Tag Archives: depression

Depression as a woman

Imagine feeling empty, sad, hopeless, worthless, directionless and lost.

Anxious and panicky, sensitive to lights, sounds and casual words.

Couple that with monthly intense mood swings, tears that flow easily, body aches and exhaustion, need for sleep throughout the day, aching back and swollen breasts.

Now your emptiness and loneliness is heightened with the consistent flow of blood and unfertilised eggs.

My brain becomes a ticking alarm clock reminding me it’s time for my pill again.

Its choice of alarm tune?

The urge to pop handfuls of pills, to get knock out drunk, to do something, anything to mute the mind and feelings. She doesn’t scream at the back of my mind anymore, but her toxic breath fogs the brain in the meantime.

Up till I take that little pill and go to bed. Things are better when I wake up. But in between, there’s no guarantee what the subconscious will unleash on my sleeping mind.

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Before and Now

Things are louder now.

Brighter. 

My ears hurt more; winces are common and confrontations make me curl up.

But the head is occasionally quiet, the screaming at the back no longer around. She must have moved on.

Back then, the emotions are greater, stronger, filling me up like nuclear explosions. Toxic yet captivating. It’s muted now.

Back then I felt more, touched more, connected and fell more. Believed more. There’s the cynic now, squinting away at the brightness of the present.

It was an explosion back then, loud and always expanding, never ending reaches and I felt reckless with how far my emotions spread. Now I see the barriers, I feel the control and the careful, logical constrains. 

Respond, not react.

But am I still me?

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Working a job you hate

I took an 8 months Marketing internship, thinking it was the best alternative since I was but a lowly English Literature Major. Beyond education, I thought I had no other hope of a career, so into marketing I went.

I hated it.

Fast forward to 2016 and I kept searching for Government jobs, but as a result of the depression and anxiety from the previous year, I couldn’t join a lot of governmental jobs. After being rejected multiple times, i started looking at private firms, specifically in the Marketing sector. It was desperation and loss of hope I guess. 

After a week of interviews that amounted to nothing, plus growing self disgust at trying to pursue marketing when I knew jack shit, I took up a job that promised to give me only writing roles, aka writing Newsletters and blog posts for the company. I told the boss I knew nothing about marketing so I couldn’t do it and they promised to find someone to handle it.

I went in in the first week of September, including the last few days of August, and in the first 2 days I was given all tasks by the intern before she flew home. afeet that first week, i had chronic diarrhea with bleeding for about 3 weeks to a month.

Now, it’s nearly two months in. We just finished a huge event that took about 3 weeks to prepare which was way too little time. I had to work the entire weekend with no pay.
The body broke down and now I’m home with bloody stools and an anus dripping blood, plus a short fainting spell.

I need out. 

I can feel the depression starting to set in. With a boss that pushes blame, gives tasks last minute, is vague about your projects, your roles, unappreciative, rude and never pays you on time, plus the fact that I truly dislike marketing because I can’t understand how to reach out to people and convince them to buy our products and engage in our services, this is truly shitty.

Sure I get to meet very interesting people in this job and I’ve learnt that I’m great at networking/ PR but the cons outweigh the pros. I’m literally bleeding. 
Wish me all the best, my darling readers, because I’ve got an HR job interview tomorrow. May it go well so I can work no more than 44 hours a week, no weekends, clear job roles and have time to live a life.

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Raped.

Rape victim, Rape survivor.

How passive, how past tensed. But it remains constant in your life.

It remains when you’re walking home late at night, keys between your fingers, poised to pierce.

It remains with every sip of alcohol, never to leave your hand, maximum two glasses, never again the hard stuff only the sweet easy ones. Only female friends around you making sure you’re safe.

It remains when you masterbate and feel guilty for feeling pleasure, cause you have glimpses of memory where you were drunk and enjoying what he was doing to your body.

It remains when you start to fall in love and want to be intimate, wondering if they might in turn rape you too. 

It remains as your past, present and future because once it has happened, you can never gain back that ease and trust, the lightness that some may treat the word like a punchline.

It remains as nightmares and self-loathing for your love and trust and belief in the fundamental goodness of humans.

It remains, now 7 months in. And it will remain in my wariness and my fear and hesitation and doubts and anxiety and tears and emptiness and blood tests and std tests and money and uncertainty about travelling and being alone and looking under the bed in the daytime and watching the curtains fearing who might be behind and turning my back to the door but also trying to stay still and tucked in on all sides with the blanket to prevent any access.

It remains in my fear and disgust and contempt and hatred and sadness in my libido. Betrayed when it ought to dry up and clamp shut, right? The other woman I was made without permission. Othered for what was done to me.

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Cracked

Expulsion.

Dripping, pouring, exposed, leaking.

Dry, rough, ashy, cracked, tears and rips, lines and drags, pulling tight and wrapped.

Expand, pain, screams in my mind, deafening, clench and twisted cramp, twitch twitch.

Spark of anxiety, nausea, nerves, stiffen, swallow, restricted pipes. 

Grey fog slick, thin clogging layer, smog, clouded, broken veins, loose powders, sharp sting of young grapes, quick pumps pit pattering.

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Anxiety

It’s waking up at 6:48am worried you missed your 8am alarm.

It’s dreaming of work and waking up wondering if you’ll get scolded at work today.

It’s having your boss come into the room and having acid reflux, stomach tightening in knots. Fear gripping you with clammy fingers.

It’s your breath catching in your throat as you pump oxygen in and out like cyanide.

It’s crying in bed at nights before sleeping, and waking up to tears as you force yourself out of bed. 

It’s staying home on weekends cause you’re too tired to go out and face more people.

It’s depression coupled with nerves and fear and worries.

It’s knowing you might not be fit for normal work life and wanting xanax or sleeping pills.

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Yea, I guess I’m ‘crazy’

Y’know that frustrating phrase people with mental illnesses always say?
“You don’t understand”
“You don’t get it”
“Nobody will ever understand me”

Or y’know how they seem to blame their mental illness for everything?
“I’m sorry for getting so mad, it’s one of the symptoms”
“I can’t stop thinking or worrying so much, it’s just something that happens”
“I just feel a lot okay, I don’t expect you to understand”

And y’know what else? The fact that you always have to coddle them.
“Why can’t you just listen and understand how I’m feeling?”
“This is just who I am, it’s part of me, I can’t change it!”
“I don’t care who knows, they need to accept it or leave”

I think the worst is how despite their ‘pride’, they want to keep it hush-hush.
“I can’t write it down, I’ll never get a job”
“Nah, they don’t need to know this. They don’t matter to me”
“I don’t want them to talk”

Yea it’s annoying, infuriating, sometimes a little pathetic.

But I don’t think you will ever understand, because I can’t understand.
I don’t know why I feel so much, so deeply; how did it come about; why is it here to stay.

I’m trying to make you understand that I don’t want all these to happen. I know how crazy, stupid, ridiculous these behaviours seem, trust me, I want them to end.

It’s here to stay though, so no matter how much I love and need you, I’ll rather warn you first so you have a chance to escape it. I can’t, but you can.

To think this private internal mess that I can’t control, can’t understand, can’t predict, is the very same mess that once publicly known will be my own label;

brand me a leper

I don’t know why it’s happening, believe me, I want to be normal

But I can’t.

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