August 14th, 2016

Hello (:

From the title, it seems like this is going to be a warm and fuzzy post.

Disclaimer : It’s not.

I should probably give this a second title.

Anxiety. Depression. Coping.

This is going to be dark stuff. I’m going to get real deep real quick, personal. Real talk time. So here’s to start this off.

First of all, this is already hard to even say out loud. I know I am not the only one struggling with this. I have anxiety and depression. Mild on the first, severe on the latter. I don’t like the word “suffer”, because it implies that I am somehow a lesser person because I am mentally sick. Now, bear in mind I can say this because I’m having a good day, I’m in a good place. Today.

It is a part of who I am. Anxiety and Depression (A&D for short) has been a part of me for a long time. With A&D, I have to take it day by day. Absolutely, carefully one day at a time. A lot of people I’ve talked to, that has gotten better, a lot healthier than me now, still has to take it day by day. It’s just how it is, the sooner you accept it and do your best to fight it, the better. I have been professionally diagnosed with clinical depression and mild anxiety, but I don’t go to therapy, simply because I can’t afford it. But that’s okay. Besides the point. Irrelevant.

 

August 19th, 2016

I get a lot of ways to cope and information from my research online. If you’ve read my bio here, or my about page here, you might have gathered that I have a true obsession with gathering knowledge. So that’s what I did with my illness. On my good days, I can be rational, and really take my time to understand the giant that I’m facing. It’s huge. But my God is bigger and badder than the monster I face everyday.

So here’s a way to cope. I’m big on compartmentalization. I’m amazing at this. I can compartmentalize like nobody’s business, if I do say so myself. But.. (Life, why is there always a BUT looming?!) But, I can honestly say it’s harder to do that since I realized that A&D has affected a huge chunk of my personality. On exceptionally bad days, everything becomes too much for me, like the whole world ‘s emotion is pressing down on me. I literally feel like the titan Atlas. Who’s that guy, you ask me ?

 

I am a very self-involved person. In the sense that I’m inside my own head a lot. I tend to overanalyze things, getting way too deep into my own thoughts when I probably don’t have to.

I remember that when I was a kid, I was carefree.  I was a very cheeky, foolhardy girl. I remember that up until the 9th grade, I was quite literally the life of the party. I loved chatting with people. I asked about their days, cared about cultivating my relationships. It was positive, light. I actually enjoyed being the centre of attention, bossing everyone around. Oh yes, I’m the bossiest lady-boss in my entire class. I truly cared about living my life. I became somewhat popular. Not in the sense that I’m super beautiful and everyone wanted me. No, in the sense that I literally know everyone, and I talked to everyone and every. single. person in the building knows my name. Fellow students, teachers, kitchen ladies, janitors, you name it. All glorious 1000 of them, literally. About 1000 people in my school. I was that girl, the one everyone knows. The sunny one.

Somewhere in the middle, I got really… subdued. I grew quieter, retreated more into myself and my thoughts. And my thoughts are toxic. I was still very sunny in public. But all my bubbliness, cheerfulness, all that I did out of mere habit. My life has become this perpetual charade that I am tired of keeping up with. The happy, caring girl is a faҫade.  She’s gone.

She’s been gone for a long time, you see. Now, in her stead is a girl who loves peace and silence, however toxic they may be. But she can’t stand the quiet. I can’t stand the quiet, the silence that I crave.

My thoughts have become my worst enemy. I would enjoy solitary for the briefest of moments, then it’s all a downward spiral. I would get worried after a few days (days!) that went by without hanging out with my friends. I was clingy. I worry that ‘the gang’ would soon forget me, because truth is, I believe that I don’t matter. I would be so occupied with the fear that they might think I’m pathetic, the girl who’s alone and loves to be alone. The girl who no one can’t stand.

The truth is, I’m not the girl no one can stand. I’m the girl who can’t stand anyone. That’s how bad it has gotten. The number of people I could actually tolerate has gone down from 1000 to a number that fits on the fingers of my hand. I realized that the more I tried to socialize, the more my thoughts turn against me. The more my heart loses the battle against the monster in my brain that tells me I’m weak and pathetic and worthless. So I stopped trying.

 

I’ve had the best of both worlds. I was once the girl who stands in the sun. I am now a girl who thrives in the dark. The problem with having been in the sun ? You wish you hadn’t. I wish I hadn’t stood in the sun. That way I could be content with the darkness I live in now.I wish I could have always been the freak. The brooding, silent girl. That way, people don’t expect anything from me. I won’t bend over myself trying so hard to be a people-pleaser when it’s excruciatingly clear I am not one anymore.

I also wish, that I could stand in the sun again. That I could once again be a happy person. That I could please people simply because I can. I don’t know how to do any of those things. I don’t know how to feel content. I don’t know how to be.

I constantly battle myself over everything. The stubborn, happy part of me wants the dark to surrender, to give way so light can leak through my pores, that positivity can flow through me. But the dark holds steady. Now, it’s a part of me more than the light. The light barely exists, dying slowly and painfully. Soon it will be gone. I “suffer” in the light. I suffocate when I have to be the Lulu who smiles and talks.

I survive in the dark, alone.

I can breathe in the dark, alone.

Actually, when I say alone, I meant alone. As in a single, solitary person. But.. (a good but here, for once), but just not for 100% of the time. And this part gets warm and fuzzy. Sometimes, very seldom, one of three people would break through my defenses.

One, Kayden. He is a godsend. Without the son of a bitch, I’d probably would have given up a long time ago. Even now, being this unstable bitch, I could honestly bear to be positive (yuck) and say : Thank You for all you’ve done. Tu eres realmente mi media naranja, amor. I don’t really need to specify more about Kayden. Go ahead and gobble him up in my I See You series.

Two. My counterpart. Lady, we are both very aloof, cool people. I don’t care much about anything, and neither do you honestly. But we work well together. We’re like a well-blended banana and banana smoothie. SCR, shoutout to you for listening to me when I lose my shit, which is at least once a week. Thank you for sticking with me even though I’m a broke bitch, a demanding friend, a selfish person altogether. We’re kindred souls, and I know that. If there’s a definition for ‘best friend’, the Oxford Dictionary should list your name as the definition. I love you, I mean it!!

Three. He’s my soul friend. What’s that ? A best friend who kicks my ass and doesn’t sugarcoat shit. He’s one of my best friends. Although I’m sure I’m not his, for sure. Pathetic ? Don’t. I have impeccable standards. I’m very high-strung, very high maintenance. Vain, arrogant, know-it-all bitch. I know I’m smart.

It takes a lot to make me even listen.

 It takes a lot for someone to make me value someone’s opinion.

It takes a lot to snap me out of my own head.

It takes a lot for someone to matter to me.

It’s nearly physically improbable to accomplish all four. But GD, you fucking do it, again and again. You do it every single time you left my messages on Read. You do it every single time we talk (which is almost never), and you’re bomb for doing that. You’re probably the only person who gives the hard, ugly truth to me as it is. You kick me in the ass when I need it, and for that, you’ve officially made it on my best people list. You’re my person. (Just know if you’re reading this and you’re weirded out by how close I feel to you, Don’t. Yes, you’re this important. Move on, go on.)

And those defenses of mine. A few people have managed to climb through my walls, stands just over the fence and close enough to poke my heart and invoke emotion from this zombie when necessary, to take care of me whenever. My family. Biological and non-biological. We’re so fucking far from perfect, and we’re so damn dysfunctional, but you are family, and I’m thankful.

August 28th, 2016

Two days until my birthday. Yay….

Hermitess. Know what that means ? By definition , it is :

A person who lives in seclusion from society.

In Western countries, you could be a hermit, an eccentric who prefers solitary, and people would let you be. Because they accept (or couldn’t care less) diversity, not only of the race-colour-religion type, but diversity of the mind. Diversity of characters. Not in my backhole country. In Indonesia, I have to be conform. Yes, we are a super culturally diverse nation. But society does not give a rat’s ass if you’re suffering from a mental disorder. It makes me sick sometimes.

 

September 6th, 2016

Now, don’t ever feel ashamed to get help. I live in Indonesia, a country still rich with eastern culture and ways of life. If you think mental illness is still stigmatized in the Western countries, you have no idea what I’m dealing with here.

Mental illness, in Indonesia, is not just not acknowledged. It does not exist. Either you’re normal, or you don’t exist. The version of me here, the Lulu in Indonesia is a ghost I fabricated in order to survive here.

I know that in the States, they have To Write Love On Her Arms , so go click that link and check it out after you’re done reading. Also the Anxiety and Depression Association of America.

Internationally, I know International Foundation for Research and Education on Depression. These people will help you in any way they can.

Personally with TWLOHA, I’ve corresponded with them and asked if I could in any way help bring TWLOHA to Indonesia. Currently, there is nothing I can do, but I’m not about to stop trying.

I KNOW how hard the struggle is. I KNOW how it feels to wobble on my own incapable two feet, to have no one to rely to as I war against myself. I don’t want anyone else to ever feel like that. So I’m here. I’m here for you. I’m here to help. I’m here to cry with you. I’m here to admit that I also need help.

This quote resonated deep within my soul.

Never, ever be ashamed that you are struggling, that you have depression, or anxiety. It’s dangerous to let that wound fester and infect your life. I am living proof. Get help. Talk to someone. I guarantee you, if you look for it, help is always provided. People who’ve been through the same thing as us are all over the world, just waiting with open arms to help you.

Whenever you feel down, just say this :

That’s it. If you’re wondering why I have dates written throughout the post, it’s because like I said up top, writing this is incredibly hard. I’ve had to step back and take a breath before I could continue. Before I could say everything I had to say. My thoughts are scattered all over the place. But that’s okay. I know you understand.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Repeat this to yourself : “I AM UNSTOPPABLE. I AM STRONG. I AM BROKEN AND I WILL GET BACK UP AGAIN.”

Promise that to yourself. Not for anyone else. You are not seeking attention when you cry out for help. You’re giving the universe one more reason to believe you still want to LIVE.

You are beautiful. You are worthy. So just LIVE;