Oblivion

I walk under the shade of trees, stepping on scatters of sunshine on the floor. Marble glistens around me and leaves sway above me. Weeping branches of bright green and brown hang overhead, a sharp contrast against the luminous white building that looms over us pedestrians. Beautiful and intimidating at the same time.

I walk to the centre of the square and stare at the ambivalent sky above me. Today is neither warm nor cold. Like nature has taken a slow deep breath. I wonder what is ahead. A storm... or more days of sweat trickling down our backs? Probably the latter.

I seek refuge in the welcoming embrace of more trees reaching for the skies. The bench where I sit is empty and I settle down, taking a long deep breath. Even walking is a trial today. Every step I take is exhausting. Every breath, a chore.

I sit and wait for my mind to take it all in. Flowers, leaves, trees and grass. Things that usually bring a smile to my face. I am surrounded by so much beauty and yet all that is on my mind are these five cursed words.

"What is the fucking point?"

Freedom in Solitude

Ramazan was impossible and i was unable to carve out time to blog, among other things. Eid went by in a blur since I was packing to move to a new apartment, which is lovely. It took me several months of asking around on social media and looking at many apartments to find this place and damn, the trial was worth it. Though my neighbourhood is a tad too hood for my taste, once I am in the apartment, i feel like i am out of Male’. Which is heavenly.

Thanks to the good people around me and my sheer force of will, I've managed to make some huge changes in my life over the past couple of years. These changes didn’t come without consequences but I am absorbing what is being thrown at me, converting it into something positive and productive. And i’ve somehow managed to keep my sanity intact. What little of it is left, that is. *cue in nervous laughter*

I’ve had some really bad days in which the bed held me hostage and some good days when i would don my mask and turn on that switch and be the person people want me to be. And it has gotten me by. Sometimes, even the facade helps. Learning to manipulate my thoughts is a process and it does not always work but well, here I am. Up and about.

Being independent and being self reliant is empowering, yes. But it does not come easy. There is much you have to sacrifice and much you have to compromise. Some bridges you have to burn and some you have to strengthen with a stronger base in order to follow your own dreams. And you owe yourself that. Follow your dreams. Even if it costs you more than you are willing to forego. 

My formula is working for what i want and with the rewards, staying true to my obligations and also staying true to myself and my own needs. Took me over 3 decades to arrive at this place but i am grateful to myself and to the people who love me, for their support and generosity.

Making these changes, while living in a society that has set rules for what is expected of a woman, has not been easy. I have second guessed myself and beat myself up over it. More than I can put into words. But at the end of the day, “the peace I have now, is worth everything i lost.”

I hope you find that too. Someday.

Abuse

I woke up feeling a bit strange today because i had a rough night owing to gastritis, and nightmares whenever I managed to get some sleep. I feel lethargic and befuddled and all I want is to sleep. But when I do close my eyes, the flashes of my nightmares are still vivid behind my eyelids.
Today I want to talk about surviving abuse, a subject that always leaves me raw. Every image is still clear in my head and every emotion still lingers, as if it happened a few days ago, instead of the decade that has passed by. 

Sometimes I am triggered simply by the thought of being back in that room with hands around my neck and the walls closing in on me. I used to succumb to full blown panic attacks before I started my treatments. I would lie awake unable to sleep because whenever I did drift away, I would have nightmares of slithering coils and snapping jaws. 

When I was a child, I had a fever and it was so intense I started to hallucinate. I saw a snake wrapped around my mother, its thick black coils gleaming with moisture and its eyes, red slits in its large head. I was so weak I couldn't even move and all I could do was stare at it in horror. 

That was the first time I started associating snakes with unbearable pain and being terrified. Over the years, whenever I am severely stressed or suffering in any way, I would have nightmares of obsidian serpents with red eyes. Sometimes they would be there when I woke up and found myself paralysed, during the worst nights. Thanks to medication, therapy and self healing, I rarely have those nightmares now. 

 

Being physically abused leaves a mark on you, like a ghastly tattoo that will never fade. You remember the sensations and emotions you felt and the images of everything you saw during the assault. And you remember the mental abuse even more vividly. How it felt when you were continuously told that you were worthless, unattractive and deserved to be treated the way you were. 

I was young and stubborn and retaliated in the worst ways but I was mostly afraid. Threats and blackmail are frightening and leave you feeling like you are completely at the mercy of your abuser. Your feeling of self worth is crushed and you exist as a shell of your former self; your body on autopilot and your mind, numb.

Breaking free of that situation was one of the hardest things I had to do and I chose my moment when my abuser was weak. I wish it had been more heroic... but then, that's life. You take whatever opportunity you get and do what needs to be done to survive.

Over the past year, a lot has changed, mostly inside my head. What used to overpower me, does not, anymore. You know that last scene in Gerald's Game when Jesse faces Joubert and says "You are so much smaller than I remember."... that is what I have achieved. I have my treatments to thank for that. And yes, my seemingly limitless ability to survive.

Don't let the abuse you suffered define you. You are so much more than that. Say it, believe it and practice it 🙏

Toxicity

Being mentally ill can be draining. Having darkness within you and feeling it pressing on your chest and weighing you down for hours on end while you try to crawl out from the bed that is swallowing you is exhausting, yes. It strips you bare and leaves you feeling either too much or nothing at all. Neither of which is the least bit comforting.
And in our despair we sometimes turn to others. And anyone who has someone who looks out for them during an episode or on a daily/weekly basis is lucky. You honestly have no idea how lucky you are to have even one soul who gives enough of a shit to check up on you and take care of you. 

And sometimes we don’t realize how draining we can be to them. Granted, we don’t have anyone else nor do we know of any magical method to just "snap out of it". But does that justify being toxic to the person or people who love you and want you to be better?

There’s a thin line between being dependent on someone and being toxic to them. And it is up to us to recognize that line and steer clear of the latter. If you have someone in your life who is consistent with their support and the act of simply being there for you, it is on you to not let your despair seep into their lives as well. 

In the past, during those episodes where I feel everything whirl around me and I'm unable to stand upright or make sense of anything in my head, I have allowed myself to plunge into it even further. And I have been toxic to my friends and my family. It wasn’t that I felt I was entitled to it, no. But I simply gave in to despair instead of fighting it. 

Because I didn’t know what else to do. Because I wasn’t strong enough. Because I just didn’t know any better.

And that is where therapy and medication comes in. The pills, they calm you. The therapy teaches you how to handle yourself in those situations. And you learn to disassociate from it long enough to realize you're crossing that line with the people who love you. And that it's not right.

It's not right to expect someone who is not mentally ill to understand everything you are going through. Someone who does not have Depression is incapable of comprehending the depth of it. But they still try to understand you, don’t they? And you have to give them credit for it. I do. A lot. 

But I have also learned that sometimes I am too much for some people. And that they are fighting their own battles and cannot take on any more. And I learn where the line is drawn and I steer clear of it now. And things are better. Those friendships are healthier and stronger. I don’t have unrealistic expectations from those who care about me. I learn their limitations and I steer clear of it. 

I know you're hurting. I know that some days are impossible. But you need to take responsibility for yourself and make it your priority to get help when help is needed. Realize that they are normal people who have their fair share of problems and not professionals who have studied how the brain works.

I hope you understand what I'm trying to say. Get the proper help when help is needed. From trained professionals who are equipped to deal with the depth of your illness. Don’t expect more than anyone can give. And don’t be toxic to the people who love you. 

Believe me. I'm still trying too. I hope this helps. 

Seeking Help

So here I am, sitting at Gloria Jeans again, having their delicious Seafood Aglio Olio Spaghetti and yes, to answer your question, I've sat up residence here. The view is great, the food is delicious, the toilet's clean and friends drop by often. Ahah. Ah, man I wish. I just love it here, having a drink or some food, content with my solitude. The occasional company of a good book or a good friend is nice too.

I wanted to talk about therapy and relay my experience of what its like talking to a professional about my demons and dysfunctions. I began therapy with much skepticism. I spent the beginning of my first session sitting in the chair listening to her talk with this wry smile on my face. At least until she switched to asking me questions.

Before I knew it, I was spilling it all. Cunning, how they get you to talk without you realising that your inhibitions or defensive mechanisms are no longer a steel wall constructed high around you. I left the session, drained. I went home, hugged my sister and cried until I was numb. And that's what you should expect at first. The initial sessions are brutal, but only if you allow your therapist to get the answers she/he desires.

I suppose it takes a while to get used to having your brain picked. Having to face your demons and learn how to deal with them knocks the wind right out of you. The beginning was impossible. Especially without the medication to sustain me. But I kept going.

The hardest part was learning to deal with CPTSD, which is usually accompanied by sleep paralysis. Back then I wasn't able to sleep like I do now. (I'll get into that later.) I rarely slept back then. So it was me and my thoughts all through the night, until dawn, when I finally dosed off, exhausted... and managed to get a few hours of restless sleep.

Therapy teaches you how to cope. It teaches you tricks that would  interrupt and deviate destructive thoughts and behaviour. It teaches you how to coexist with your demons. Because your demons will always be in you. So what we can do is learn how to deal with them.

Three months after I started therapy, I finally managed to get an appointment with a Psychiatrist. Anti depressants and anti anxiety pills and therapy combined helped CPTSD greatly. I am no longer consumed by those thoughts. They do haunt me. But they don't consume me anymore.

In my earlier post, I mentioned that my therapy sessions were suspended. Unfortunate turn of events where last October my therapist had to move abroad. It hasn't been easy and I have been erratic for a while. But the year of consistent therapy had taught me skills that come in handy now. And I've just started seeing a new therapist at the Mental Health Center at IGMH. Fingers crossed.

So, those of you who are skeptical about shrinks, I hope I've convinced you or at least motivated you to seek therapy. As far as I know, the therapists at Institute for Mental Wellbeing are quite good. Yes. The fee is a huge factor. Therapy isn't exactly affordable. So I'll let you know about IGMH later. I hope this helps.

Simple Pleasures

Sitting at my usual cafe, staring at the view outside; a crispy clear sky and a whimsical ocean. Little speedboats zoom past, turning ripples into froth, while larger ships loom dormant in the blue horizon.

Sun beams make the ocean shimmer and the light bounces off the windows, casting the shine onto my spectacles and I am momentarily distracted by the snorkelers that surface and dive right back again into the expanse of the reef and I wonder when I'll ever muster up the courage to tackle my biggest fear. Maybe someday.

I have music in my ears and a book in my hands but I take pleasure in simply sitting there, enjoying the scenery... like I enjoy my own company. There is an inexplicable contentment one can derive from enjoying one's own company. A sense of peace, of independence.

A hearty breakfast is set before me and I indulge, putting aside the book for the time being. Potatoes wedges, sausage, grilled mushrooms and a tomato topped with pesto sauce decorate the plate while three plump slices of bread sit lavishly at the centre. I savour every bite.

I pick up my book, sit back and start reading... and all is right with the world. For now.

Mad World

The heat makes it unbearable. My scalp leaks and trails down my neck, my back and between my breasts. I loathe this heat and this brightness.

I saw a post on Twitter that said that people who suffer from depression experience lower retinal activity, making the world appear more dull, more monochrome.

To me, the colours are too vivid. The world around me is bleeding and brimming over with bright hues...and my eyes cant take it. I need the comforting blanket of grey skies and the occasional chill to stay sane.

The sky is too blue. The sun, too bright.  And the noise is deafening. The world isn't dull. It is overwhelmingly vicious.

And my mind cannot take it.

Therapy

A few weeks ago, I was having dinner at Gloria Jeans Cafe. They have the most delicious Penne Arrabiata, it's insane. The sauce has just the right amount of flavour, tad spicy but tolerable, and there are these juicy cherry tomatoes on the side and greens sprinkled over the top and damn...

Anyway, as I was leaving, I overheard a conversation that made me want to turn around, step in and throw in my unsolicited two cents.

Three millennials sat conversing over some drinks and the subject of their discussion was dum dum dummmmm... Depression. I didn't catch most of it but the one part I did manage to grasp was one of them stating that if you have Depression, what you need is just one person who understands you and accepts you as you are, to be there for you. Which is true. As someone who has a wonderful support system, I can vouch for it.

But then, he announced, like it was set in stone, that relying on medication will only make one develop an addiction, worsening one's plight.

Ok. I know what you're thinking. At that point, I wasn't just "overhearing" the conversation. Clearly, I was eavesdropping. I wasn't proud of myself. But it's Depression. And I've been a Depressive for as long as I can remember and the bold statement he made, triggered a primitive defensive tendency inside me.

I don't claim to have all the answers. Far from it, actually. But here's my experience, and I hope it helps to change the perception of taking medication for Depression.

I was a wreck before I started meds. A complete wreck. I had a rabid creature with frantic wings flapping inside my chest ALL THE TIME. I had no control over my emotions. Panic attacks were my default response to anything that was remotely stressful. It got to the point where I found myself in an ICU clogged up to machines and two years later, on a ledge. Clearly, I survived both.

I started going to therapy. And soon after that, I started taking pills. I am fortunate to have people who care enough to urge me to get the required treatment, some even footing the bill for some of my sessions. They have my gratitude forever.

I have to take pills in the morning. I started nodding off at work. I could barely keep my eyes open. The pills made me so drowsy I found it terribly hard to concentrate on anything. By the fourth month, my body had learned to adapt to the condition it was in. I would steal in a few winks at work or I would go home during break just to take a nap.

I felt less hysterical. I could breathe again. My mind was clearer. I wasn't making irrational decisions the way I used to. Sometimes my thoughts did drag me down into my pit but the pills helped to calm me down and the therapy taught me to deal with things I wasn't able to, before. I was feeling better than I'd felt in a long long time.

I haven’t been feeling my best lately, owing to lack of therapy but that's a story for another day. But my point is, medication isn't a big bad monster. Depression is an illness. It needs to be treated. Just like any other illness needs to be treated. A support system or even one person who stands by you is great but part of the treatment might be taking medication. Granted, it comes with certain undesirable side effects but it helps you sleep and calms the chaos within you. Couple that with therapy and you can actually function quite well.

Shit happens in life. That is unavoidable. And yes, it does derail you. Despite the medication and despite the therapy. But getting treatment for Depression when I did is probably the reason why I am alive today. Just my two cents. I hope it helps. 

OCD

I think it started when I saw this documentary on TV. I remember that feeling of abject horror I was stricken with, my skin crawling from my jaw to my skull. The unseen world of bacteria, germs and microbes. In our carpets, in our sheets and in our food. Even on our eyelids.

The fact that these minute creatures live in my surroundings and even in my own body created an all consuming awareness within me that progressed to full blown Germaphobia, which became the dominant part of my existing Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. 

Initially, it wasn't so bad. I felt a reasonable amount of disgust at the thought of multi legged infection carrying abnormal little beings inhabiting my body and my surroundings. However, over the past decade, my disgust evolved into revulsion and the inability to tolerate the thought of making physical contact, not with just the objects around me. But also with people. 

I avoided shaking hands, I had a decontamination ritual of washing my hands compulsively after them making contact with any surface. When I was 28 I got my own room. Finally. I made it into a cozy space, with a seating area for people... but then, the idea of people occupying that area in their outside clothes made my skin crawl. 

I feel it at its full intensity when someone sits at the head of my bed and I urge everyone to sit at the foot of the bed every time anyone visits my room. The thought of a person carrying germs they contract out on the street and smearing it on my pillows where I lay my head, it drives me crazy.

Every time anyone stepped in my room and left, I needed to wipe any possible surface they may have touched with a wet tissue and mop the floor before I lay down to sleep. Every. Single. Night. I suppose my obsession with cleaning my immediate vicinity was the result of me knowing that my life was beyond my control. So I tackled the one thing i could control. Keeping my surroundings clean. It was a compulsion brought on by feelings of helplessness with regard to the events that unfolded in my life.

Once I started treatment for Depression and Anxiety, the compulsions lessened. I can tolerate contact now and I force myself to be ok with not cleaning my floors every night. I still can't take the of anyone occupying the head of my bed and i doubt i ever will.

I still carry wet tissues wherever I go. And wipe my phone with it a few times every day. Taking it slow and being easy on myself. So yeah, that compulsive need you have to do something, that becomes easier too, once you start treating it. At least it did in my case.

The undeniable need to count tiles, panels and shapes still exist within me but it has gradually become an impulse that soothes me. The need to keep things in their designated spots and being unable to tolerate a thing being out of place are compulsions that i have gotten used to. And the fear of not locking doors, turning off stoves and etc, its manageable.

My point being that you are not beyond help. You can try and live a somewhat "normal" life. You just need to get the proper treatment for the disorder. And what is normal really? We all have our own version of what is normal. And that is perfectly fine as long as is doesn't make your life harder.

The Spore Behind My Eye

There is a little monster inside my skull, lying in wait behind my right eye. A vicious and relentless little thing that shows no compassion or mercy when it awakes. For those of you who are confused, I'm talking about a Migraine. Haha. Yes. I like to dramatize. 

You know how a migraine festers, a restless little thing that grows behind your eye, strangling your nerves and, eventually taking hold of the entire right side of your head, right down to your jaw and teeth? Yeah. We've been there. Too often.

My migraine episodes started when I was an 8 year old child, growing stronger and more intense with age. It mostly triggers just before my period or when I'm in a phase where Depression has overridden my senses. Migraines are so much more worse than stress headaches because I see flashes of light and photophobia is unbearable within that episode. So bad that I retch.

I was prescribed a painkiller and I take it when i can't take the pain. Mostly i just come home, turn out the lights, close the blinds and crawl into bed and try to sleep. Some migraines last for hours, others for days. When it becomes unbearable i have to go the ER, where they give me a shot of Tramadol.

So I suggest you talk to a Neuro and get medication for it IF you cant function when the migraine is at its peak. When I absolutely cannot take it, I get help too. Sometimes I massage the back of my neck with a cold pack. Numbs it for a while. And Meraki has this chamomile drink that alleviates the pain. Worth a shot. Delicious too. I hope it helps.

Relapse

It's February now. And that makes it my fourth month without therapy. I don't recognise what I've become.

My conscience hounds me day and night. “Just start with someone new. You'll ease into it.” It urges me. “It will take months to get there. But you'll feel better again, once you begin talking to a professional. And then you won't feel this way. You won't feel so damned ineffectual.”

In response, Despair rears its head and narrates a thousand reasons why crawling over to a new Therapist and drowning her with my woes is a bad idea. What a daunting task it would be to begin again. How exhausting it would be. How exhausted I already am.

Somehow writing this down makes it sound like an excuse. It makes me sound weak. It makes me sound like a coward. Coward. What an ugly word.

It is beyond self pity, this feeling of worthlessness. And lately I've felt impure. In a spiritual sense. Mind you, not religious. But spiritual. As in; the essence of who I am. I've felt it taint, slowly and irreversibly, I've felt it taint.

I feel useless and worthless… and mostly, I feel like a hypocrite. Qualities that I used to pride myself on have degenerated and withered into pitiful semblances of what once was. I feel intolerant and overwrought and ugly, deep within my soul.

I realise the change in circumstances have forced my hand in some situations, that some insecurities are inherent and that for a while, I had been doing so well. A disciplined intake of antidepressants and regulated sessions with my Therapist had calmed my inner chaos. It had granted me some serenity, helped me gain some perspective.

My Therapist had to move abroad in October. And I'm waiting for her to settle down and arrange her set-up so we can Skype. Till then we chat on Viber. I try not to be an inconvenience. But it's been over three months and I suppose it's time I made a decision. My deteriorating mental state is hurting not just me and my work, but the people I love as well. I need to step up again. I need to help myself so a professional can help me.

The first thing I have to do, though, is cease being so hard on myself. I remember her saying once. “No one can be kinder to you than you, yourself.” I need to carve that into my psyche. And practice it.

Anxiety

Anxiety is a bitch. We all know that. The second guessing, stressing, tightening in your chest, gasping for breath, perspiring, paranoia, the list goes on. Yes. Anxiety is a bitch.

It also manipulates your mind into thinking that the entire universe revolves around you. I don’t mean this in the sense that anxiety makes a person self centered. No. Let’s go with self-preoccupied. Self-centered has a negative connotation to it. The implication being that a person is egoistical.

What i mean to say is that anxiety deceives your mind into perceiving everything that happens around you as direct responses to your existence. For instance, you could be walking into work and the expression on a colleague’s face or a lukewarm reply to your greeting could have you stressing on the possibility that you’ve done something wrong to earn the reaction. In reality, said colleague could’ve simply woken up on the wrong side of bed or not had his/her morning coffee yet. 

Somedays, every response you get from the people around you feel like minute attacks on your character. And that drains you. I don’t claim to have mastered indifference or even learned to shrug it all off. Far from it. There are medications that Psychiatrists prescribe for this condition, medications that calm your nerves and relax your body, and I have found them to be quite effective. 

When I have an anxiety attack,  i first practise this trick that i learned in therapy; “Replace images. Substitute thoughts.” Basically, the idea behind it is that when you find yourself thinking negative thoughts or when your mind is plagued by distressing images, teach your mind to substitute the thought or image with something positive or even neutral. Takes months of practise and might not always work, depending on the gravity of the situation you’re in at that moment. But you learn to do it. Eventually. 

My personal favourite is recalling a moment where I was at the beach with the ocean shimmering in front of me, a vacant blue sky above me, a refreshing drink in my hand, some tunes in my ears and the sand beneath my toes. The beach is where I am the happiest. 

If the trick doesn't work, given the magnitude of the problem or my incapability to tackle it owing to the situation or atmosphere that I am in at that particular time, I do box breathing, which is a deep breathing technique. You inhale slowly for a count of four, hold your breath for four, exhale slowly for four, and hold your breath for four. Repeat.

And if that doesn't work, i take a pill. I take Xanax as a last resort given that I already take Prozac everyday for Depression. I try to not to be dependent on anything foreign to maintain control over my mind. But sometimes, we just need a little help.

So, keep trying to overcome the anxiety attacks with those two trick when you're going through an episode. Takes time but you learn to do it. If it proves to be beyond your control, and it initially will be, see a psychiatrist and follow his/her diagnosis. Sometimes having the pill on hand calms me down... just knowing that it's there, if I need it, even if I don't take it. 

In the meantime, try to practice the tricks. I hope this helps. 

Shackles

I feel myself sink into my bed, the mattress, a rotten carcass that envelopes me. The outline of my body rises up around me like immense walls that leak and soak me whole. I feel myself float in the residue of past lives lived and the light above me swims and dims into a sliver.

I am lonely. Lonelier than I've ever been in my life. How am I still breathing? How am I still sane? Why have I not decayed into this bed and become a dessicated corpse that floats in its own waste?

Why hasn't my heart sped up, crashed and entombed itself in stillness?

How much more can my mind take before it grinds to a screeching halt and ceases to humour existence and its infinite capacity for despair?

For how long would I still linger in this body, a shell, that has chained my consciousness to the shackles of time?

One

I feel Her seep into me. Cold and vicious.

I feel Her sliding her feeble limbs into mine, the corrosive muck of Her merge with my gut and Her frantic breathing take hold within my chest. She looks through my eyes and all I see is devastation. She inhales through my mouth and all I can taste is the bitter stench of bile and I can't stomach it. I want to retch.

And my mind fuses with Her's. Once again, I am Her. All I can taste is Her. All I can feel is Her. "I'll protect you" she croons inside my head. I believe Her. She's always been right. Despite the fury that blurred her eyes and unleashed the depraved thing within, She has always been right.

And, yes. She has always, always protected Me.

Back to Her

I float down into the pit, my feet landing firmly on the filth. A trail of hair, vomit and piss cover the remnants of what I used to be, now charred and dried up. I hear a low rasping, a struggle for breath and a wheezing followed by a rattling cough, feeble and spent.

My eyes adjust to the darkness and I see Her lying curled up by the wall, clumps of hair missing from Her head, eyes raw, bloodied and lifeless, lips cracked and blackened. Her body, naked. Long limbs of skin and bones hung to Her sunken frame.

I walk over, lean down and stroke Her head numbly. Weak as She is, She can barely turn Her head up at me, searching with unseeing eyes, pupils dilated and grey. She is blind, I realise in shock.

"Where were you?" She whimpers, Her broken voice barely audible. "Where did you go?"

I weep quietly, for Her and for me.

"I didn't mean to leave you alone." I whisper back. A weak arm stretches towards me, grabs my leg, nails dipping into my flesh. I sit down by Her head, dragging Her onto my lap.

I sit and stroke Her head... almost lovingly. "I told you. I told you." She croaks in her weakened state. "I warned you, didn't I?"

"I know."