Posted in Depression, Memoir, mental health, Musings

Nightmares and Dreamscapes

“Nothing happens unless first we dream”
– Carl Sandburg

When I was younger, I used to think that dreams were a way that we could replay a choice. We could enter a dream and choose another option. Like a looking glass, you could go to another one of your lifelines and see how an event transpired. It was a way of realizing that there was always something better. At least, when I was a child.

As I grew up, I slowly found out that we could only make one choice. We would have to live with that choice whether it was good or bad. There was no second life in our dreams. There was no place where we could go to know that there was something better. Both mere illusions of a child who longed to be happy. That wanted something better. The one choice we made would affect us for the rest of our life.

Every choice has the potential to haunt us. They’re like memories. We look back on them and wonder, what if? What if we made a change? What if we chose differently? What would happen? Then, within seconds we forget. Many of us continue on with our lives without thinking of our past. We don’t dwell on choices we made because we know there will be new ones to make. There will always be another choice, every moment, every second of our life.

I know this, and yet I still find myself going over choices that I have made. I replay them in my mind. Over and over again as if they are movies. Thinking that if I just changed one thing, made one different choice that my life would be better. I have done this since my mid-twenties. My counsellor would say that it’s a way that I mentally inflict self-harm. That I replay my life through worry and regret. That it’s a form of punishment that I don’t live my life.

For a week now I have had nightmares. They started before my last counsellor visit. The Saturday night before Halloween, I dreamt about inflicting self-harm. For nights afterwards I replayed choices in my mind. Bullying, A woman that I liked two years ago. My own self depreciation. Most nights I would wake up yelling. Cold. Unloved.

See I know that we can’t go back and undo the choices we made. It hasn’t stopped me from trying. Part of my problem is that I can’t seem to let go. That part will always come back to haunt and hurt me. No matter how much I know better.

“A single dream is more powerful than a thousand realities.”
– J.R.R. Tolkien

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Posted in anxiety, Depression, mental health, Musings

Why?

I’ve been thinking about why I tried to kill myself last November, trying to understand everyone’s anger, misjudgments, and emotions. Those pass in time, but it was their looks that never did. The one’s that made me feel like I was damaged.

One thing that counselling teachers is you is personal responsibility. That your actions are things that you can control, what other people think about you and what they say about you is something that you can’t. We’re supposed to look at the things we can control and change them if they are negative, forget about the things that we can’t.

I have a damn good counsellor, something rare for those who seek help. In the past six months I have started to learn how to take responsibility for my actions. For the decisions that I made in the past and the decisions I will continue to make. Responsibility was something that was missing from my life. Masks were more common. Masking my problems with other things like food and pain instead of focusing on the real issues. My real issues.

Masks only last so long until time catches up with you. Inflicting self-harm made me feel good for a little while, then I masked it with food. Food made me good for a little while, then I gained weight. Gaining weight made me feel worse and I started to spend my money on things I never needed. Problems would get better for a little while, then I would begin to feel worse renewing the cycle. Everything would repeat. I never took care of issues, as my counsellor said I waited until I bottled everything up and then it popped.

Since November I’ve been asked by friends, family, my doctor and counsellor one question, why? My entire life I knew how to act “okay” even when I wasn’t. Things had been bad for a couple of years. Within 2014 to 2015 they slowly went downhill. The world is full of problems, nobody needed to know about mine.

I hid from people that I felt alone, like a failure, that I had nothing to offer to the world. You live long enough with these ideas in your head they begin to become real. I kept these things inside since I graduated from Vancouver Island University in 2011. Masked them with meaningless jobs that I was good at but never felt I was a part of. I worked on leadership, found I was good at it, and in the end hated it. I drove friends and family away.

I ended up at a beach at the end of November where I gave up. That’s where I began to change my life.

 

Posted in anxiety, Depression, Musings, Reflection

Alone

I’ve been doing okay for the most part, better than the past couple of months. I’ve been walking, going out on my own, and trying to feel comfortable with other people around me. As a friend said a couple of weeks ago I am different than the person I was back in January, or when I tried to kill myself last November. The only question that I have is why do I feel so alone?

hank moodyI have had a love hate relationship with the city that I live in. That’s partially my fault, having lived here off and on for that past six years, I have never really given this place a chance. It’s also partially this city’s fault. This valley is devoid of the stuff that I want to do: arts, culture, going out to the theatre to catch a play, or to a coffee shop to write for an hour or two.

It doesn’t matter how many kilometres I walk, or that I’ve felt comfortable enough to leave my house. I still feel unwanted in this town, like a shadow. I have had this feeling that I am still the outsider after six years of living here. This place is beginning to remind me of my childhood, and anyone who has read this blog knows that I don’t like being reminded of my childhood. It feels like a jail cell, where I’m trapped and there’s no way out.

Maybe I am being too hard on myself. Maybe it’s my depression or social anxiety that is talking. I do know that when I was growing up in Sidney I felt the same way as I do living in Comox. In Sidney I tried to desperately to move to a larger city, somewhere like New York, hell Vancouver with its high cost rent would have been nice. I held a romanticized view of being able to do a new thing to do every day, rather than go down to the pier, watch boats, go home, and do the same thing the next day.

charlie brownThe feeling isn’t helped by having social anxiety. Friendships are hard to handle, you ask someone if they want to do something, make a plan then nothing happens. A normal person would blow if off as just being busy, a person with anxiety would think “I did something” and they would repeat it over and over again. Here I’ll give you an example:

  • I ask a person if they want to go for coffee
  • We make plans to go for coffee
  • Then I never hear back from them when we’re supposed to go for coffee

A normal person would think, hmm, we’re both busy, maybe I should text them. This is what I think:

  • Omg if I text them I worry that I’m pushing them and I won’t go for coffee

Or if it’s a girl:

  • Omg if I text them they’ll think I’m stalking them; they’ll never want to hear from me again

Which is why I stopped making plans until last month with friends. Tried to make plans, and nothing happened. Social Anxiety set in and I stopped again. I hate feeling alone.

Posted in anxiety, Depression, Memoir, mental health, Musings

I Have a Right to Be Angry

I remember one night towards the end of April, I had just gotten back from work and sat in front of my television. I looked at the screen with a cold, blank stare. As if I was out in depression-quotes-i-think-im-afraid-to-be-happyspace and lost control of my surroundings. The first time since February that I wanted to inflict self-harm. I wanted to hit myself. I wanted to do it with a knife.

As April closed I began to hate the place I found myself in, who I was, who I have been.  I felt like that scene in “Doctor Who” where the Doctor asks Clara if he’s a good man. However, in my life I don’t have a person that I trust enough to ask that question. There’s a fine line between trust and friendship. A line that throughout the past couple of months has become blurred. It’s why I keep to myself.

 

 

Posted in Musings, Writing - Poetry

Repression

How can I feel the love that’s inside me?
Another drowned life of depression
Is there nothing to emotions that others see?
In a life that has so much repression

This dance is done with my soul inside
Grey clouds roll over where shadows dwell
Throughout my life I have tried to hide
Living in the darkness of my private hell

Loving laughter have no meaning
Replaced by an angry tired soul
Bullied beatings endless screening
Ten years of abuse took their toll

A traumatic life that I want to forget
Can I forgive the things that I regret?