The Aftermath of 3/24/2016’s Battle

It happened again last night. A couple of friends were over. I was with someone who makes me truly happy and calm. I was having fun and enjoying life. We were drinking and just making the most of the time we shared.

I had to leave the festivities for a bit for the saddest part of the night: driving the girl I like to her house. Didn’t want to let go of her hand, but I had to.

I came back to the friends I had over, to the alcohol that was for us, and continued drinking. It was a perfect night. Until they all went home and I was left alone to ponder on what was said to me by one of them.

That’s when it all spiraled again.

I was shaking. My mind ran in all sorts of directions, too fast for me to grasp. The self-loathing began to unravel. I was laughing and crying at the same time again. I was thinking about how I don’t have bullets anymore and started punching my head over and over again. I told myself to stop, but the punches still came. The punches were an attack to the voices screaming in my head. “You’re pitiful.” “You had a great day, why did you fuck it up?” The punches were all for naught, the voices only screamed louder. I wanted to take a Xanax but I had alcohol in my system. That’s a no-no. Miraculously, I fell asleep shortly. I was too tired to fight that my body just gave in.

What’s frightening me, and what frightened me before whenever I had these intense depressive episodes, is that I’ve noticed that whenever it got too intense, I’d sometimes shut down. My humanity switch would turn off. My body would go on autopilot and my mind blank. No, not blank, but a different kind of noise would echo. White noise. Just the sound of nothingness. It’s not even an empty sound that you’d “hear” in a soundproofed chamber, but nothingness. A nothingness that you feel. What’s doubly frightening in my more sober/sane moments is that I like the feeling. My body didn’t feel like it was my own, like it was separate from my brain.


Before I shut down, I was thinking about how even though I finally have a future and a purpose, I still don’t really know myself. I don’t know who I am.

I am slowly unmasking myself. Unmasking the depression that became who I am. I’m human now, not a monster anymore, but I still don’t know who I am as a human. I don’t have an identity anymore as my identity was the darkness.

It’s an extremely fragile state, this headspace I’m in. I feel things again. I feel everything again. It’s normal. I have to feel everything so I can sort everything out, as opposed to before when I’d just ignore them or pretend they’re not real.


And like prior battles, lessons get derived from each of them:

  1. ABSTAIN FROM ALCOHOL – I know, I said before that I’d abstain from alcohol for the time being. That didn’t really last long. I thought by being surrounded by positivity, even in my drunken state I’d be alright. Now I know that even in a positive environment, my flawed brain, fueled by alcohol, would take something negative and blow it out of proportion. I’d lose my sense of focus. I wouldn’t be able to take my Xanax to clear my head.
  2. Good days can go dark in a blink of an eye – The anti-depressants I’m on is still fixing my brain. I’m still adjusting to the “normalcy” of it all. Because of that, my emotions are still heightened, sensitive. I’ve got to be more prepared.


Yep, that’s pretty much what I learned from last night’s debacle.


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