Tag Archives: sad

Nobody Likes You When You’re 23.

It’s looming, coming closer, I can feel the air becoming stagnant and distasteful. I have an overwhelming feeling of unbalance filling my mind, every year it’s the same, on Thursday I will be ‘celebrating’ my birthday…*cue horror screams* Lately I haven’t felt like writing, or doing anything for that matter. Each year it feels like my life has been put up on the high stakes table where it is scrutinised under industrial lights, the winner of the game will take all. Every year I try and fill the day with activities that will divert the always impending dread. The build up to the day acts as a depressive trigger, filling my thoughts with distorted discontentment. The morning after my birthday it’s as if none of it mattered, my emotions are still a little bit dulled and muted, but I would’ve weathered the emotional storm. With each birthday people have to confront the fact that they may not have achieved all they had hoped they would in that year.

That they may not be where they would be like to, the discontentment running deep. I guess at a younger age I always had a vision of where I would be now; birthdays are always filled with both crashing disappointment and anticipatory spikes of happiness. I’m trying to make myself stop and regain sight of things, appreciating the people and things around me instead of the things that are nowhere to be seen. It’s as if a birthday malaise exists, perpetually creeping in each year, slowly whispering in your ear as the day draws nearer and the time to complete your expectations is drawing to a close. I’m not one to let my birthday pass by unnoticed, but I’m highly susceptible to disappointment.

I’ve planned small things this year, not wanting to be uncomfortable in group settings, finding comfort in close friends and family. It’s so hard to let go of being depressed about my birthday so that I can actually enjoy it, trying to release the past disappointment to embrace the present, focusing on progress and not the perfections of one’s life. I need to fix my current mental happiness block that I’ve hit head-on. My happiness has become a single defensive tower that is being attacked repetitively by soldier triggers. I’m starving off depression, the stalemate not helping either side gain the higher ground. The overshadowing queen of darkness keeps on approaching, her army gaining size whilst offering the comforting pit of morbidity as parlay.  She plays her game well. Writing this makes me realize how silly and trivial it is to monopolize a day to such great lengths that you allow it to be a tyrant to your emotions.

On Thursday I will be 23, I will try and not let depression encroach, I will try and remember all the wonderful things I have in my life and not the things I don’t, I will try and not let it dominate who I am. After all it is only a day. Thank you Blink182 lyrics: “Nobody likes you when you’re 23

Dr. Maas acknowledges the “chicken-egg” problem inherent in bipolar and other mood disorders: “Depression can cause extensive insomnia, and insomnia can cause depression—which comes first depends on the individual and the circumstance”. birthday_cat_sad

My Scarred Meat Suit: The Summer Collection

I’ve always thought of people’s bodies as meat suits. We treat and look at ourselves like we are the pre-packaged meat products you buy from the supermarket. Always judging the product to see if it’s the right weight, proportion, undamaged and aesthetically pleasing. Would you buy that cut of meat or make the most out of the one you have? Is it a nice lean cut with little-to-no fat? I was reminded of this when my new swimmers arrived today, it’s been extremely hot in Australia lately, easier to stay in swimmers all day. After putting them on I started to analyse myself like I would a piece a meat, my scars revealed even when wearing shorts, the beginnings of my tan highlighting the white lines making them more prominent. It’s too hot not to wear shorts at the moment; I start to pick at the hem of my shorts, in my mind hoping that they would magically grow a foot longer so that the lady at the supermarket would stop gawking at my leg.

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When I wear shorts to the gym, no one stops to stare; they see a healthy energetic person, my scars not determining how they judge me in that particular circumstance. My body consciousness is improving, yet I will always be that scarred pre-packaged meat suit, always getting judged and examined externally. In some instances you become the damaged package goods that nobody wants. Having the scars out in the open allows people to develop an opinion about what type of person you are, believing you to be  attention seeking, unstable, unhappy, suicidal, anti-social, a pain seeker, self-absorbed, violent/angry and impulsive.

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror, caught up in the idea that the person staring back can’t be me. I look puzzled at my body, tormented by the idea that I inflicted so much pain on myself, both physically and mentally. I did this to myself, IT WAS ME. I need to take ownership for that. It’s about getting caught in the trappings of your mind, the deepest darkest place. I sometimes want to yell that I’m not ‘ill’ when people look at me strangely, I’ve always been a highly functional person, relationships, jobs and university study, I’ve always managed, even when depressed or hypomanic.

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It has become part of my personal wellness project to detoxify, cleanse and be ok with being imperfectly ‘perfect’. It shouldn’t be scary to be our imperfect selves, why should we avoid the label of ‘imperfection’ as if it’s the plague?! It’s useless to believe you can obtain ‘perfection’ or the current perception of perfection. The perception is wholly based on the current idealisations of the society, completely dependent on your milieu. My aim this week is to embrace my imperfections.

♪♪“Love your curves and all your edges. All your perfect imperfections. Give your all to me. I’ll give my all to you. You’re my end and my beginning. Even when I lose I’m winning”♪♪

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