there are not many times when I feel good enough or perhaps powerful enough to just speak up about how I feel right now. most of the time it’s not the kindest of thoughts I have about myself. they are dark and condemning. they desire the end. yet I run into an obstacle when trying to speak about how I feel. the perception of feeling weak and useless. so instead of speaking out I rage on the inside or quite often on the outside. be it in the car punching a roof. in a room somewhere punching walls and not that rarely – smashing furniture. these acts rarely have the calming effect. instead I feel closer to insanity as I just laugh out all deranged or speak to self in the most demeaning way. sometimes I write and it feels good. as long as I don’t read back what I wrote. not that I am unjustly critical but reading it immediately just spirals me into a world of self hate and self pity.

see? this is the mindset I am talking about. expressing self and already soiling it. branding self weak. when in fact when I see others speaking out about their mental battles – I am in awe of them. inspired. when i try to do the same – I feel unworthy and utterly pathetic. am I being patronizing with others? or am I just so severely hating self? why do I seem to accept others and their quest for being better as sincere while completely rejecting every attempt I make to do the same (sure, I am nowhere as eloquent and beautifully sincere as the others are…)?

reality is that my sentiments regarding self completely rely on whether I had one or five or no espressos. meaning, if I am ‘drugged up.’ before I spiral into something completely unrelated I want to make my point: I have been on and off in a state of denial of my bipolar disorder for years now. though I do acknowledge it occasionally, I am mostly deflecting it, somehow hoping one day I will wake up and it will be all gone. that in itself is a defeat. it is also once again a result of my obsession of not appearing weak. it’s just so fucking ridiculous. RIDICULOUS. time for another espresso. so I can be elevated to hyper reality. a sort of a magical realism. made out of millions of pieces I collected along the way. most pieces are consequences of dreadful choices and erratic behavior of mine whenever I am besieged by anxiety and self loathing. one more espresso and then I can delete all of this. then later regret that I did. hopefully I won’t come back here to read this. or maybe I was accidentally given a decaf espresso.

see? so fucking weak I am that I am hoping for the end of the world or perhaps strong enough to press the ‘PUBLISH’ button.


4 thoughts on “

  1. Our empathy for others sets us apart, it is not delusional, it is not self loathing, it is that one thing many if of us try to keep hidden, it is our humanity. We find comfort, distance, seclusion from our own thoughts and problems in others, we give hope to those we feel need it and ignore our own. We are a savage animal lost in a world that at times shows us no forgiveness, yet, other times, it wraps its arms around us, cradling our lost soul, and allows us piece. Only we can give ourselves what we need, only we can empower that spark inside, you paint yourself in so many dark tones, yet, your light escapes, and we see, the real you, the you, you hide, and he is strong, and beautiful my friend, your journey may be stalled in your eyes, but in mine, you are spreading your wings and preparing to fly 👍

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