bi-polar, depression, feelings, go with a flow, happiness, life, meaninglessness, mind, problems

Coping with Depression

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Hey depression. Here you are again, take your time since you are back. I can’t be present for you now since I gotta run errands.

It took some time for me to get to this point, to the point where I realized that fighting with myself makes no sense, so I started taking the depressive mood with a grain of salt.

First, I felt desperate opening my eyes in the morning feeling stuck in the stinky mud of hopelessness, worthlessness, and the entire loss of energy. My days would start with the gloomy “No, no, no, I can’t live like this, this crap will never end”. Here I was, unable to get out of bed, wanting nothing but to hide all day in the bedroom behind the drawn curtains. Daylight with people’ voices and kids’ laughter outside got me irritable, triggering the pain that everyone is happy, while I am doomed to live in the inescapable pit of despair and view the reality through the filthy lens of my messed-up mind.

Then I became resistant. I started a long fight with my helplessness, believing that I can beat the gloom and doom and change. My family got happy seeing me getting out of bed, eating, exercising, putting my make up on, and going to a psychiatrist for a scheduled visit. The guy kept putting me on something that was supposed to fix me. “It will normalize your chemical balance and improve the daily functioning, honey.”

I would nod, I would smile, I was very polite and always paid the bills they sent me from that clinic – I liked him calling me “honey”, or “dear”, or “sweetheart”. I kept picking up his prescription from a local pharmacy and flushing the pills down the toilet. Being drugged was never a way-out, but I would come back for his sweet-talks and brief hugs until this started draining my wallet.

The next step was therapy. A young lady was sincere in her efforts to help. She was fresh from her grad school and eager to make a difference in this world. I liked her, I tried to give tips after our sessions; she always refused referring to her code of ethics, boundaries, and other nonsense. I knew she was struggling financially as a single mom, overworked and underpaid. After two months of our therapy sessions, I cancelled all subsequent appointments and mailed to your home address a check with a thank you note and a request to spend the money on a newer vehicle. The check was never cashed, she was very descent and honest, I liked her even more after that.

Therapy got me into watching my thoughts, questioning my hopelessness, and disputing negativity. I did mood charts, took warm baths with sea-salt and lavender oil, and meditated with incense prior going to bed. The following morning would start with the same depressive crap, but I would know how to make it through the day.

Finally, I got bored, simply bored of following or resisting the mind farts, knowing that the mind will always be there, telling me whatever, and there is no possible way of turning it off. The realization got me shocked, then sad, then blah. Finally, I got entirely unconcerned, I had the life to live and things to do even with a broken tape-recorder in the head.

The alarm-clock rang to start the day, I opened my eyes and yawned, the gloom combined with exhaustion and nagging irritation was there. I got up and went into the bathroom. I wanted to get ready, I had things on my agenda: to drink water, to clean my fish tanks, to get roses for my girlfriend’s birthday party, to drive to the airport, to finally see the mountains. The depression was there, I shrugged my shoulders, letting the mind do whatever, I did not care, I really wanted to start my day with drinking some water.

anxiety, go with a flow, happiness, life, mind, panic, problems, reality

Problems versus Common Sense

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I was having fun coloring dragons with fluorescent pencils when Greg came into the room. He looked stressed.

 – My sister is disputing my mom’s will, – there was bitterness in his voice

 – What are you gonna do?

 – I will give her what she wants and will never talk to her again.

 – Talk to your lawyer

 – No, Vixen.

 – Really? – I put the pencils aside and raised my head from the coloring book.

 – I am not going to court, hon.

 – Court is not be necessary, there are ways out. You may settle it through mediation. Have your lawyer deal with it.

 – I said, NO.

 – And you are ready to cut ties with your only sibling without even trying to negotiate?

 – Absolutely, – Greg was mercilessly rigid. Talking to him felt like talking to a wall.

 – I will fix you dinner, – his attitude caught me off guard. My motivation to proceed with coloring was gone.

I went into the kitchen and stood frozen in front of the refrigerator trying to gather my thoughts and figure out ingredients for potato salad.

Clearly, we all act weird, we make irrational decisions, and run away trying to escape problems.

We are just people who do everything possible and impossible to save the pride at any cost.

Criticized at work? – Quitting

Caught your partner with someone else? – Permanent separation or divorce

Struggles at school? – Immediate withdrawal

Facing own problems with the bitter understanding that we are powerless to fix them is sometimes harder than surviving a hurricane. The pain from the hurt ego is thousand times worse than passing kidney stones. Those who decide to fight own demons lose themselves in the endless battle with personal fears, phobias, and traumas.

You can rarely see someone that quietly accepts this life without hysterical fight or flight attempts. Someone who does nothing about life kicks, allowing chaos to settle and conflicts to resolve. Someone who turns the mind off and floats through the reality curiously observing emerging and disappearing events, people, and problems.

Most people think that going with a flow is passive and lazy. They would rather fear or suffer than let things take care of themselves. People are used to acting, resisting, and escaping. People are used to perceiving life as the never-ending struggle with pain, winners, and victims. Living in the permanent hysteria of moving, searching, and burning bridges is the only way for most of us to exist. Common sense is not that common.

I suddenly felt Greg was standing behind me and turned around.

 – Don’t bother, luv. I’ve ordered Chinese food and talked to my attorney. He will contact my sister on Monday about the will.

 I gave him a smile. I felt relieved from cooking and cleaning and ready to resume coloring my dragons.      

 

anxiety, bi-polar, crazy, depression, happiness, health, life, sugar

Life with a Mental Disorder

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She was sick. Most of her time was spent on seeming normal. She played tennis and attended cocktail parties. Her friends came over to hang out. They enjoyed the way she cooked pastas and cheesecakes.  She saw her in-laws on weekends and attended bible study classes every Wednesday night. She socialized outside the household and was attentive and polite within the family. The house was clean, the children did good at school, her husband was recently promoted. He attributed his success of getting the operations director position to her. “I would never have done it without you. You are everything to me, you are my angel. ” He worshipped her, she was his inspiration, his pixy.

But she was sick. No one had any idea what it took her every morning to get out of bed and function as if she were ok. Her inner world was the ongoing manic-depressive roller-coaster, and she never knew if her mind would take her on the ride of elevated mood and high self-esteem; or she would end up hand-wringing, unable to control purposelessly repetitive body movements.

Sometimes she spent nights pacing in the bathroom hyper and panicky, unable to sleep. Sometimes fatigue hit her so hard that she struggled lifting her head off the pillow. Her self-worth could elevate and drop within days or even hours resulting in tremendous energy loss and the feelings of emptiness and despair.

Hiding her sickness and faking happiness 24/7 was the worst. No one in her family was aware of what was going on, she was too scared, too proud, and too ashamed to be verbal about her condition. Her days were infused with the fear to be revealed and labelled cuckoo. She masked her panic behind the façade of smiling politeness and pleasant demeanor. Her husband finally started making six figures a year, she got accepted by his parents and became president of a local book club. She was scared to mess everything up and kept pretending and going through the emotional nightmare day and night.

It happened on Tuesday. Her husband took her out to dinner. She put on a blue cocktail dress and a perfect smile prior leaving the bathroom, the only safe place where she could be herself restlessly pulling the hair and biting the nails.

The restaurant was almost empty. Her husband had to answer the work phone and hurried outside when a middle-aged waitress approached the table.

Are you ready to order?

Of course,  – her smile faded when she raised the head from the menu. The waitress was looking straight into her as if digging deep into her soul.

You are strong, everything will fall into place.

  – I am ready to order, – She had the feeling that the lady got her, the lady saw her true messed-up self. And she felt relieved when her husband finally came back.

One her way home she kept thinking about the words of the waitress. The waitress was weird, disrespectful, and crazy, but what she said made sense. Faking health and happiness, when dealing with mania, depression, and panic attacks clearly required lots of inner power.

The next morning started with the loss of energy; her previously elevated self-esteem broke against another depressive episode. She forced herself to open the eyes and look at the clock. It was the time to get her kids and her husband ready for the new day. They wanted potatoes and eggs, he wanted cappuccino and a cream-cheese sandwich.

I am strong, I will get through this, I can’t feel low all the time, the mood will end up go up anyways” started her recovery. She knew she needed to learn about her mind to be able to foresee upcoming mania and subsequent falling into hopelessness. She started looking for help. She started asking for help. Gradually, she started living.

affection, anxiety, broken heart, dating, relations, feelings, depression, feelings, happiness, health, intimacy, life, love, reality, sugar

Dealing with the Broken Heart. My Story of Recovery.

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It is over. I will never see him again. I went through the night hiding under the blanket, shaking with cold, struck with emptiness. The morning started just fine. 20 boy push-ups and lots of water kept my mind away for a little while.

Jim called asking if he can stop by. I confirmed and went into the kitchen to fix an apple pie. Slicing apples and blending egg whites with flour and honey got me busy. I was functioning, I felt almost normal.

Jim brought roses, I cut each stem and placed the flowers into a vase.

Now what?  – he was cold and practical. He kept trying to get me back and hated wasting his time and money with no certainty.

I do not know.

Tell me what you want, and I will do it for you.

You can’t fix my pain, I gotta go through this by myself.

 – Nice cake.

 – You can take it home.

 – Be my mistress.

 – No.

 – You are using me all the time, it is mean and rude.

 – I do not care.

I am ready to give you what you want, just tell me.

 – I want freedom from pain.

He left with the pie, I went shopping. The pain subsided as I was focusing on a birthday present for my girlfriend. The pain almost disappeared when I stopped by to give her a hug and a potted flower. Her house smelled like joy and pizza. There were many people and many presents. I drank water and conversed politely. As we went out to watch the sunset over the water, I started panicking, I knew I would have to leave soon and be by myself again facing the pain through the night.  – “Are you sure you gonna be ok?” – my girlfriend looked concerned as I kept zipping and unzipping pockets in my handbag trying to find the car key. She wanted to help, and she could not, no one could. It was my pain, my cross, my burden.

I watched TV that night and fell asleep. The muscles were sore from too many pushups, the body felt empty.

The text from Jim woke me up – “You live in a crappy area, I can move you into a safer neighborhood, get over your breakup and come back”.

I smiled and stretched in bed. I wished I would get away and stay away from the area where everything reminded me of the past where I was happy and miserable. But I knew the pain would follow me no matter where I go. I knew I gotta deal with my emotions rather than running away from them.

I took one day at a time. The ties that connected me with him kept breaking causing pain sharp, and fierce, and nearly unbearable. My body was withdrawing going through convulsions as days went by.

The realization came later as I was focusing on the needle point excited and entirely involved in cross stitching. The realization that pain has nothing to do with love and feelings. The pain came from the hurt pride, from the failing attempts to control the life of another person, from the merciless possessiveness and the urge to dominate and sponge the person for attention, affection, and endless romance and intimacy.

I put the embroidery aside and closed the eyes. The love was there, it felt wonderful. I pictured him with another woman and smiled. I wanted him happy, he gave me the most wonderful time in my life. He deserved happiness and joy. I went outside and turned my face to the evening chilliness. The ego broke into million teeny-tiny pieces, I was vanishing with the drowning in the water sun. I let go of myself, my wants, my desires, my needs. There was no sense in carrying the burden of my pride and self-esteem any longer. The freedom was there. It has always been there. I have always been free. Everything felt simple and natural. I felt relieved and light; as light as a feather returning to my needle point.

 

.

 

 

 

BDSM, dating, relations, feelings, dominance, feelings, happiness, intimacy, kinky, life, submission

Pride, BDSM, Sub

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You can’t destroy me unless you take my pride, take it away, and I will have nothing.

This got me pensive. What is pride? – I had no answer. I closed my eyes trying to imagine what it feels like to have pride and thought about Jim – endless planes, yachts, and houses; narcissism and power, inescapable excellence and unavoidable success.

I gave him a call, I was curious. – Do you have pride?

Don’t you want to say ‘hi’? – his voice was bitter and pathetic

I want to know your thoughts on pride

 – Why does it even matter now? We are not even together.

 – Did I hurt your pride?

 – What do you think?

Speaking to him was hard, I hung up, I still had feelings. His pride was the size of his 14 square foot home, I could not deal with it, I left.

Early morning in bed, focusing on my body in search of what google defined as pride -“a feeling of being good and worthy”. I could not find or feel anything.

Take away my pride, and I will have nothing”, – I had nothing. No regrets no sorrow.

I was a sub in relations. I was giving in myself completely, melting, dissolving, relinquishing all my powers and control. I felt empty, non-existent, unable to identify myself with anyone or anything, surrendering my body, my ego, my pride, my self-worth, my values, my beliefs.

I was a sub, going with a flow, being quiet when asked, speaking when allowed, serving in bed and in the kitchen, being available to the needs of my master 24/7.

I was a sub. The pride was crushed, I was capable of sensing and perceiving the world freely without hysterical attempts to hold on to my self-identity. I could be whatever my master wanted me to be, I could switch the personalities like undies. I could flip from a slave to a master, attaining the lost control, going as far as my master wanted me to go.

Does not it bother you that he takes control over your life? It is manipulation and abuse, – my girlfriends could not grasp what it feels like to live outside the fixed self-identity, they were shocked, I was free, I had no pride, I did not care.

Jim was in his office when I came in later that day.

Please buy me an apartment in Orlando.

He slowly moved his gaze from the laptop, dark eyes and relentless calmness. – Why Orlando?

The energy of the big city, I want to feel it through my skin.

I want to feel you.

 – We broke up, it is over

 – And you really think I am stupid enough to keep investing in you?

 – I believe in miracles. It never hurts to ask.

 – Come back, and we will see.

No.

 – Than go home and let me work.

His secretary knocked, I let her in. She was carrying a huge fruit basket, I helped her put it on the desk and took an apple. I was ready to leave.

You asked me about my pride, Vixen, – Jim’s voice stopped me at the door. I turned around, I was curious. – I have none.

 – Me too, Jim, I am a sub.

 – I know. We match, we could do good together.

 – Buy me an apartment.

 – Take the fruit basket home.  

The fruits were yummy, I ate them later on the beach smelling the ocean and listening to the seagulls. I had no pride, no identity, nothing. I did not exist, I felt happy.