Stream of consciousness on writer’s block, depression and more

My posts here on WordPress are erratic. I either write furiously in one day, posting several times, or I don’t write anything for days.

I wonder why this is. Some days I feel compelled to post and, on other days, I don’t even log in.

It’s like I have spikes of motivation and inspiration. Sometimes I can write consistently for a few days in a row. Consistency is something I struggle with. It’s something pervasive in my life. It’s like I only do things when I feel like it.

I’ve been pushing myself to do more things, like cleaning and cooking. Some days, I can’t do almost anything. I think this is a sign of depression. Probably a sign that I’m getting better.

In the aftermath of my last psychotic episode, I have struggled with depression. Meds made feel numb and not really there. It takes time to adjust to them.

There have been many dark days, very unproductive days, when I felt useless. Stuck in an endless rut. Dormant and paranoid.

Weed didn’t help me at all. I only felt more numb and paranoid. I had no energy or will power. It was the only thing that made me go outside, the thing I thought about the most.

It’s very positive that I’m out of that cycle and, after five months, I can feel like I’m recovering.

If I cultivate discipline and consistency, it possible to acquire these skills. The brain is plastic and fluid. It’s only a matter of not doing only what I feel like doing. Getting used to to do mundane things and not just look for that dopamine spike that the internet, and other activities, give me.

I need to build on action to start doing more meaningful things such as projects and freelance work. Starting small is key and I have done it. Started by doing the dishes every night. Two days ago, I swept my entire house, mopped the kitchen floor and cooked lunch. Today, I cooked lunch, dinner, and did the dishes.

So, there’s been progress and it’s very gratifying to see that I’m moving forward.

Today is one of those days when optimism rules. I feel good and eager to do things.

I made myself write this post, even though it was not my intention to write. It’s important to write every day, even when we don’t feel like it. It’s crucial for evolving as a writer.

I see writer’s block as, not only not knowing what to write but also, not feeling like writing. If we try, there’s always the possibility of writing a post, doing a stream of consciousness, forcing yourself to write a poem.

If it’s not very inspired or beautiful, it’s alright. It can be a practice post, preparing us for better ones.

I want to have another blog, one where I don’t discuss my mental health condition. A blog that I can show everyone, even future employers, as proof that I am fluent in English.

I almost bare all in this blog. Never shared it on Facebook, just through messenger to some trustworthy people.

Being open about it to everyone takes a kind of courage that I don’t possess at the moment. The freedom of coming clean comes with great responsibility. I know how people can see me in a bad light for struggling with mental health. They can see me as being weak-minded and fragile.

The need to do meaningful things, in order to be accepted by society, is something that I long for. Doing it before I start doing mental health activism, seems like the best way to gain credibility.

Building a reputation of being active and productive is necessary for me to feel adequate in this society. It’s that pervasive shame that I feel since I was a child.

I’m sure that therapy will help me overcome it. Feeling like I’m achieving things will also help.

I hope you are all well and that you have a wonderful day.

Are you consistent and productive in your life? How do you deal with writer’s block?

Image by FrankWrinkler, courtesy of Pixabay.

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Today

I am better today. I woke up in a good mood and I feel relaxed. It’s odd how we can feel the world is going to end in one day and feel much better in the next. A good night sleep can change your outlook on life. It doesn’t always work. If you are having a psychotic episode, you wake up in the same nightmare that you were in the day before.

I’m glad I haven’t had a psychotic episode in over 2 years. Medication really helps. It has changed a lot of things in my life. I don’t cry so easily, I’m more stable. My interpersonal relationships are better and also more stable. I don’t have mood swings. I can deal with my delusions now. They don’t overpower me. I don’t have anxiety anymore. A lot of things changed but other stayed the same and I’m not happy with it. But I’m not going to think about it a lot today. I’m going to enjoy the day. I can’t always be so critical of myself. Today will be a good day. Writing seems like a good plan. It’s a productive way of spending the day and it will keep me busy.

Image by 12019, courtesy of Pixabay.

The last 7 years

The last 7 years have been very hard. Healing and then becoming sick again. Having major depression, BPD, and psychosis. I can’t tell you how challenging psychosis is.
To be in nightmare-mode, to have a bad trip. Life talks to you, you see and hear things that don’t exist. Intrusive thoughts for months on end, voices. Beliefs that made no sense. It was a roller coaster. And I keep doing what makes me sick. There must be a switch in me, that is turned on for self-destruction. It’s horrible to think that if you didn’t take medication, you would probably kill yourself. This is the ugly truth. Fortunately, medication has helped me stay more positive and serene.
I’ve wasted these years. I made my parent’s life hell. I made my life pure hell. My impulsiveness was through the roof (and still is). I lost myself in those years. Lots of heavy medication. My will and flame were gone.
Losing weight, gaining weight. Losing friends and making friends. Meeting other people like me. I met people who understand, people that have been there. That has been so important to me.
Meeting myself again. Knowing my feelings and fears. Likes and dislikes. If you have BPD you know how hard it is to know yourself. How your self-image is unstable and fragile. But I have met myself. Years of isolation have taught me many things. How important it is to be alone and enjoy it; to self-analyze and evaluate yourself; to ask questions, look for answers and come to conclusions. To not depend on others to be happy. To have people in your life that are as good, or better, than your solitude. At least, now, here, I feel safe. That’s something I couldn’t say a few years ago. Things have changed for me and they will continue to change.

Image by MIH83, courtesy of Pixabay.

Making sense of things

Good morning, dear reader. I made a post about how I was bullied. Now, I would like to talk about how that influenced me.

I never felt like I belong in that group, I was completely invalidated by them.

I think that has shaped me. All throughout my life I’ve been rejected by people, mostly friends. I only started to feel like I belonged in a group when I was in 8th grade but my best friend at the time, Sandra, ended up rejecting me because of a boy. It was in high school that I really felt I belonged. My friends loved me and really cared. I started to heal from my childhood trauma and I trusted them with my life. Then my life started falling apart, I started becoming another person. Someone who was unstable, unreliable. They started to pull away. I only started to notice towards the end of our friendship. I noticed that they started to invite me to hang out less and less. Once, I met one of my close friends and told her that I would like to hang out with the group more. She said okay but a few days later and no calls from her or them, I went to the coffee shop where we used to hang out and saw them there. It started to hit me but I couldn’t really see it. It hurt too much.

The breaking point came in a sunny afternoon in June. My friend who lived in Spain came home for the holidays and she invited me to have coffee with a few other friends because it was her birthday. One of the people that were there was Sandra. She had become friends with my friends and she still hated my guts.

People started giving her gifts and one of the gifts was a ticket for a concert. They all had tickets for the concert and it was sold out. So I left. I was heartbroken. How could they forget about me? I messaged one of my friends and she didn’t reply. I, then, talked to another friend on facebook and she told me that it wasn’t planned. When I replied, she didn’t answer. I felt enraged, bitter and out of control. I blocked all of them on social media.

I was devastated and overwhelmed by negative thoughts. It was like I had fallen into a bottomless pit, I just felt like I was continually being sucked into a hole. I started digging the hole myself, smoking more and more hash. In the morning, I would wake up crying when I realized I was no longer friends with them.

I became a shut-in. I had major depression along with BPD ( borderline personality disorder). I became scared of living and paranoid. I had a psychotic episode that year, following that situation. What kept me from being committed was my boyfriend. He knew how much I had suffered in psych wards, so he told my parents he would take care of me and he did. He was wonderful, he would try to reason with me in a loving and compassionate way. He would make me feel understood, loved and almost “normal”. He is part of my healing process, a big part. It is my first stable relationship and the first man that really respects me. I can never thank him enough for what he has done for me.

Thank you for reading this.

Image by Anemone123, courtesy of Pixabay.

Night thoughts

It’s finally night time,the time when I feel better. I love the peace and quiet. I love the ambience, the wonder of a World engulfed by darkness. It’s like depression, the darkness. Like a thin veil of sadness. I believe depression likes the night, my depression turned me into a night owl. At night, there are no expectations, you can be yourself.

I haven’t felt lonely in a few days because of this blog, it’s helping me a lot. I’m waiting to read your comments, I would love to have some input. Writing allows me to rationalize things that are hard for me. It’s a struggle, I have to reason with myself to do things. Part of me doesn’t really want to do some things and this is a huge handicap. I want things to flow naturally and I’m a stagnated river. At least at the moment. I have flown. I was motion, I was life. I wonder if that spark ever comes back? I was highly motivated, loved the outdoors. Now it feels like torture to be outside. It feels like I’m a boat with an anchor in my house. It’s so unbelievably frustrating.

Friday night, lots of people are out. I used to be one of them but something changed. I became more fearful. My last psychotic episode was one of intense fear, intense paranoia. Even writing about is hard, it’s such a terrible and heartbreaking condition. I’ve been less paranoid. I ask my paranoias for facts to substantiate their claims. I have a mantra : “is there a logical explanation for that?”. Don’t let your brain condition fool you, keep your critical thinking on and please DON’T dwell on conspiracy theories. That’s one of the worst things you can do for your mental health. People should let go of things they can’t control.

Image by stux, courtesy of Pixabay.