Logical Emotions

I’ve been beholden to my phone for years now. I find myself most times absent-mindedly holding my phone for no reason at all aside from waiting for that next social media fix.

I’d be lying in bed, phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling through trivialities and nonsense and posts that I’d already seen multiple times. I distract myself. That is the objective.

 

I distract myself, oftentimes unconsciously, from the thoughts in my head. These are the same thoughts that I need to face head on. These are the thoughts that must be given my full attention at all times.

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Active Imagination

During my psychologist appointment last week, we delved into my unconscious. I told him of a recurring dream I have:

 

There’s this vast house that I’ve practically memorized already. There’s a wing on the upper floor that fills me with fright. In the dream, every single time I get closer to that wing, I get this sense of fear and dread.

It’s the kind of fear that I get from watching horror movies. Like there’s something evil in that wing.

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Letting Go Of Ghosts

Battle Notes – February 14, 2017

 

As I’m typing this, the time is 9:09pm. Less than three hours until midnight. Less than three hours until I survive another Valentine’s Day.

 

But first, I have to apologize for the four month absence. Life has been, well…life. So many things have happened. Can’t even list them all down at this point. Need to focus on what I need to write.

 

Anyway…

 

This year’s Valentine’s is rougher than last year’s, no doubt. I was losing my shit again earlier. My breathing was compromised. Chest heavy. Felt like I was trapped in a prison I created for myself. But I know it’s my brain’s doing. It’s the depression’s doing. It’s that thing inside my head that was fucking with me again.

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The Aftermath of 3/12/2016’s Battle

The Aftermath of 3/12/2016’s Battle

I wrote the following last night. Had an anxiety attack as I was writing it.

3/11/2016

My honeymoon period with my anti-depressants is over. It’s been over for about a month now, if I’m not mistaken. I’m afraid. Everything’s real now. That constant rise of my emotional momentum has begun to normalize. Up and down. Rise and fall.

On those first months with Escitalopram, I felt so much lighter. My head was on the clouds. On a high. Happiness. Medicated happiness. I felt an optimism that I’ve never felt before. Positivity without the danger of slipping back into the darkness.

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A Letter to My Mother

A Letter to My Mother

February 14, 2016

 

I don’t even know where to begin. Where to start. It’s been twenty seven years. That’s a grown adult already. Twenty seven years. Twenty seven long years of loss. Of tragedy. Of a pain that I don’t think will ever go away. How can it go away? How do you even move on from the way you left us? Especially now that it’s all coming into light that I am just like you. That your legacy of sadness and madness has passed on to me.

How can I move past the way you died – taking your own life – when I myself have more than flirted with doing the same thing since I can remember? There’s too much we have in common, as they say. We share the same disposition. But do we share the same fate? No. Of course not.

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Note To Self: Don’t Die

That’s how it starts, right? You stare at a blank white wall stained with age and cracks and ants marching on a line into an invisible hole. You grab your imaginary marker and start writing your lists and dreams. You paint a picture of what your life could be, of what your life must be. And then you realize that you’re still decades away from that life. You realize that all those lists and dreams are next to impossible. Next to impossible. Improbable. But given the right encouragement and the right amount of drive, it’s achievable.

And then it creeps up on you. That realization that you’re actually moving forward from a life that became your home. That you’re letting go of the darkness that was a part of you. You’re shedding a life that, despite the insanity it brought, you made sense of. Their insanity became your sanity. Their tempest became your serenity.

And then in one Thursday afternoon, everything changed.

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I Don’t Want To Be Anything Other Than Me

When I was in my early twenties, there was a TV show that was instrumental in defining being. It shaped every single aspect of my life. From my taste in music to the way I write, One Tree Hill was the prime influence in all of it. And I didn’t really pay any mind to it when it came out.

I thought it was about basketball. I’m far from being a sports fan, but I watched an episode from the show’s second season on a local TV channel and I immediately got hooked. It was about more than basketball. It was more than a teen series. It was about growing up. It was about loss. It was about love. It was about overcoming the odds. It was about music. It was about life.

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