Gratitude. Honestly, I have no idea why I've always felt weird about it. I understand why I feel weird and uncomfortable when someone thanks me, compliments me or takes the time to directly tell me why my action had an impact on them. I feel weird because of depression, low self-worth, a bit of paranoia, and confusion.

I will explain the paranoia and confusion because I don't know if that connects with as many people. Paranoid because the first thing I think is: "Why, what do they want from me?" I don't know if it's because of society, culture, related to gender, mental illness, or a little bit of each depending on the situation. But I'm always skeptical when I hear a nice thing about me. Is this buttering me up? Are they trying to make me feel comfortable and then I'm going to end up screwed some how? I'm cautious. But when you live in a world where there are careers based on duping people, it's hard for me not to feel like that in personal situations. I mean, someone comes and tells me, "you can pay 2$ now and get a $100 water dispenser with cold and hot water, if you sign up today."

That actually happened. I signed up because, why not, my card wasn't billed right away and I have an account to change billing and could cancel it if I wanted. Of course I immediately went to find out "What's the catch?" because there had to be one. I found out that the $2 was because I was not purchasing the water dispenser, it was a rental. It was misleading. Not a lie. I canceled it and it was all fine. That is my caution with my money. Caution with my feelings? Yeah. I have defenses built up.

Explaining confusion... what that is typically a specific situation. Sometimes it is because I didn't realize I did something that someone was grateful for. Usually it's something I don't even think about like holding the door open for someone, or... well I don't know what else because I usually forget about it after the interaction. Sometimes it is something that I honestly don't understand why it isn't a habit everyone has, and I suddenly am aware that this is something that isn't normal, at least not to this person right now. I then fall into a brain space that is trying to pinpoint why I do it, and why someone else might not, and why was it something that warranted a response.

My brain doesn't stop, hah. I over think things, but I love it. Anyway, I have an uncomfortable response to gratitude, compliments, general nice things directed at me. I think that is why I feel uncomfortable communicating it. But I also wonder if it's more than that.

I've been trying to make sure that I am cognizant of when I have a thought about how someone has a positive impact on me and if I communicated that to them, someone else, or stayed silent. I started to notice that I will talk about it, but I wouldn't tell the person who did the thing. I would tell someone else, later, about how amazing this person was and how I appreciated their actions. When I started paying attention and noticed how often I did this... I didn't understand WHY. Why wouldn't I tell that person these things? I obviously had something to say about it, it had a lasting impact that I wanted to tell someone else. So why wouldn't I make sure the person involved KNEW as well?

So I observed more. What felt different for me? What did I feel when I thought about "oh I should tell this person how much I appreciated that?" I started noticing that I felt embarrassed. I still don't understand why I would be embarrassed. I'm expressing something positive to someone. Why would I feel ashamed to tell them? Really. I'm asking because I have no idea. Logically it doesn't make sense in anyway I think about it. Is it because I'm thinking about how I would feel if I were them? No, I don't think that is it because... It feels more like I'm embarrassed because I'm admitting there was a positive impact. Which means I am bringing attention to something that makes me vulnerable.

Huh. Okay. So I haven't sat down to try and write this all out before. So congrats, you are in my brain with me right now. Or should I apologize that you're in my brain with me, hah.

So. That definitely feels like a reason... If I express how something made me feel great in some way, I have to acknowledge that at some point (or all the time) there was (or is) something that made me feel bad in some way, or made me feel nothing... but typically there is a specific situation I'm considering. Therefore... showing gratitude is also like showing someone a weakness, struggle or admitting I lack something. Weird.

I guess that makes sense now. And explains why I'd feel embarrassed to say something. Good news though. I have been sitting with my feelings on this for a few years. I started with observing myself inwardly and slowly started to communicate gratitude more frequently. I started to reflect on things I experience daily. I consider the interactions and take note when I remember a person positively. I left that interaction with something I didn't have before, small or big, I remember them for a reason. What is that reason?

I felt strange at first. But it is beginning to feel a little more natural to express my thanks and appreciation for people. It seems to be easier with people I don't know well. I have to think that is because that person doesn't have past experience with me. They don't have baggage, expectations or know that this isn't something I typically do. There's more freedom to not feel embarrassed or uncomfortable. With people I know, who have known me, there are plenty emotions thrown in there that I'm still working through.

I have to overcome self-doubt and I'm always hesitant before I speak up. But the more I do it... I realize it is an important thing for me and the other person. Focusing on something good, telling someone they helped you, acknowledging that person... all of that is more important than I think most of us realize.

There are times people have a very similar, awkward, unsure, confused, response. The response I understand completely. I make sure they know that I also have a similar reaction; so I understand that feeling in my own way. I always follow up with: I really just wanted to make sure you knew that you left an impact in that moment. Because even if you feel weird and uncomfortable with it... it's always nice to know that your existence left something positive, even if you didn't intend for it, know about it, or realize that was an interaction worth remembering for someone.

We all see ourselves differently than others see us. I've noticed that when someone expresses gratitude I can briefly see their perspective of me. Having awareness of how someone else sees me has been life changing. I can't see myself like that, because depression taints how I see my positive bits. But it makes me feel happy for a second knowing that I added something positive to the world. I also end up getting a different understanding about someone else's experiences and things that they are thankful for.

I just read one of my first posts on here. It was really hard to read because I don't know where that person is right now. This pandemic has hollowed me out and I feel like that person got lost somewhere. I didn't feel it happening but I guess I sprung a leak somewhere and a year later I'm seeing myself as an empty shell. ‌‌‌‌I'm not though. I know that I'm not. I know that person is still here, that person IS me. That is the person I am when I'm actively trying to live. That is the person that I am when I'm not struggling to find a reason to get out of bed, when I have people to help, support, work with. When I have people that I want to just be with and talk about nonsense.

I know I'm not hollow. I know that I can get back to being someone that could write that post. A person that had experiences worth writing about. But knowing that makes it all hurt so much more, because I'm waiting. I'm paused until I can get back to that place.

Overcoming social anxiety was the barrier I had to overcome and a year into the pandemic I don't even want to see my family because being around people is overwhelming. I'm comfortable in my seclusion. My social skills that I've spent my life perfecting are withering away. I'm exhausted just thinking about everything I have to learn again. ‌‌‌‌I enjoy being alone more than most people. I enjoy silence because my mind is loud. I never really have silence. It's getting so easy to be alone. The person that wrote that post... was finally understanding that not being alone was better. That finding people that you connected with was a reason to live, connection was what gave me hope and fueled my desire to do anything.

That connection, knowing people, learning about new perspectives, understanding other peoples experiences and struggles, gave me a reason to keep pushing. It all gave me a reason to want to volunteer, contribute, help in whatever way I could.

Am I losing that drive? Who am I without it? Am I going to have the will and energy to claw my way back? Or am I just going to buckle and become an empty person that's just living without a reason...

No. I'm too stubborn to give in. Depression/Anxiety. I'm paused. But I'm going to tame you again. I don't know when, I don't know how long it will take. I don't know what the journey will be like to get there. But I know I will try to find my way through to something better...

I'll get there. Hah. It's like when you watch a movie and when it ends you finally see the title of the movie.

There's a burden that comes with mental illness that is hard to see. It took a year of therapy for me to see it and it has taken much longer for me to understand its impact. Honestly, I'm still trying to understand it.

So what is it? Well. Mental illness makes life painful, difficult, confusing, unbearable and... so many other things. No matter how long you've lived with it, there have been times where you just wished things could be different. That is where The Burden lives.

When you start looking for treatment, you are trying to find a way for a better life. Find a way to ensure that in the future you aren't suffering. But something you don't notice is mental illness sneaking in and sitting in the back, heckling you. Soon you're thinking:

What if I start feeling better? I wasted all that time feeling so terrible, I could have been so much more if only I got help sooner...

It becomes harder to imagine life differently because you have regret pulling you back. You start blaming yourself for not getting help sooner. You kept yourself down, you could have... what if you... if only...

That's The Burden. That questioning. That loop.

It wasn't until I really faced what that meant that I felt like I could manage my depression. With work and maintenance. It's a Burden that is easy to think you can't get past. It's easy to believe that you can't push past it because you have this mental illness, there's a reason you have this Burden. It just is unavoidable. You just have to deal with it; you have it forever.

That is true to an extent. But there is also a point where it turns into a crutch. Yes, your mental illness is there and has a direct effect on you, your life, how you think, and how you are. But it isn't WHO you are. It doesn't change the person you are unless you don't push back. If you don't start to question your thoughts and feelings then you might be that mental illness. It is so hard to pull your personality away from mental illness.

It might help for me to explain how I view my own mental illness. That voice in my head saying "Nothing you do matters," isn't me. I spent so much of my life thinking that I was telling myself these things, that I was making myself miserable all the time. I blamed myself for the self hate that was forced on me. That blame just made this feedback loop from hell, and it kept going on forever. Eventually building up and breaking me completely. I didn't question it at all, because who knows me better than me? Who knows all my thoughts and feelings? I know everything there is to know, someone else can't possibly judge me accurately, they can't know how truly messed up I am.

My therapist gave me the book "How to Tame your Gremlin" and that was a huge turning point for everything. The book helped me break out of the loop. I stopped blaming myself for the emotional abuse that I had inside. I stopped looking at that voice as part of who I am. The negative self-abusive thing is not me.  

Being able to see my depression and anxiety as something separate from myself was a game changer. It's like in "The Wizard of Oz." When you see the man behind the curtain, it changes the meaning of everything. I co-exist with my depression and anxiety. But each are their own entity. They can work together and build off the other, and they do.

So to anyone in therapy, if you feel like you're not progressing, like you're missing something, you don't know how to move forward and live a better life... Stop and see if maybe the fear of seeing your life until now as a waste is why you're feeling stuck.

If you are? Tell your mental illness to shut up. Life is never a waste. You grew in all that time. You would not be the person you are right now if things were different. Wallowing in the past is going to fuel the worst of your mental illness. Take that energy and use it to push back. You're worth the effort.

I'm trying
I've got nothing
But I'm trying

I'm trying
I can't breathe
I'm still trying

I'm trying
I'm failing
But I'm alive

Am I still trying?
What is trying?

I'm trying
I've got this
Yes. I'm trying.

My first experience with yoga was when I was about seven years old (honestly, I am probably wrong on the age but I was less than 9). I was in South Africa either visiting for the summer, or it was during the brief time I lived there, and I went to a Hindu temple with my family. I guess we went specifically for a yoga class, because that's what happened... It was a yoga session. I remember being really excited about it because I've always been really flexible, I got to show off all my weird bendiness. Apparently, during savasana (that end of a yoga session where you just lay there and relax, basically it's guided meditation) I fell asleep.

Woops. I was incredibly embarrassed. For multiple reasons. Sleep has always been a... complicated life requirement for me. I used to sleep walk as a child, sleep talk, sleep beat up my sister with stuffed animals (sorry), I would wake up with my feet on my pillow and me hanging off the side of the bed. I wet the bed far longer than I should have. I could fall asleep anywhere, seriously. My parents love jazz and we went to concerts. I would manage to zonk out while being 20 feet from a concert stage. I was always worried about falling asleep. What if I peed myself and we were at a concert? What if I fall asleep in the car and I'm not with my parents?

Waking up to the smell of incense in a temple was weird. It was really weird, growing up in the US we didn't frequent temples. We occasionally went when we were in South Africa, but in the US? It was not common and it was always for some kind of celebration.

So, here I am, groggy, and waking up with intense anxiety because I just woke up, in a place that wasn't where I should have been asleep. I couldn't remember falling asleep or much about before I fell asleep. (Note here: this is all my memory and is inevitably wrong, but the basic idea of what went on... is hopefully right.) I found my mom and she was talking to the person who led the yoga session. I was obviously worried and feeling bad, cause I fell asleep.

But then I heard them talking about how me falling asleep during Savasana was good, it wasn't something I should be embarrassed about. It happens, and it's okay when it does. It meant I was truly in the moment, and I did relax. I relaxed so much that I fell asleep (thankfully my bladder didn't relax... hah). I wasn't embarrassed anymore. I honestly was a little proud of myself. "Man I'm so good at yoga I fell asleep".

That ended up being an experience I looked for afterwards. That I couldn't find truthfully. I have been to plenty of yoga sessions since, mostly in the US where yoga is more focused on exercise than mental relaxation (don't get me wrong. It's still there. But that is not my initial goal). That's not what this is about. I did end up finding a studio that has gotten the closest to recreating that experience for me.

Now I can move on. I never fully explained what that experience was. It's hard to define, which explains why it was so hard for me to find. It took some time to see that I had actually found it. It was through music and art.

Meditation was always sold to me as not having a thought in your head: not doing anything, completely be nothing, do nothing. I tried. I tried so many times to achieve that, but never came close to it for a second.

This video completely changed how I see meditation. This video helped me realize that when I listen to music, when I'm REALLY listening to music, I am meditating. When I am drawing, I am meditating.

Understanding that the idea is about not focusing on a thought it's about letting thoughts pass by without grabbing on to them.

This is exactly how I manage my mental health. What I spent years working with my therapist to achieve. Where I don't stop and focus on the depressive thoughts, the suicidal thoughts, the anxious, I let them just float by. I will notice them, see them, but I won't engage with them. Because, let's be honest, for most of us with chronic mental health conditions there isn't a time when it ever really stops. It's always there like a low buzz.

Seriously.
All.
The.
Time.

I've worked to let those thoughts pass. If I don't divert focus to it, then it doesn't really have a chance to take root and grow. If I don't let the seed settle long enough for it to grow roots, then I'm going to be okay.

Of course sometimes there are sneaky thoughts that find a way to take root and spread even when I'm diligent. So I have to be vigilant about maintenance.

Point here is that meditation is similar but for ALL thoughts. Because, one thought leads to another and to another and then others. It's exhausting. Meditation is about giving yourself time to just be, stop the noise, or at least tune it out.

You're not solving a problem or learning something. You're not communicating or doing anything. You're existing in that moment as you. You're existing with your thoughts, and that's it. You're not interacting with them, following them, or doing anything other than observing them.

For someone like myself who can not truly slow down my brain without something specific to focus on, that is a definition of meditation that can work. And, it works well with art and music.

Art and music are my meditation when I let it. When I doodle I'm usually not doing anything other than looking at the page. Letting my hand just guide the pen. I don't do much. Just let muscle memory take over really. It's creepy honestly. When people ask me how I do it, I honestly don't have an answer. I just do it. It's also why all my art is "abstract". Really, they are just doodles...so many doodles all together and sometimes it looks like something, and sometimes it doesn't. I don't draw realistically, that requires engagement with reality. Where the light falls, how to show the depth of something, where should there be shading. How does that thing really look.. what shapes are there that I can use...

My art? There's very little thought. Yeah there's the occasional, oh that spot is empty... it needs something. Or, a swirl would look good here. Oops I messed up, lets... just turn that into something else then. Oh, look a smudge. I can work with it, or around it. These are all like half second thoughts. They are gone as fast as they came.

Seriously. That's it. I don't have thoughts, and if I do, I don't notice them. I'm so focused on the paper. That's probably why I like black and white. It's simple and I don't have to notice colors or change pens.

For music, I don't go with simplicity. I go for complicated, layered music. When I really listen to music, I put on noise cancelling headphones, lay down, close my eyes and listen completely. Then I listen again, and again. I pick out the different instruments, notice the hidden melodies and the harmonies. I started honing this skill in middle school band. The instructor challenged us to listen to orchestra music and pick out each instrument. Listen for the clarinet, the trumpet, the French Horn (what I played). I started doing that with everything I listened to. Music isn't always meditation, only when I really stop to only focus on it. I always feel so refreshed after intensely listening to something.

Music is meditation for me in two specific situations: when I have my big headphones on and have a chance to just sit or lay down with my eyes closed and really focus on what everything I'm hearing. The second time is during a long drive alone. Why does the alone part matter?

If I am with someone, anyone, it doesn't matter the relationship, I will be considering them in everything. How loud the music is, what music is on, if there should be music on, are we going to talk? If I am by myself, I don't have to think about any of that. I don't have to care about what music I listen to, which means I can focus on my current mood and vibe. I can make it so loud that I can't hear myself singing along. I don't have to care about how stupid I look or if I mess up lyrics. In this case, I'm not necessarily listening to every little detail, I'm concentrating on the feelings and vibes coming from the music.

Art and music are my meditation. I'm sure you have something that is the same. Consider some self reflection to find what meditation is for you. It's very possible you're doing it without realizing it.

I always knew there was a real possibility that there would be an intense backslide on my mental health. I feel like the last year and a half I knew how to keep myself going and fend off my depression. I still had problems with anxiety but I wasn’t severely depressed. I had the occasional suicidal ideation but it passed through my thoughts without sticking around. It’s probably surprising to most people but those thoughts are as common as when I think about food I haven’t had in awhile. It's hard to tell people that though, because it isn’t something most people feel comfortable talking about.

I mean. I don’t even know how comfortable I feel talking openly about it. But the more I do that, the easier it is for me to manage… The easier it is for me to hear similar things from people around me. I will always make sure to try and gauge how seriously that thought is, but typically it's not at an emergency room level thought. But who would be able to judge that? Only the person experiencing the thoughts could know.

My depression has come back yelling and screaming from the shadows. I’ve spent so long trying to focus on my anxiety and break down all the stupid walls that I’ve had up, I didn’t have to manage my depression for so long. Now... I have to change my approach.

Seriously and honestly I had the depression managed. I mean, it wasn’t like I thought it was managed, it WAS managed. I didn’t have depressive episodes. All of the emotional instability was from anxiety, uncertainty and knowing what I need but not being able to get to it. But the self hating thoughts? Those weren’t really present anymore. Yes when things got really bad because of anxiety, it would spiral into depression and emotional abuse from myself to myself, but that was triggered by the anxiety.

My depression is starting to get to a place where that's scary. I think I have spent most of the last two weeks in a dissociative state. It's felt like I’m not really me. The other day I was looking at Ember and Clara and they didn’t feel like my cats… When I thought about them as living beings that are alive and in my life… they felt like strangers to me. It was a really uncomfortable feeling, it really scares me.

I can keep going on living like I am, it isn't really changing too much. However, I am scared that if things continue like this that it would be easier for me to hurt myself. If I don’t feel like I am this person, I could do something I normally wouldn't… I trust that as long as I can stay rational that I won’t do anything dangerous, because even if this isn’t my life I wouldn’t want the person I see to die… or get hurt…

That doesn’t change how hard it is… It's really painful to go through everyday feeling like I don’t exist. It’s painful and empty and uncomfortable… I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to make things less hard… how do I feel like me again? Why did this even happen? When will I get out? Will I ever... get out?

I know I’ve had these episodes when my depression gets to it's worst… I know I spent a lot of time in high school and college like this… Typically those were also with my insomnia episodes. I know it's hard to sleep when I feel dissociated like this. It's almost 3 am and I’m not even kind of tired… What is that even about…

I remember this feeling starting when I was in middle school. The only way I could describe it was that I “thought myself out of existence.” Which I think is still pretty accurate to describe what it feels like. I don’t feel like I am this person that I am. I feel so empty and meaningless.

Point is that… I don’t know what to do to get back to feeling like myself… but right now I don’t. Right now I don’t feel like I’m alive. Right now I don’t feel like I exist. Right now everything feels foreign.

I'm lost in depression/anxiety/mental health struggles... But in an  introspective way...

Yeah, depression/anxiety are everyday things. But it's also... typically more of a numbness than actual depression or anxiety. When it's something that I'm actually feeling, it's unsettling. That's the best way I could put it. It's this weird feeling that everything is just slightly wrong. That weird feeling is what pushes me into this brain space. This place of philosophical woes and painfully angsty views. Well. It was angsty when it wasn't life, it kind of is life for real now... on a global scale.

It's jarring. It's been hard to adapt and function daily. I've had to step back from reality. I've had a constant, life long problem with paranoia and doom, but it was always wrong. I KNEW it was nothing. I could tell that voice to hush and think about something else. The voice helped sometimes. It kept me prepared, over prepared most of the time, but I tried to keep it all in reason. I could tame it with logic...

Logic isn't taming anything anymore.

Logic is throwing every flammable thing it can find into this dumpster fire. Logic is sitting back and laughing like an evil villain and planning it's next overwhelmingly bizzaro world twist.

How the hell do I calm the anxiety when it has solid, strong roots in reality. When it isn't something that is outrageously impossible.

For those who don't know. When my depression gets to a certain point, it can start to walk a little closer to psychotic episodes. Typically that isn't as common with major depressive disorder, or so I have heard, but it also isn't rare, or impossible. Especially when you consider that it takes about 11 years of actively working with professionals to get a proper assessment (Study NAMI refers to [1]), I'm not saying my diagnosis is different. But I'm also not saying it isn't. But. I DO have the occasional psychotic episode. I consider them to be incredibly mild because I can keep my grounding, I can quell that part of my brain.

I can do that now. I struggled with it in my teens. It was harder then because I also had intense insomnia bouts. Lack of sleep does not help keep you grounded in reality. I think the most intense episode was one night where I clawed at my arm trying to pull worms from under my skin. I didn't realize until some years later that what I saw may have been a vein in my arm that was visible because of the heat.
In that moment though, I was terrified and didn't understand what happened. I remember how real it felt, I remember how certain I was that it couldn't have been anything else. It wasn't light scratched either, I drew blood and I hid it for days.

There were other events, but they were minor. They were typically easy to push past. There wasn't someone following me, the shadow I kept seeing was just my brain being weird, not a big deal, don't worry about that. Some things were normal miss heard things, the phantom person saying my name, everyone experiences some of those. I could always rely on logic... Logic would tell me that, if someone did call my name, then they know me and will find me, but most likely someone just said something that sounded like my name. That's nothing. Okay done.

Logic would remind me that I was alone in the room, I didn't see a shadow. If I DID see a shadow, it was probably the light, lack of sleep, maybe I should tell my eye doc in case it's something with my eye(s), or maybe hair was in my view and I didn't notice it. Those were far more likely options. It was not a weird shadow person following me around. I did not have some paranormal being following me. Hell I'm not special enough for that even if that was a thing that existed. Thank you logic.

Logic helped so much. Right now though...

I have to actively avoid current events right now. I think it's the only thing that is keeping me functional at the moment. If I were to really sit around and think about where reality is, where things are likely going, I'm honestly scared of where that would take me.

The bigger problem, I can't avoid reality forever. I have spent my whole life mentally saying "this is logic, that is improbable wait for more info before believing things, unicorns don't exist, so don't even worry about that thing." If I can't ground myself in reality, I have no idea where I'm going to float off too...

What do you do when the things you relied on to keep you functional only makes things worse?

Recently I watched a video from one of my favorite singers where she talks about a relationship advice she had received from her mother. Check this out:

“My mother told me a story a really long time ago. She told me: don’t fall for the person that gives you butterflies. If you feel nervous when you’re around them, that’s a bad sign. Fall for the person who makes you feel safe, who makes you feel calm. That’s the person you’re supposed to be with. ‘Cause if your heart leaps out of your chest every time you get some little hint of affection or love from them, it means they’re keeping you strung along and it’s not the person to be with. Be with the person that makes you feel safe”. - Halsey.

It was probably the most brilliant thing I've heard in a while. Damn, miss Ashley Frangipane... You always know exactly what to say!

That simple story opened the topic for a conversation inside my own head for days. And it was a conversation about how many times I put my own life at risk for people I loved. The shock came through when I noticed the pattern: I was always doing that. Whether if it was driving drunk with my best friends after a party because I didn't want them to drive drunk alone. Or walking around a dangerous neighborhood because the guy I liked lived there, so I would take the longest and most dangerous way home just in case he was outside and I would have the chance to casually say hi. Later, as I started getting into serious relationships, this pattern only got worse. Getting into a car with a drunk alcoholic because I didn't want him to leave the house. Or driving recklessly at 4:30 in the morning after an argument with an angry boyfriend in the car. Cars are dangerous things, people should never drive when they're in the heat of an argument or a fight. I've always been someone who was capable of loving everything about a person, their good and their bad parts, and that wasn't always healthy for me. Since I'm learning how to love myself and give myself some importance, I decided that I need to break this cycle now in this new phase of my life.

I got this concept tattooed because you don’t ignore a mother’s advice.  This is also a reminder to myself that I once loved someone and almost let them take me to the graveyard when they left me. I will never let that happen again. I've learned recently that putting myself in danger for somebody else doesn't only include driving recklessly or getting into physical fights. It's also about giving everything you have to them. You can't fully give yourself to someone, as beautiful as the movies or books make that look - because you will be left with nothing if they ever leave. Funny enough, that was something I heard from someone who actually left me later in the relationship. So when I say that's never happening again, I'm not joking. I'm never giving myself so much to someone else ever again, not to the point that I have nothing left. I will give, but I will make sure to receive just as much as I give; And I won't give all of myself. What good does it do to give so much 'til the point that you're left out with nothing? If you have nothing, you have nothing to give. So that's the lesson: I need to always preserve the part of me that is me. If that special person ever leaves, I still have me. If I ever decide to open myself up to somebody again, I need to make sure to look out for the warning signs - not only in them, but in myself too. Enough of the kamikaze bat shit crazy thing.

The butterflies are now dead.

Disclaimer: This article contain spoilers for the movie Joker. Reader discretion is advised.

Yesterday I went to the movies with my friend Jackie and we watched the new Joker movie. I'm not the biggest DC Comics fan to be honest (Marvel obsessed here!), specifically the Batman movies never really caught my attention. But I'd been hearing a lot of discussion, good and bad, about how mental health was portrayed in the movie. So, I wanted to check it out. I'm also a big Heath Ledger fan, I owned all of his movies once (working on re-buying them all now). So I was concerned that this may be the birth of the best Joker, because I know Joaquin Phoenix is such a good actor. Well, I was quite shocked with what I watched last night.

The way mental illness was portrayed was brutally honest, from my perspective as someone who lives with a mental illness. It was made to make you feel uncomfortable. There’s a very clear switch in the middle of the movie where, I think, was a good separation of “this where we talk about the serious mental illness part” and “this is the part where the bat shit crazy comes in.” One has nothing to do with the other. So it didn’t bother me because, to me, Joker didn’t become Joker because of his mental illness. Joker became Joker because of the way society treated him. I was actually quite shocked with how much I agreed with him in one scene - trying not to give any spoilers out but it was when he talked about "why people have to be so mean all the time" and I catch myself questioning that CONSTANTLY.

Being someone with a mental illness myself, I’ve experienced some chaos in my life recently because of it. But my problems are nothing compared to people who can't hide their mental illness in every day life. I’ve seen how these people are treated. I’ve seen how other people look at them on the bus, how people talk to them on the train, and oh, not even going to mention how "crazy homeless people" are treated. It’s never nice. It’s never cool. Where is Jesus’ “love your neighbor” thing when it comes to these people? I find myself questioning constantly why people have to bully others, hurt others, make themselves bigger than others. I think the movie brought some attention to that - in a visceral and uncomfortable way of course.

That movie is sick! Also. Joaquim Phoenix is my hero. I’d say he beat my other hero, Heath Ledger, but only because the movies have different premises.

This is just a little blog post about my thoughts after watching a movie and I hope I'm able to write more posts like this in the future!

I wish I could hide the things that I feel and fake it for a while but I'm such a bad liar. I just can't help but being honest about everything and not holding anything back no matter what. Because to me, if I ain't living my truth, I'm not really living at all. I still have mixed opinions if that is a blessing or a curse, but being an open book can be difficult at times. At the same time, I hate liars. I hate when people think they are entitled of lying to you, or manipulating you. So I don't do to others what I don't wish done to me.

When I first realized what anxiety was and started to notice how it worked, I realized I've been living with it my whole life. I have some very specific memories of anxious times, good and bad. Like when I was 7 and the teacher wrote a note to my mom on my notebook saying I was behaving badly in class and my mom saw it on our way home and said, in front of the other parents that were around: "we'll talk when we get home." I still remember the feeling of "God. I'm going to get my ass whooped." But anxiety showed itself in different forms too. When I was 10, I wanted this super cool Harry Potter sticker book but our local paperboy didn't have it for days. Man, it was some torture to wait for it to arrive! When my grandpa bought it for me, it was such a relief to my 10 year old problems. Of course, as I got older it got worse, and since I had no idea it was a mental disorder was and my family had no knowledge about such subjects, anxiety planted its roots deep inside of me. Around middle school I already started to feel in passing tests and making it to the next grade. I would worry all summer about what was going to be left of my life if I didn't pass my tests. When I was finally old enough to start realizing my interests in other people, it grew into anxiety over relationships. I never had FOMO (Fear of missing out) in a committed relationship. But the anxieties over not knowing weather a potential relationship would be something serious was usually the cause of the doom for them. I've had few relationships in my life but I can say for sure that they all started the same: anxiety over no response to messages. Fear that the person would break up with me the next date. Fear of things that were not disclosed yet in the relationship. Fear of not being enough for someone in a monogamist relationship. When those relationships were over, fear I was going to have to go through those first anxieties all over again in order to have another shot at love. But the real question here that I've been thinking about lately is... Why did/do I have to be so freaked out about everything in my life?

Recently, I experienced the worst kind of pain I've ever felt, which it was having someone breaking up with me because of my anxiety. Our lives together were intertwined so beautifully, we were going in perfect rhythm towards the future. And then boom. It ended. One week I was thinking about our wedding in a not-so-long distant future. The next, I was homeless, heartbroken and lost. I still don't know what the future holds, but for now, I'm trying to focus on giving my anxiety some attention. I tried so hard the past few days to understand why it ended the way it did but I always seem to come up with the same answer: they couldn't handle your mental illness, so they gave up! And that sums everything up! And I do not mean that in a bad way: I get why they gave up. But since I already had the answer to that, no need to waste time trying to make sense of it anymore. I have to move on to the next question: how do I fix myself? The answer I got was: I can't. Because I'm not broken. My anxiety is something that can't be "fixed." But wait... "So you freaked out and now you want to say there's nothing wrong with you?" No. Not at all. My anxiety is the result of the biology of  the brain I inhabit, therefore, yes, there is something wrong. Something is not working the way it should be. But it doesn't mean it's broken. It's just the way that it is. Can I do anything to fix it? No. It's not broken, as I already stated. But I can change it.

I've spent quite a lot of time this year thinking that I was broken and that I needed to be fixed. And to be honest... Quite a lot of time being told that by my partner (which I came to learn later it wasn't a very nice thing to say.) There was a lot of self-pity involved. "Look at me. I'm so broken. Why aren't you sorry for me? Why can't you understand that if you don't pick up the phone I will die inside? Why are you leaving me and expecting me to get better? I will only get worse" and down spiral of the rabbit hole, it only gets worse and worse. At some point this year I even thought that it was funny that I'm a nightmare in relationships and "trust me, you don't want to be with me. You don't want to pick this fight." Going from "my partner will lose his patience at some point" to "I'm so lucky my partner loves me and accepts me the way I am" was the problem. I should've kept thinking that at some point anyone would be fed up with my anxiety. Not because they were not good for me but because I needed to do something about it. I was trying, honestly. But it wasn't fast enough. The night of my break-up, a buddy of mine who has severe depression said that I'm only ever going to work with somebody who understands my mental illness and respects it. Someone who doesn't give me ultimatums like "if you ever lose control like this again, I will break up with you" and then does it to prove their point. I agreed with him. His wife, one of my best friends, said that there were times she wanted to run for the hills because of his mental illness, but she stayed because she understood it wasn't his fault and he wasn't acting that way because he wanted to. I agreed with her and started to think that my partner was wrong for leaving me, because being the victim was easier. But then I found out that that was all before my buddy started seeing a therapist. And taking medication. And doing the work. All of the things I haven't done, not for enough time at least. I understood the reason of the break-up.

As much as I love my family, I blame them for not helping me with my mental illness. Not in a way of "it's your fault I am like this, don't ever talk to me again" but they are to blame because they should've noticed. I remember when I was 7 I told my mom I didn't want to live anymore and I was tired of life and her response was "Already?" If that was my child, I'd take them to a therapist the next day. That and a other thousands other things that I know my family failed to see, in regards to my mental health. How my mom thought it was a good idea to try and to cure my OCD by whooping my ass because I didn't want to touch the door handle, 'cause it was "dirty." To this day, I still check my front door 5 times before I leave to work to check if it's really locked. I have a lot of loose ends in my mental health and I try my best to be understanding. My family did not have the knowledge or financial resources to take care of my brain. But I'm an adult now, so it's my turn to take care of me.

My partner told me to find myself first, and then we could talk. I don't even know if that's real or not, but he's right on something: I need to find myself. I don't want another relationship filled with waiting by the phone for a message while I stare at the ceiling. I don't want to feel uneasy if my partner needs to go on a family trip without me. I don't want to think that cheating is the only possible reason my partner can't talk to me at that moment. I don't want my first instinct when I'm mad to be to run away. To leave. To get an Uber home. If I did any of those things, that was because I have a bad wolf inside me making me see only the negative side of things. Honestly? I don't believe in fake positivity. That can be toxic just as much as negativity is. I don't believe in "fake it 'til you make it" or anything like that. I believe that you can be happy, but you don't have to be happy to live. You can be sad. Real life is not happy and the world is meaningless, so yeah, you can be sad. But the problem with sadness is that being sad makes it easy to be negative. And being negative is not ok. Even though the world is a horrible place, there are still good things in it. There is good and bad in everything, everyone, every situation. There was good in my relationship. So much more good than bad. The key is to find balance between both.

I really don't think you have to be single to find yourself. Alone perhaps, but not single. Even when you're in a relationship, you can still get time alone. Like Ben Platt says in one of his songs, we can "grow as we go." I admit that if I'm dating someone and my partner tells me they need time alone, like go on a trip by themselves for example, I would think it's a bit sketchy - but that's something I need to work on myself, and I am. But looking through the lenses of the big picture, if you really trust someone and they tell you they need time alone, you give it to them. There's nothing wrong with having a little individuality inside the relationship, and even though that is a tough lesson for me to learn, I know it's true. But finding yourself is not an easy task. It takes time. Months, years even. And of course I'm talking mainly about a long-term monogamist relationships here, but if you feel the need to change and the need to find yourself, I don't think you have to end your relationship to do so. You wouldn't completely let go of your friends or family in your soul-searching journey, would you? I mean, maybe some of them. Just the people that don't fit in your life anymore. If that's the case with your significant other, it's understandable. It's okay to break up. But do it because you want to, not because you feel like you have to. I feel like life is hard right now because my hurt is coming from  knowing I didn't have a choice in this. It was my partner's choice to let me go. I'm sure, in this specific case, I do not need to be alone to find myself. I was in the process of doing it: going to the therapist, writing a journal, reading books about it, listening to Alanis Morissette's podcasts. That's the part the hurts the most.

I'm still in the process. I think it's something beautiful to say, actually. When people ask me how I am, I don't say good or bad anymore. I just say "I'm in the process" because that's where I am. I'm in the process of hurting, of letting go, of healing and of learning. I'm the process of finding myself again and learning how to love me in a way I've never done before. Sometime last week, I was drowning in depression again because I had decided that yes, it's over and I'm tired of being ghosted by my partner. If that's what he really wants, then there's nothing else I can try. So I let go. But with letting go, some rules come, at least for myself. Because if I let go of it now, I can't allow it to come back later. It will hurt too much. Recently I realized that no matter if it takes 2 months or 2 years, if my partner tries to come back into my life it will hurt the same and I can't let that happen because it won't be fair to me. Who was there for me these past few weeks? Who picked me up off the floor? Who held hand all of those days crying in the shower? I did. So later, no matter how much I want this person to come back, my understanding of fairness to myself needs to be stronger than anything else. That's me loving myself more than loving others and that's a tough lesson, but one I've been needing to learn for a long time.

I'm obsessed with creating playlists on Spotify, so logically after the break up I made a playlist represent it. I erased the first one and made a new playlist representing pain in general. We all go through bad things, in relationships but also in every aspect of life. It could be family issues, fake friends, mental illness, betrayal, or grief. All of these bad things in life are what gives life meaning. We should honor and feel them, just don't get attached. Learn to let them go. Music is my outlet, as I said before, I mainly use music to speak through this Blog. So in case you need it, here's my playlist about pain. It might bring you some comfort or help you to let some of those emotions out:

If my partner is ever reading this, I want you to know I will always love you. I'm doing what you told me to do. I'm loving myself more now. Unfortunately loving myself means that I have to let you go forever. That's not the case for everyone, but that's the case for us because you chose it to be that way. I never needed to be fixed. I just needed some patience. Some water and sunlight while I grew my roots stronger. I thought you were that sunlight the whole time, so much that I used to call you "my Sun." But I was wrong. You are not the sun in my life. I am.

Hope this was a lesson learned for the both of us.

This is to the love I think I've lost. Because I "only think" I've lost you.

I "only think" because I refuse to believe you are gone forever. Because while everyone tells me to move on, I know your heart better than anyone else knows your brain.

I "only think" because if there is any justice at all in this Universe, the stars will aligned to bring you back to me just like they brought me back to you in this life that night in December we met, when I said "God it's so cold" and you said "Well, cold is relative".

I "only think" because despite the feeling of betrayal because you picked the worst timing ever to do this, I understand you had to do it so I could "wake up".

I "only think" because we are twin flames and we lived thousands of lives together. And we did amazing things in all of them. Because we have a bigger purpose and our love is supposed to move the galaxies around us. Because the planets bend between us. Because gravity is nothing but a light push when we're together.

I "only think" because the first time you said "I love you" was in an envelope on Valentine's Day using the Stargate show alphabet and I still have it on my fridge.

I "only think" because I know this was the only tool you had to get some good out of a bad situation, and once you realize that the way I react is also the only tool I think I have, you will feel compassion for my situation. Because it's not my only tool, just like this is not the only tool you'll find out you have.

I "only think" because I realized that without you, I'm ok. And that we are supposed to balance each other. Not over-give or overtake. And that I can still love you even if we're not together now, which I thought I was not capable of.

I "only think" because I see now that relationships are not perfect and all of the time and effort I spent trying to make our relationship perfect didn't let me see that it was already perfect. And that people can still go on after a break.

I "only think" because our movie theater nights followed by walks in downtown won't ever be replaced. Our Chinese restaurant and the esoteric shop will always tell you that you know our story is not over yet.

I "only think" because the terrifying fear that you will replace me soon with a new love or a brief one-night-stand is smaller than the certainty that you're also, somehow, in your own way, waiting for me.

I "only think" because I know I don't have to be fixed first to be with you. You can join me in this walk. We can go through the bumps and the ups and downs and still survive individually without depending on each other, but still being there for each other.

I "only think" because you always said you love me so much since day one that I know that you must have had a very good reason to make this very hard decision for us.

I "only think" because December won't ever be the same without you.

I "only think" because my brain cells are constantly vibrating you and I experienced "The Secret" enough this year and I know that it's not bullshit.

I "only think" because I know you love me.

I "only think" because true love always finds a way.

Knock on my door.

I'll be here.

I'll be waiting.

And please don't give up before I get better.

I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to deal with hair loss again, but I am not surprised really. This is a follow up to a hair loss post I made at the end of 2018. If you would like to read that post, you can find that here.

In April, which is about a month ago, I noticed a small bald spot. I only noticed it because it happened to be right around my natural part. Awesome, right? I recently had my hair styled so I was parting my hair further on the side than what is natural. But at home I don’t really concern myself with my hair.

I was walking past the mirror and it caught my eye. My hair is black, so that small “pale” round patch of skin was hard to miss.

The next few hours were hard. I sat on the floor in the bathroom and just let myself freak out for a little bit. Texted a friend about it for sometime and then decided that I needed to stop thinking about it. So I went and watched TV. This was the Sunday before Game of Thrones final season was going to air. When I went to pick something to watch I stopped to think. What would be good to watch right now? I’m miserable, I don’t want to watch something funny, lighthearted… I don’t want to watch something that’s basically background noise (usually shows I have watched a ton of times turn into good background noise)… I wanted to watch something that I would be engaged in, something I could get lost in, something that gave me a goal. It hit me. Seven seasons of Game of Thrones (GoT) and the new season would be starting next week. This was perfect, possibly unlikely that I would get through them all, but I needed the distraction.

That first night I watched a few episodes of the first season. I watched until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. Finally when I noticed myself nodding off and having to fight to keep my eyes open, I decided it was a good time to go to sleep. I was successfully distracted and could fall asleep and not think about my hair. I was wrong. I went to get ready for bed and ended up standing in front of the mirror for what might have been 30 minutes… I have no idea how long it was, honestly. But I was scouring every inch of my scalp, trying to feel other possible bald spots, using a comb to try and lift my hair to see if there was any indication of other spots. I only stopped when my arms started getting tired of being held up.

By the time I stopped I had started seeing bald spots where there weren’t any; All the areas between where hair grows looked bigger than it was. I was starting to feel myself spinning out. Why was I here? Oh right, I was going to go to sleep now… I got into bed and just stared at the ceiling. I wasn’t tired anymore. I might have watched another episode of GoT on my phone, I can’t remember honestly. I eventually fell asleep. Kind of anyway.

The next week was me on the couch, not really doing anything other than watching GoT. I found myself mindlessly combing my fingers through my hair, searching for other bald spots. There were a few places I thought I felt some, I had my husband look at them, nothing was there. It's in my head, except for the one that I know is there. I couldn’t keep my hands out of my hair. I needed to know, I needed to feel for anymore smooth spots of skin in the forest of my hair…

Before I found the bald spot, I had decided I wanted to get a laptop. I had found the one I wanted, and the morning after finding the spot, I decided to buy it. I ordered it from Best Buy, and it arrived Wednesday. So. Wednesday I took a short break from my GoT marathon and picked it up, played around with it and then got back to watching GoT. Back to losing myself in the world where I was just an observer. Watching characters deal with loss that was massive compared to my personal hair loss.

By Thursday and Friday of the week I moved from the couch to my art studio, I had a laptop now that I could play on while I watched the show (I was re-watching the whole thing, so I already knew what was going on and happening). I watched GoT on the Surface while I installed programs on my new laptop, while I downloaded games and did computer things. Somewhere in that time between sitting on the couch and allowing myself to detach from my reality I wrote in a notebook a little “emergency” to do list for the next time my hair falls out like this. So I would be prepared. Of course that’s assuming it doesn’t all fall out now, that it grows back and I have a full head of hair again. But I did it anyway.

I finished off the week, I had successfully managed to get through all seven seasons of GoT, and watched the final season premiere only 30 mins after it aired. I did it. I got through them all. All 67 of the episodes. Yay…

Bald spot.

I have a bald spot. It's small. It's still a bald spot. What does this mean, what do I do? Why is this freaking me out?

I was completely bald for a good 6 years. Yeah and that killed me inside, even though I played it off as I accepted it.

But didn’t I accept it? Some of it anyway?

Did I though?

I say a lot of things, but do I always feel like that? Or am I just saying it because that’s how I want to feel? Fake it till you make it right? If I say something enough I will believe it.

Yeah but I know that isn’t how anything really works, that I can’t just say something and make it real, no matter how much I want that to be how things work. I mean. HEY I HAVE ALL MY HAIR AND NO BALD SPOT!

Bald spot is still there. Words don’t make things real.

So what am I going to do?

Distracting myself obviously just delayed the inevitable. I have to face this. I have to look at it. I have to accept it. I don’t have a choice in this. I don’t have a choice in much, but I do have a choice in how I handle this hair loss. What have I done before?

In the past when my hair fell out I spent so much time, energy, money, mental power in trying to fix it. Trying to make my hair grow back, trying to find a why, trying to find a reason. What did I end up finding out? Nothing worked for me. The treatments weren’t worth it. The money and time I spent talking to doctors got me no where closer to my hair growing back. All that ended up doing was making me feel useless. All that did was give me hope that this next thing would work. This next thing would make my hair grow back… this was something that I could fix.

So what am I going to do?

I’m going to get my beanies out. I’m going to put those on so that I’m not constantly feeling for new bald spots. I’m going to focus on where my life is going, what I am doing for myself. I am not going to concern myself with my hair. If it keeps falling out, that sucks. But I don’t need to concentrate on it. I am going to focus my energy, time, money, mental power on things that I can change.

It's May. It had been a month or so now since I found the spot. The small spot has gotten a little bigger. It was the size of a dime when I found it. It might be the size of a nickel now. It's hard to hide because my hair does not want to swoop to the side. I force it to. I don’t like how it looks. But wearing beanies has helped some, and hoods on my hoodies. My hair lines have also started to get… weird. I'ts always been odd, but now it's really odd. There is some hair loss there, it was hard to see at first, but it's slowly more visible.

I’ve been debating if I should go to a dermatologist to see if treatment would help right now. Help it not get so bad. But I’ve decided it isn’t worth it. I know that I will go in with hope. Why else would I be going in? You go to get treatment because it might work. Not because you don’t expect it to, but because you want it to. I can’t afford to give myself that little hope. The time after treatment where you wait, wait to see if it's going to help or if nothing is changing… it feels like forever. For someone who lives with generalized anxiety disorder and major depressive disorder, that’s not pleasant. Waiting is excruciating. The whole time all I am thinking about is if it will work. And if it doesn’t work, that’s because I deserve it. That waiting, that time waiting is just fuel for my depression and anxiety.

I know not everyone would understand my decision. But ultimately it's me deciding that my mental health is more important to me than having hair. I don’t love that I have to make that decision. But I did. Taking that week off from thinking about it was helpful… it gave me time to look at it all a little bit differently. Look at the hair loss as a whole. Review my past experience and figure out what I could do this time to make it a less stressful experience for myself. It's going to suck. But do I really want to make it all worse by losing myself in it? Would that be worth it just to get my hair back? I don’t think it would be… I need to focus on other things. Like trying to be able to work without burning out, finding a career that works for me. I need to prioritize myself mentally.

It's October now. I think it has been 5 months since I looked at this post. I obviously never posted it. I didn't want to face it. The spot is still there. It has gotten bigger, but it hasn't over taken my scalp. I can still hide it. But I do worry that my hair will shift when I am out and it will be exposed. I have shown it to a few people now, all say it doesn't look that big. I'm always going to see it as a bigger spot than what someone else sees. I'm debating on getting treatment again... I would like to be able to have my hair styled, but I'm scared right now. Should I really get my hair cut if I don't know where it might fall out next? Doesn't it make more sense to keep my hair long, so I can keep the spot (or spots) hidden?

Why do I need to keep the spot hidden... I don't want to care about it that much... but I do. Hair loss sucks y'all.

Family. Mom, dad, siblings. That's usually where my brain stops. When people ask about my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins I start feeling a little odd. I don't know how to talk about them. I don't really know them. It's hard being raised on a different continent than your extended family. I love my life in America, don't get me wrong. I love my friends here. I have a family. They just aren't my relatives. I also do love my extended family, but in a different way.

I've been jealous of so many of my friends for being close to their extended family. Family that they knew; cousins who came to visit over the summers. Some had grandparents that lived close. Lived with them, even. They were distraught when family members passed. I have extended family, yes. But I don't know them well, not enough that I can honestly say that I miss them frequently or that I even think about them. It's hard to admit that, but how can you miss people you don't really know? I feel like I can't justify it sometimes. It feels cold and disconnected. Maybe it isn't cold but it is definitely disconnected. Because that's what I am, I am disconnected from my extended family.

My parents are from South Africa and moved the the US right before I was born in 1990. I've lived in the US for most of my life. There was a brief year and a half where I lived in South Africa. I was 7, so I was at least able to make some memories that I still have. Visits after that were every other year and the last time I visited was when I was 16. Any visits before I was 7 I don't count – because I can't remember those. In total I think I've had 27 months with my extended family since I was 7 years old. During my visits I saw some of the family daily and some I just saw once. Of course this didn't really give me time to get to know many of them.

I was the family member that lived in the States. Everyone asked me the same questions, which I loved and hated. I loved it because I don't like small talk; I suck at it. So being asked the same things over and over gave me a chance to rehearse it. Sometimes I could even answer questions they didn't ask (because someone else asked, so I already had thought about it... kind of cheated). I hated it because I was telling everyone the same things and it wasn't really about me. I never really knew what to follow up with either. I'm not someone that finds asking questions easy. It's not that I'm not interested in knowing things, it's more that I don't know what I can or should ask. I don't feel comfortable prying into people's lives which is what questions feel like sometimes. Or I feel like I've been put on the spot and my mind goes blank.

The point is that I really don't know my extended family well. When my maternal grandfather died I was 10. I didn't know how to feel. I didn't really know him. I had just gotten back from visiting that summer, and it wasn't too long after my year and a half living in South Africa. But still, that wasn't enough time for me to form a bond that justified crying when I found out he was gone. In fact, I ended up crying because I wasn't sad enough. I cried for my family that knew him... that had a grandfather. I cried for the family that had a connection to someone that was gone.

I don't feel like I know what it's like to have grandparents. My maternal grandfather was really all I had to try and connect with as far as grandparents went. My paternal grandfather passed before I was born, paternal grandmother passed before I can remember anything, maternal grandmother is probably the one I spent the most time with but I didn't really get to know her at all. She passed when I was 16 but was almost fully paralyzed since I was 7. That was when I can say that I remember my extended family. Unfortunately that meant she couldn't really do much. She was there mentally, I could talk to her. But I'm not good at small talk with someone who can speak to me... So I never knew what to do or say around her. I settled with being present in the same room and hoped that was enough to connect.

So the one grandparent I feel like I knew and connected with the most was my maternal grandfather. I wasn't really phased by finding out he passed. Because... it didn't really change anything in my life.

I didn't see him regularly, I didn't think about him regularly. I was sad for my family that lived with him, saw him everyday and now wouldn't. I was sad for the family that could miss him. I was jealous even, but that leads to more confusion because why would you be jealous of someone who is grieving?

But also it makes sense, I guess. I was jealous that they had something to grieve. I very rarely have that reaction when I hear about family passing. Sometimes it's the only thing that I know about my family... it's the only updates I get really.

After my grandfather passed, any time I went back to South Africa to visit, I intentionally tried to remember everyone because I knew that some of those memories would be the last ones I had with them. I knew that someone that I saw this trip wouldn't be around the next time I came to visit. Eventually it started seeping into my thoughts and I didn't want to ask questions anymore because I was scared that someone I was going to ask about had passed. That happened a few times. It's easier to disconnect but there will always be an emptiness in me when I think about it.

It's really hard being the extended family that lives on another continent. Especially because there's 5 of us over here and at least a hundred family members that I have met and remember and their friends. It's really a lot to try and wrap your head around.

As technology has advanced its easier to connect with my family, no matter where they are. But what would I even start with? There's so much anxiety to reconnecting. I don't know what to mention, or not to mention. Sometimes I don't even remember names (I've always been bad with names.) I remember faces and how someone carried themselves. So it's harder for me to start connecting my old memories with family when I talk to them online.

It just sucks. But I've built a family of friends here. It's not the same, but it's better than nothing.

To my relatives: I remember all of my time with you. I might not remember everyone's names, but I remember your faces. I remember interactions. I cherish my memories because I don't know if I will ever get more. I don't know if I will see some of you again. I've had to come to terms with how grief works for me, I don't get to be there... but I do think of you. I always enjoyed my times when I visited, I'd like to be able to visit again but I'm not sure if I ever will. But I'll never forget the time that I have been able to spend with you, even if it was brief.

In the corner of my home office I have a 20 gallon aquarium.

I've got all kinds of plants in there. It really looks like an underwater jungle. I've got a couple varieties of fish, as well as a few dozen shrimp. Whenever I get stressed out at work, I like to go sit in front of my aquarium and just watch small lives play themselves out. Sitting mere inches from a vibrant and living ecosystem is a meditative experience.

Shrimp are interesting little animals. There are big ones (big is relative for shrimp) and small ones, bright red ones and mostly-clear ones. The babies are perfect little clones of their mama, just shrunk down to a smaller scale. In a way, they're cute. They use their shrimpy little arms to brush micro-flora and fauna off the surface of leaves and gravel and pull it up to their shrimpy little mouths. Shrimp eat detritus - leftover fish flakes, dead plant matter, and yes, even fish poop.

But the thing about shrimp is that they never stop eating. They can't. Their food source has so little nutritional value and their mouths are so small that they basically have to be eating nonstop. And their bodies are so small and fragile that they flee at even the smallest disturbance. So much as a shift in current sends them bolting through the water, retreating to anywhere-but-where-they-just-were.

In the wild, being a shrimp means to be a meal for something bigger.

The irony of course is that my shrimp aren't in the wild; they're perfectly safe. I take care to make sure their water is always clean. There are no natural predators to shrimp in my tank. They have ample room to move around, tons of places to hide, and plentiful food.

But shrimp are driven by instinct, and they don't know any of that.

So they stick to habit. They never rest, they never stop looking for the next meal, they're always looking over their metaphorical shrimpy little shoulders on the lookout for something with a taste for scampi.

When you suffer from anxiety, it can often be environment independent. It doesn't always make sense to an outside observer. Even when you're in a safe and comfortable space, anxiety can drive you.

Because like a shrimp, anxiety can be instinct.

Anxious thoughts can creep in in any context. You can be anywhere: lying in bed with the person you love, doing something you've done a thousand times before like making dinner of doing your job, or doing something you've never done before.

Anxiety doesn't care. Instinct doesn't care.

Tackling your anxiety means acknowledging that you're a shrimp. And knowing what your instincts are is the first step to changing them.

I need to write. I don't know what to write or anything. There is no purpose but there also is. I should do a blog post but I also don't feel it right now, so this is whatever this is.

I'm lost, but I'm not. I feel broken, but at the same time whole. I feel more like me than ever; but who am I now?

Why am I struggling? Have I become so numb that it's a problem? I feel like there have been moments in the last few weeks where I found the feeling, I think is content. Or is that being numb? Have I ever been content? Have I ever been happy for an extended time? Or has it only been in passing, fleeting moments and not something extended or sustainable.

Do I need to be happy? I'm comfortable with just being content and comfortable for the majority. I think that's where "there" is (answering the question of: if I will get there... where is "there".) I feel like that's better than happy. That's sustainable and happiness – true happiness – is fleeting and not sustainable in the long term. Just like depression and sadness to an extent. They aren't necessarily my default.

My default is nothing. But if I must think then it definitely shifts to meh, eh, blah, sad, depressed. But that's only when I am asked a direct question and I am forced to think... well how am I really...

I don't know if this is really helping at all, but is that a requirement for me to continue? This is probably beneficial over all.

I need to relax. I'm shaken. Deaths are sobering mainly those that really affect you. Those that hit you and you don't understand why or have the capability to fully feel okay to grieve.

Death is odd. I accept that I will die. I can handle my own in-existence that is acceptable, and sometimes welcome. But others nonexistence... that I don't appreciate or accept.

I am always going to want to be more. I don't know if my thoughts right now are all connected. But I'll write them anyway.

I don't feel real right now. I feel like I've dissociated. I feel outside of myself right now, like I'm standing in the archway by the art studio while I'm really here on the couch writing.

Who is that person? Do they matter? Do they make a difference? Am I having an existential crisis? Does anything I do help? How do I know? Do I need to do more? How much more? Am I enough? Has my life so far brought good? How much good? Does that matter though? Some good is better than no good.

But I can always do more, be more... Will I ever be enough for myself?
Who am I doing this for? Do I really care? Or am I just trying to make sure I don't feel guilty when I die? I feel guilty for having my life, for wasting away when someone else would do something better with the time I have.

Do we ever have enough time?

What even is time... Time is the real enemy. Something that is limited for us all. Something that never stops. Can not be paused or changed. You can try to buy time, by extending your health but that's not even a guarantee.

Chaos with some order, minuscule order. We think that order means something. But does it? On a bigger scale... does it make any difference?

I am scared to feel because I don't know what I am allowed to feel. I'm scared to feel because I don't always understand my feelings or the lack of feelings.

Are they a lack of feelings? Or are they there and I don't actually feel them? Is it numbness or ignorance of how to comprehend it.

You don't know what you've got till it's gone.

Sometimes I only really notice my feelings when they're over or when something is done, gone, dead, will not come back or be the same again.

I'm lost but I know where I am and where I'm going, but I don't know how to get there or when to leave. I can see the way but I'm unable to move down the path to start the journey. What journey? Where am I going? I know that I won't fully understand or see it until I'm there.

I feel like I can only speak to myself in vagueness. Because I can't understand my feelings... or maybe I understand them and just don't want them. I don't always like my feelings, but that doesn't stop them from being there.

What does it mean to be real? Am I real or fake? How can I know? How does anyone know? Do I really struggle with things or is my mind making it's own reality?

Do you see what I see?

This is nonsense.

Who am I? And how am I me? What makes me, me and you, you?

Who are you?

Really at your core. Who are you?

Do you know me more than I know myself?

If so, why?

Is it because I don't see me how you see me?

Because I have an inability to really accept me? Because I am only seeing my failures and can not see the good?

Is there good?

Am I good?

What is good and why do I qualify?

Is this what life is? Endless questions with answers I can't give, won't get, won't believe even if they are truth?

What is truth if it can't be proven without a doubt?

Does some bad cancel the good? Does a lot of bad mean the good is cancelled out? How do you know where that balance is? Am I good? Bad? Neutral? Will I ever know?

Will anyone?