own unique way.

I sometimes have to fight the toughest wars because the bloodiest battles take place within me. I’m like the Yin and Yang, but I’m not black nor am I white. I am grey.

The hero in me doesn’t always win. Sometimes I’m engulfed by the villain. He has this seductive tone that lures me in and I lose all sense of right and wrong. He has the ability to make me tear my insides and I find myself listening to him. I destroy myself in such a beautiful way that the vigilante in me gets confused. The vigilante willingly surrenders, and I end up slicing my own throat.

What’s the point of anything?
You’re a failure.
Just stop wasting people’s time.

Sometimes I yell at the villain and we fight, and sometimes I give in to his threats and lock myself up in that tiny compartment in my brain.

Either way, I always come back wounded, but no one believes me because I have no scars to show or no blood to wipe away. I just have tales to tell and stories to share.

But the greatest victory, I guess, is to keep on fighting. To keep on trying. We all have monsters living in us, but so do we have heroes.

Sometimes these heroes don’t save the world because they’re too busy saving the chaos going on inside of us, and maybe that’s okay.

We all have that piece in us that wants to be Superman or Wonder Woman, but why do we fail to realize that we are our own superheroes. We are our own vigilantes. Making it through another day when you have nothing to look forward to is progress on its own. Getting out of bed, forcing a smile, helping someone in need, even when you yourself are in desperate need of help, is a form of victory. This is what heroes do.

They keep trying.
They keep pushing.
They keep fighting.
And they don’t give up.
They never give up.

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