Monthly Archives: December 2014

Beautifully Broken

Posted on by bitter.sweet.alive

Youth Of A Nation:Bent not Broke

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Many people feel a profound sense of shame for the difficult circumstances and seasons they’ve been through that cause them to feel damaged and broken. They feel humiliated about being in a situation that made them fall apart and have a need to put themselves back together. They want to hide those parts of their story. They might be willing to remember the lessons they learned from the hard times, but tend to gloss over the broken season where they felt lonely or scared or suffered through grief or depression.

Those universal feelings are regarded as weak, and society tells us they should remain hidden. Yet those feelings are the cords that really connect us. When someone takes a risk and shares their story with you, that identification affects your heart, and you don’t feel so much shame about your own story. C. S. Lewis once said, “Friendship is born at the moment…

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Addiction Ambivalence

Posted on by bitter.sweet.alive

Trigger Warning: If addiction or self harm are a trigger for you, caution with this post. If you are feeling distressed, please see my “getting help now” page. This post is not all gloom; there is some hope. 

I sit here, staring at my still fingers on the keyboard. I remember the freedom and the energy of last night. I am aware of the lethargy of now. The ease of social conversation with strangers versus withdrawal and reclusion. My addictive thinkings are rocks swirling, bruising, pulling, whispering promises.

I’ve been sober from weed for 11 months now. But last night I had 2 lines of coke and now my mind is comparing how I felt when I was high to how I feel now in my state of depression. Sure, the 2 drugs are very different, but the numbness from the negative thinking was the same, and so, so tempting. It was a false and hallow feeling, yet I was free of self-doubt, if only for a short time. I need to remember the shit that I went through for 9 months to hold the temptation at bay.

Weed was a social drug for years; only done with friends and maybe once a week, or, once a fortnight. That changed though during a darker period of my current depressive episode. I was living alone and only working casually. I smoked nearly everyday, mostly by myself, to numb the painful thoughts I was drowning in. I rationalised that because I didn’t smoke the night before I had to work (so my performance wasn’t affected), that I was in control and it wasn’t an addiction. I was just making my life more enjoyable … but I was dragging myself deeper into the quicksand.  Continue reading →

Mental Illness & Suicide Prevention Help

Posted on by bitter.sweet.alive

Feeling distressed? If you’re going through a difficult time, it is important (and OK) to ask for help. Australians experiencing personal/emotional crises, or at risk of suicide, can call LifeLine on 13 11 14 , to speak to someone confidentially, without judgement and free-of-charge. Men wishing to talk about their personal emotional problems may wish to call MensLine Australia on 1300 78 99 78,  while younger Australians may find the resources at www.reachout.com helpful. LGBTQI people may find QLife helpful on 1800 184 527.

Almost every country has a similar suicide prevention number. Just Google “suicide help line” and your country.

Similar crisis helplines are available in other countries:

New Zealand: Lifeline 0800 4543 354

United Kingdom: The Samaritans 08457 909090

United States (and Canada): National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1800 273 8255 

US LGBTQ Youth (the Trevor Project): 1866 488 7386

Republic of Ireland: The Samaritans 116 123

I wish the ocean was wood.

Posted on by bitter.sweet.alive

Sitting, and also creeping through the morning traffic. People on their way to work. On their way to earn the dollars they think they need to survive. Slightly late for a yoga class. Anxious, knowing that I have been told that it is good for me, that it will help my mental resilience. Body and mind are one. It is mindful. I am letting myself down for being late, if only a little.

Where is the available parking? Okay, keep going. It is just a little bit farther. How late will I be if I have to walk more?

I hit the curb. Okay, try again. I hit the curb, again. Tears well in my eyes and I can’t see properly.

I can’t do this.

“Sometimes I wish the ocean was wood. I feel like drowning.”

Such small stresses, but they built up, and I just cracked. For the past 2 weeks, I have been feeling like a fog has been numbing my emotions; I didn’t feel sad and hopeless like I used to, but I didn’t feel much at all really. But as I was failing to park my car when I was late for my class, that fog disappeared and I just started to cry. I couldn’t handle, well, anything. I went home and wrote this post. I started to cry again as I drove home.

I can see objectively that these stressors are relatively mundane. My resilience is so low though. I am just so tired of putting so much effort into normal mundane things. I feel as if, mundane stress is like a 5kg weight that everyone carries around, but I’ve lost all my muscle strength. Most people carry that weight just fine, or even with ease. But I have to use so much more effort just to carry that normal weight. Sometimes I don’t feel like I can even do that by myself. Building mental strength / resilience is such a slow process. Part of me, the saboteur, wants me to fail. Keeping him quiet, not letting the saboteur have power, takes a lot of what little energy I have.

Feeling distressed? Please, see my “getting help now” tab at the top of the page. 

I am my own worst enemy.

Posted on by bitter.sweet.alive

It has been a while since I have written anything, and for the past 2 days, I have felt this more acutely. This being the emotions that stopped me from writing. Procrastination is a symptom, but if I really look deep it is all related to my perception of my own worth. “I have nothing good to say. My writing is shit. No one will read it.” ad infinitum. Negative thought cycles have been a constant hurdle, not just in my writing.

I don’t struggle against it, but instead dig myself deeper into the quicksand. I’m under the surface, but my arms, my body, feels heavy with the sand. I can’t act, can’t reach out for help, or seemingly help myself. My time in moment repeat. I don’t know how long I’ve been telling myself to get up, make a coffee, have a cigarette, eat, get up, make a coffee, eat, have a cigarette. I don’t talk to single person all day. My mind and body have betrayed me. Yet I am my mind and body.

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