Ungrateful bitch

Name : Alifah

Hobby : spending people’s love until they got none left for me.

Until I met you, and realized that it has been years yet you are still by my side with a lot of love to give. What are you made of?

The Modern Cry for Help (Mental Illnesses on Social Media)

You know what just went through my mind? I wonder how many wordpress users (or any blog site for that matter) are dead? How many were mental illnesses related? And how many of those committed  suicide? Think about it, this whole thing, technology, social media, people don’t talk to each other anymore, they don’t seek help or therapy when they for sure know they need them. They talk to the internet now, hoping that someone would read their cry for help relying on the fact that the internet is a public media, unlike simply writing a journal, which is obviously private. Here there are no boundries between what’s private and not anymore.

Should we be more concern then when we stumble upon a blog or other social media that suggest that the writer/uploader might suffer from mental illnesses? Sometimes we don’t even notice them. They could be the funniest most outgoing person, yet you see how their updates always includes alcohols, how they always smokes when their other friends are eating, or how while doing the silliest videos you kind of could see their scars.

The depressing quotes they repost, the triggering pictures they uploaded, and sadly, many people follow them specifically because they post such things. Just a bunch of people with mental illnesses supporting each other’s disabilities pushing one another to the edge waiting for someone to eventually fall and die. How can you give out Likes to people you know would starve themselves to death if they get 50 of them? How could you scroll through and admire a picture of fresh wounds? You know that’s wrong, hell, you know it TOO well. Deep down you wish you could be “normal”, not have that crippling anxiety, be carefree for once, enjoy a nice meal, spend quality times with your loved ones.

Stop letting sick people stay sick, let’s help one another get better. Because goddammit, I would LOVE to be “cured”. To be like how I used to be but even better now that I have grown and learnt from my past mistakes. Even better, talk to someone about it, family, close friends, someone you know for sure 100% would care when you come out with your mental illnesses. Go seek help, find a therapist, you can even do it online now. Make use of the technology we got now for the right thing. Treat yourself, focus only on your wellbeing. Nothing in this world is more important than your mental health. Different things work for different people, for me exercising and meditating helps.

Talk to someone. If those kind of blogs/sites/accounts exist, you definitely know that you are not alone. There are people like you. Make yourself proud and be the one who comments positive vibes on triggering pictures. Be that before/after account. Tell your story! Tell them all that you made it! Good luck!

Existential Crisis

Death does not scare me. What comes after that does. The mystery of what’s going to happen after we die, where we go, what then. Not knowing that, the uncertainty of it, scares me. If only I knew, I would not be here right now.

To some this sound depressing but I am in a quite stable mood right now, still, life feels meaningless and therefore pointless to me. I have to work hard, struggle to survive, all for what? To eventually die anyway in the end? I have been having suicidal thoughts lately, and not in a depressing way. I just don’t want to exist anymore. Who am I anyway? What am I? What are humans? What’s our purpose here? Some people might find these interesting. They would go out and try to find the answers to these questions, make theories and find evidences, but I am tired. I don’t want to know. I just want to disappear. All I know is that I am tired of living this dull life and I feel extremely alone.

Maybe everyone feel this way, everyone got their own story, their own pain. But how come no one has ever reached out? How are they so comfortable living in this painful and lonely life? Maybe I am not everyone and being alone makes me do bad things. I am not my own best friend, I hate the way my mind works, and I cannot be left alone by it. My wellbeing depends on other people because I just can’t be left alone without feeling paranoid. But they’re just distractions in the end, someone I run to to be able to function for a while, they make me forget but never healed. So I can’t blame them for not always being here when I need them. Although I could’ve slept better if they were here, I could’ve talked to them instead of hurting myself, I could’ve eatan. But it’s not their fault, I am a broken thing, something they wouldn’t be able to fix even if they wanted to.

3 am thoughts

He’s late again. Not just an hour or two, he’s not with you yet when he was supposed to be there 10 hours ago. The last time it happened you were determined to end it all. Left him for good. But then he came crawling back, and then you, lured by his sweet lies. Even after the broken promises, the girl he said was no one even after those flirty texts you found, and their 2-3 hours long calls, you still took him back.

Now it’s 3 am, you’re waiting for him in your bed, crying listening to some music you thought would make you feel better but no. Does this feel familiar to you? You should have left him long time ago. Silly girl. To think that he would change for you. To give him the benefit of the doubt by convincing yourself that maybe tonight something really did happen to him that he needed to sort out. It’s always like that, isn’t it? When he somehow kept all of his promises with his other friends while you lost contact with yours to be with him. When you sin for him and gave your innocence away because once upon a time you actually believed that this love was real, that you and him are going to be together forever, get married, and be a family. You opened up. Oh girl, you opened up like you never did before (literally and figuratively). The person you were afraid of becoming, the things you never were interested in doing, you let your guard down and gave them all up for him because your stupid heart believed in true love. Keep on writing, does this feel familiar to you? The heartache you could only pour out on a piece of paper (or in this case the internet). When will this stop? Stop torturing yourself because he will not stop.

Maybe tonight he actually ran into some trouble. It has been a thousand nights and your silly heart still believe the bullshit you’re trying to tell yourself.

Pray for me!?!

This morning I woke up suffocating. Was not sleep apnea (To be fucking honest idk never had sleep apnea) because I wasn’t 100% asleep, it was like a sleep paralysis, only I couldn’t breath for 10 seconds at least, before I awoke from my paralysis gasping for air. It happened 3 times because I was so tired all I wanted was to sleep. By the third time I stopped trying because I was too scared.

In that 10 seconds all that went through my mind was “this is it, i’m probably going to die now” then my body was like “bitch no, not now.” The second time, same thing went through my head, the third time I was so exhausted already I was like “let me sleep or just kill me right now”. Neither happened.

Maybe it was anxiety, maybe something else, all I care about is finishing my script tonight and I haven’t got enough sleep. This post isn’t going anywhere, I’m not suppose to post anything today either. All I want to say is, if anybody is reading this right now, send me some prayer please because i need it so bad right now.

“Arlo” & Living above your mental illnesses

Remember last post I told you I would rather have someone who would stay beside me and not say a word than those who would speak so many bullshit just to make me feel better? Let me talk a bit about this guy.

Obviously I am not going to mention his real name, but let’s just call him Arlo. Like many other friendships, ours also had an accidental starting point. One of my friend lived at the same dorm as he was and since then Arlo joined our group of friends. Funny thing is that I’m not even friends with the others anymore except for Arlo. He always knew how to make me laugh, we share many interests, like eating, singing, playing guitar. The best part is that we have the same sense of humor. In our group of friends he was always the funny one, everyone in campus loves him because he’s funny and always brings joy to people. I am just glad I got him as my best friend. Arlo got his ups and downs too, he had troubles with few people in our campus, but the majority of people still love him anyway, including me. This is not going to be a story about a guy or girl trapped in a friendzone, no, we are genuinely like brother and sister. I have seen his junk and have a polaroid picture of him in nothing but his underwear, and he has touched and seen my boobs. Still, it disgusts us just thinking about being more than friends.

Fun fact, he was the first person who told me about my cheating ex. Maybe I will discuss more about my cheating ex (who thought he was so sly, but boy no) later, but for now, long story short, couple of my close friends (at least i thought they were), caught my ex with a girl in a coffee shop. They decided not to tell me but Arlo, being the good friend he was, told me. I’m glad he did, because no matter how hard he denied it, my ex meant to cheat. Anyway, I was never a jealous girlfriend, I didn’t check on my boyfriend’s phone (although he checked mine many times), I never cared about him meeting his ex or a friends that are girls, I trusted him. So I was like ok, this girl could be anyone, I wouldn’t make such a big deal about it. I’m going to tell you the details later but let’s just say it got obvious that she was his side chick.

My life was never the same after that. After months of mourning, I developed anxiety disorder, DR/DP, and depression. 2016 was the worst, but thanks to Arlo, I still got good days. We were inseparable, he would just hang in my apartment doing nothing. We would be lazy together, he would watch movies with me, eat in with me, sleep all day with me, he was my alone compaion. It’s lovely how being lonely is painful, but being lonely with someone is the best feeling ever. He wouldn’t ask questions, he just knew I needed his company. We grew closer and closer now, I never thought we would be this close as friends, this is even closer than what I shared with my other friend back home (Let’s call her Keira, we’ve been friends for almost 10 years now). We would share secrets, we would go to one another to consult, we would share our problems, and we would help one another. But beside that, we were so good at being lonely together. Then when we were in campus we would put on our mask and be the clown everybody wanted us to be. There are many other great things, that hopefully will come up in later’s post, about Arlo, but one thing for sure is that we want the absolute best for one another. We would never let the other one feel lonely alone.

He has been the biggest support, the most important part of my healing, and he doesn’t even know that. To be fucking honest, I would prefer that kind of support. But hey, everyones different, and what works for one doesn’t always work for the others. So you do you, find the support you need but remember they are there just to “support”, you still got to do all the works, do not depend your feelings on them. Hell, it can be things, or hobbies, not necessarily people. Whatever it is that will help you move on, help you focus on something else beside you heartbreak, your depression, or your anxiety. Whatever can make you forget for a while that they are there, precious enough for you to ignore your mental illness for a while, live above it, and focus on this thing/person/hobbies.

Good luck!

“Love disfigure me into something I am not recognizing”

Some say love is a burning thing
That it makes a fiery ring
Oh but I know love as a fading thing
Just as fickle as a feather in a stream”
See, honey, I saw love,
You see it came to me
It puts its face up to my face so I could see
Yeah then I saw love disfigure me
Into something I am not recognizing

See the cage, it called. I said, come on in
I will not open myself up this way again
Nor lay my face to the soil, gnaw my teeth to the sand
I will not lay like this for days now upon end
You will not see me fall, nor see me struggle to stand
To be acknowledged by some touch from his gnarled hands
You see the cage it called. I said, come on in
I will not open myself this way again.

You see the moon is bright in that treetop night
I see the shadows that we cast in the cold clean light
My feet are gold, my heart is white
And we race right out on the desert plains all night
See honey I am not, some broken thing
I do not lay in the dark waiting for thee
Now my heart is gold, my feet are light
And I’m racing out on the desert plains all night

Some say love is a burning thing
That it makes a fiery ring
Oh but I know love as a caging thing
Just a killer come to call from some awful dream
And all you folks, you come to see
You just stand there in the glass looking at me
But my heart is wild, and my bones are steel
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free

Depression

Look, I think everyone need to know this by now, depression IS NOT beautiful or poetic. It’s not always constant crying, extreme sadness, self-harm (although it can be all of that too at the same time), but not always!

Some people think that depressed people got their own quirks. They think of it as something ugly yet beautiful at the same time. They make stories, movies, novels, songs about it. All of them are in this conquest of saving their depressed loved ones, of healing them, being the hero in their miserable life. The more fragile they are, the more they’re interested in fixing them.

Ok, let’s give them a chance. Let them in, cry on their shoulder and give them the satisfaction of a̶w̶k̶w̶a̶r̶d̶l̶y̶ ̶r̶u̶b̶b̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ s̶h̶o̶u̶l̶d̶e̶r̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶e̶l̶l̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ i̶s̶ ̶g̶o̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶o̶k̶ ̶a̶l̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶i̶t̶’̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ calming you down. First of all, that kind of attitude would probably only last a week. Second of all, let’s see if they can deal and would still stay if all we do is sleep all day, not eating (or eating too much), watch movies all day, constantly on our laptop or phone for the stupidest reason, would rather stay in than go out and party with their friends. Some people resort to alcohol or drugs for their escape, DO NOT mean they’re doing them out of fun. Do not encourage them to go out and drink or do drugs with you, especially when you know something is up with them, something traumatic just happened, and it seems like they needed distractions. Just because it seems like they’re having a good time does not mean it’s good for them (anyway don’t do drugs, stay away from them).

To be fucking honest, I would prefer someone who would just be here (I’ll tell about this person in my next post). Trust me, I have been there, probably still am. But I am getting better, at least now the thought of dying is not as tempting as it used to be. At least now I can still laugh and function like a normal human being. And it has been days since the last time I cried. I know how talking would sometimes makes it worse. When you tell the wrong people and you see that gimplse of judgement in their eyes or their body language suggest that they don’t care about your problem at all, it would make you feel 1000000x lonelier. That was when I stopped talking, my parents were concern because they thought I did drugs (i did but not that it was my escape route), I did it out of hatred of myself. I wanted to destroy me, I smoked more, my ED was getting worse, alcohol, did not get enough sleep because of all the coffee. No one would understand, I thought. I read every articles about heartbreak and depression, watched every videos about getting over our first heart break, listened to empowering songs (BEYONCÈ YES), nothing worked, except maybe Beyonce’s music video of ‘Sorry’, but other than that I still felt like crap. All of that even started to give me panic attacks and extreme anxiety. I went to doctors to see what was wrong with me, not a thing. I meditated, did yoga, stopped smoking/coffee/alcohol intakes, nope. Then it clicked, I needed to stop trying so hard because the more I try the more I focus on that particular feeling.

Self-love everyone, that’s the secret. Not just telling yourself that you love you but treat yourself the way you would treat someone you truly love and care about. For example, I wouldn’t force my mom to starve herself, I wouldn’t let my brother waste his time on the computer when he can come and take a walk with me, I wouldn’t want my father to be drunk every single night, I wouldn’t want my cats to smoke. Of course all of that and a will power to move on and just continue with life. That’s what I did, I forced myself (because no one, no matter how heroic they think they are can force me into making that decision) to function again. Pushed myself out of my comfort zone, did the things I used to love but seemed impossible after my heartbreak and depression, start with the simplest things. Like going for a walk, taking a shower, stay hydrated, and have enough sleep.  Although I know it would still ache, but that’s your heart healing. And I know because it heals it means it’s going to leave a scar and a scar will always remind you of that heartbreak. But that same scar can also be a reminder that you healed. That no matter how bad the wound is, you were strong enough to heal and moved on. Let that same scar make you feel invincible.

goodbye.

Opening (everything in life has to got one)

This is my safe space. Where I can be whoever I want and tell everyone (or anyone who happen to stumble upon this) whatever I want, particularly things I’m not usually able to say in real life.

WARNING!!! There might be a lot of sad and pathetic rants about an ex-boyfriend. But don’t you worry because I also got an equally sad and pathetic life that I will also share in this ‘blog?’.

Forget about your favorite TV series, my life is stranger than Stranger Things and is sexually more confusing than Game of Thrones (or Sherlock). This is the real American Horror Story, in fact, it’s larger than just America we need all continents to make the analogy works.

“This is going to be like a diary to me, only shittier because I only write when I’m having a bad day and would leave out the good ones.” – A (because my real name starts with an A, but also, PLL! Anyone?)

kbye.