How To Save A Life.

Musings of a depressionist.

[ghostisborn]

I’m not going to censor myself to comfort your ignorance.

Jon Stewart (via illitarete)

[brightcolourburst]

Happy news...

…I’m not homeless anymore. After spending nine months in hospital, homeless shelter and friends and family’s couches and guestrooms, I can finally say that, yes, I have an apartment. There is this cousin who knows a guy who knows another guy who knows a girl who has a sister who knows yet another guy who rented his old apartment for me. Go figure.

Although, so that life possibly couldn’t get any better, social welfare rejected my application, which means I have zero money and therefore cannot buy any furniture. Which, okay, furniture is over appreciated anyway, but a bed could be nice. So now I have an apartment, which is fortunate, but I can’t afford to move into it. Oh the irony.

What a wonderful world indeed. Make wonder where exactly goes the line when life is not worth it anymore? I know many argue that no matter what the existing conditions are, just the fact that we are alive makes it worth it, but does it really?

[sushisasha30-deactivated2014031]

Caught up

All caught up on my shows…every episode…what am I supposed to do with my life now?

[r10t3r]

[shortformblog]

This is what the diversity breakdown of best director nominees for the Oscars looks like. This year provides a big opportunity for a breakthrough, as Buzzfeed’s Adam B. Vary explains:

At this year’s Academy Awards, Alfonso Cuarón could be the first Latino man to win the Oscar for Best Director (for the sci-fi film Gravity) — and given that he’s won the Directors Guild of America award, he is by far the odds-on favorite to win. If he doesn’t, however, the man who has a strong chance of scoring an upset is12 Years a Slave’s director Steve McQueen — who would be the first black man to win in this category.

And this would be a very big deal: More than perhaps any other people in the world, film directors have had the greatest first-hand influence on how we see ourselves for over a century, as they’ve steered tens of thousands of film productions big and small, driving and defining one of (if not the) most influential representation of our culture for just about 100 years.

But when one looks at the nominees and winners for the Academy Award for Best Director — the best barometer we have for whom the film industry regards as the finest film directors of their respective years — an overwhelming majority of them have been white men.

By the way, that sliver of the pie shown that makes up people who aren’t white and male represents just 17 people.

[brightcolourburst]

Sometimes I wonder if I have too much faith in people.

[brightcolourburst]

Reality check

I’m homeless. I’m jobless. I lost my place in university. I don’t have any money. Instead, I’ve got severe depression, BDD, panic disorder, social phobia and borderline personality disorder. And that means, I’m not even fit for working or studying. I need treatment, but for my therapy to begin I need a home. But, in order to find a home I need a job and a steady income. But, to get a job I need treatment first. And then I don’t have the money needed for both home and treatment to begin with. I don’t have anyone who could help. I asked my parents, who are the reason I’m in this situation in the first place (because when you try to kill yourself the first time when you’re only 11 years old, the responsibility actually lies on the shoulders of your parents), but they simply washed their hands out of all this. Not that I was expecting them to do anything else.

So seriously, what even is this life?

I can only look at my parents and wonder, why for fuck’s sake did they not use a condom when it was needed?!?

Obviously though, there’s no crying over spilt milk and I’m the responsible one now. Just, I really, really haven’t got a clue what to do.

So I just laugh.

[brightcolourburst]

Great spirits have always encountered strong opposition from mediocre minds.

Respect, uncle Einstein. I'm very much aware of the cliché here, but it sums up such a huge proportion of this world. It's a good reminder every now and then. 

[threatosociety-blog-deactivated]

[brightcolourburst]

Hobo'in

Yesterday was just one of those days, you know? The kinda that is just not your day. I had to get up early since I had three interviews with therapist, and after spending good thirty minutes digging through my closet for something decent enough to wear (it can be a little difficult if you can’t look in the mirror) I settled upon a nice white blouse. Then I went to get my morning coffee, and guess what, I spilled it all over me. I didn’t have enough time to go change so I just tried to wipe it off best I could and simply covered it with a cardigan.

At my first interview I had forgotten the whole thing, and naturally took my cardigan off, and no shit, a coffee stain?! And of course, the smart and docile person that I am, I repeated the same at Starbucks at the counter when I had to uncross my arms to pay and my cardigan fell open. Whoop.

And like that wasn’t enough, I noticed there was an actual dick-shaped stain in my suede boots. Like what the fuck? How is that even possible? And it really, really was exactly dick-shaped, no kidding. So crouched down to wipe it off, and of course, my trousers ripped. My.favourite.trousers.ripped. Only from the knee, but still.

Add to that my brother’s oversized quilted jacket and my ragged canvas bag, I looked every bit the hobo that I admittedly am. Oh well.

Seriously, what is my life?

At least I got a therapist out of this, and despite everything I did not want to kill myself, so. Progress?

[brightcolourburst]

Oh yeah

I thought I’d report back what happened with my detox. I lost three kilos, and I think that’s it? I can’t really say if it’s changed my skin or made me glow since I’m avoiding mirrors right now. At least I can imagine that I’m more cleansed now. Right.

Anyway, I’m switching to healthier diet. Even though I can’t say for sure if it has any affection to treating depression, but I do believe that it makes me feel better physically, and that in turn affects my mood positively. So we’ll see what happens.

I’ve also started running and exercising again. My general physique is absolutely shit not the best right now, so, eh, I’ve kind of like started building it up little by little. I can run two metres kilometres now, but I’m sure I can stumble out of this swamp and double the figures if I can just keep myself motivated. So far I can say that it really helps and that I’d definitely recommend regular physical efforts to anyone in the same situation. When I hit the road, albeit red-faced, struggling and looking like a hobo, it’s often the only time of the day I actually feel a little better, almost good. So yeah.

[brightcolourburst]

Oh dear

Okay, it’s official. I’m a shopaholic. A depressed shopaholic. Meaning that I’m trying to make myself to feel better by shopping. It’s a perfect quick fix. I enter a store, real or online, and for a moment I forget myself. I just buy and buy and buy all kinds of different styles, like shopping for new lives. I buy clothes that are not my style at all. And worst of all, I buy clothes that are not my size at all. I keep forgetting that due to the medication plan designed to keep me stoned all the time I have gained quite a lot of weight, and I’m talking like 10 kg. Which means that now neither my old clothes or my new clothes fit me, which is just, yeah. Bloody wonderful. And on top of this all, I’m shopping with money that I don’t even have. So, um, help me? My fingers are even now fidgeting to just click on that asos.com and…oops.

Shopaholic or shopaholic? This can't be good?!?

[brightcolourburst]

WEEK 88463527394836726

So, um, don’t start a blog when you’re depressed? Just a note for later. Although I’m very much planning on never ever feeling this low again in my life. A little bit too consuming, if you ask me.  

Anyway, don’t really know where to start, so much has happened. My moods are still mostly reminding me of a nasty case of roller coaster. There are days when I feel like I really am going to push myself to do this, but mostly there are days when I have to repeat my reasons to live in a mantra. So generally not much of an improvement, but I guess I’m still changing every day, at least a little. Kinda. Maybe. Hopefully.

Somewhere in between these messy days and badly slept nights I’ve taken a habit of trying to test out different things and theories, to see if they help. At this point I’m so low that I’m pretty much open for anything… desperate measures, anyone? So what a better way to start this bright and shiny new year than detoxing? As in, torture your body for three days by only drinking juices composed of all things considered ‘extremely healthy’ while watching the rest of your family happily munching on fajitas and ice cream. So far so good, berries be blessed, if clenching teeth and throwing murderous glances at anyone who dares to as much as mention food within five feet from counts as an accomplishment.  Well, at least it’s my final day and now I’m off to last delicious, detoxifying juice. (Do animals continue eating something because it’s ‘good for you’ even though your first reaction is the gagging reflex?) But hey who knows, maybe I wake up tomorrow miraculously cleansed, with the epiphany of life’s essence. Even Aerosmith believes in dreaming on, and that must count for something.

[brightcolourburst]

WEEK 2

This week I’m writing on a bit more serious note. The last time I tried to perform suicide was in July. Obviously, I failed. I was filled with bitterness and black humour, just laughing that how can it even be possible that I failed at absolutely everything and then I even fail at finally trying to leave it all behind. Eventually I decided to give myself one more chance. So many people, doctors, psychologists, relatives, have said that I just have to give myself time. So now I’m giving myself that time. Or I’m running at borrowed time, as they say. But in order to make it, in order to be able push through all this shite, I need to turn everything around. If I keep going at this rate, I can just hang myself to the heater next to right at this very second. All the odds are against me. I was born with a shy and highly emotional temper, and my surroundings were unable to validate my emotions and give the support I required. Now this caused me to grow up having both borderline personality disorder and social phobia. I grew up depressed and hating myself. I was so disgusted by myself that I attempted my first suicide when I was 11. When other kids and teens were out there making friends, learning and experiencing, I spent my time behind four walls. I lost my childhood and I lost my adolescence. I’m not exactly smart. My bone structure is a bit funny and my social skills are completely non-existent. And I don’t have any special talents or tendencies. Nobody believes in me and I most definitely wasn’t born a star. I don’t have a good life expectancy. Right now the situation is even more shite, to the extent of being ridiculous. I lost my place in uni. I haven’t got a job or any money, and I’m homeless. So suck that, bitches. I guess the only thing that could make this even worse would a prison sentence (reckon they would have a vegetarian meal choice in there?) or not having any friends. So basically, to be able to continue my life I should defy biology and psychology and probably physics and gravity and law of nature as well.  Not the easiest one to pull, I’d suppose, but since this kinda is my fight for life, do I have a choice?

[brightcolourburst]

WEEK 1

How very typical. I start a blog about depression and then I’m too bloody depressed to actually write it. I wish this was an exception, but I’m afraid the answer is NEWS! : It’s not. Dammit. This is a one way the smart and oh-I-think-I’m-so-sly depressed mind operates. Most of the time, and I mean like 85% of time it’s way too down to be interested in anything. Except maybe sleeping. And sometimes even sleeping is way too much asked. Let’s settle just for moping and lying in bed because that’s what it really is. And when it happens that the ball lightning strikes and we find that we actually want to do something productive (like brush our teeth for a change?), we are, surprise surprise, too depressed to do it. So we think that we wanna do it. We feel like we probably should do it (smelly and a been-dead-for-a-week rat in your mouth doesn’t taste like cotton candy). But do we do it? I don’t think so. And where does that take us? I’m sure you already know it: we end up being even more down. Absurd, much? But it does capture the very unfortunate essence. And it’s not an easy cycle to escape from.