It started in 2015. I've been a shell of a human, searching for myself, ever since. The mountains of paperwork from hospital visits throughout the years still cant explain it. What the fuck happened.
I’m still trying to find me, the spirit who used to live inside of my body, which now feels like a fucking prison that I’d rather die than live another day in, yet I keep trying, and its nights like these, where I wonder if this is it.
Ive watched so many die. Maybe this “loving god with a plan” shit is just that-shit-theres no divine plan, its survival of the fittest, shit happens, you die. Sometimes youre still alive, but its over anyway- you’ve played your hand and lost the game, the good times are behind you.
Some wont understand, but I know some will. Either way, I truly dont give a shit. Self expression is the only antidote I have, whether no one reads this, whether someone reads it and throws a fit, whether someone relates (if someone is helped in any way thats the highest purpose) or if its just something someone stumbles across after my time comes and dead too, at least I’ll know I left pieces of me behind. Even though that larger, on fire soul that I had, its gone. Or maybe just suffocated. I’ll say what happened, I dont give a fuck anymore. People can look at me from the outside and think I might have all these good things going on, but they have no idea. And sometimes I do have good shit going on, and then they’ll think the opposite. Nobody knows shit unless I tell them. The curse of a 12th house moon with a 10th house gemini stellium. i am bursting at the seems with emotion and an unseen reality, and by nature have the need to express, but the hardest thing is to get out of the shadows. I feel frozen-paralyzed-every fucking day. Every day since 2015. I know how it started, I’ll tell you that much.
Meds. Not shit from the street. And because the internet is so dumb I have to literally say what I dont mean before I say what I do mean, so DISCLAIMER: I am not a doctor and not giving medical advice. Medication saves a lot of lives. It likely saved mine at one point, I dont know, but it can also fuck shit up royally. If youre a person on medication, please dont let my experience freak you out. Its also not the only thing discussed here its just part of the story. Everyones is different. Some people cant handle 24 hours on meds, some people are on them forever. some cant function without them, some cant function with them. I am only one person sharing my experience.
OK- Meds. I was always so against them. I was put on them against my will when I was really young (long fuckin story) and now all those meds are “blacklisted” for anyone under 18 because they are linked to suicide/suicide attempts in kids. They can do that to adults too, but its been proven that its really not good for kids. As soon as I left home for good, which was also at a very young age, I never touched those things again. Street drugs, however, I was on constantly. i got sober when I was 20 years old. I was strung out on heroin and didnt have any aspirations in life, I was nearly dead inside, but I still had a survival instinct, so luckily I was able to get into a recovery program, which I am still in, 12 years later. I’ve had some damn good times in recovery, especially early recovery. When 2015 came around, I had around 6 years of sobriety. I had just finished college. I had a dope job, was making music, still had issues for sure but I had been in therapy on a weekly basis since I got sober, so I was always in a process of trying to resolve past trauma. However, I think a few things went south there.
In 2014 I had a therapist who had just gone to a hypnosis convention the weekend prior to our session. He decided to try it on me. I dont blame him for this, he was a good therapist, but hypnosis was not a good move. When he put me into the “trance” state, I wasnt able to come out of it at the end of the session. I couldnt even drive my car for about an hour. I had to walk around the streets trying to “wake up”. Two days later, I went to an event that had some, lets say, triggering shit go down. I tried to help, it was an ugly situation, once I had done all I could I got the fuck out of there. On the drive back, thats when it happened for the first time.
I thought someone had drugged me at the event, or that I was having a seizure or heart attack. I was driving on the freeway and all of a sudden I felt myself going back into “trance”, that feeling that I had when I was being hypnotized. the lines on the lanes in the road and the windshield wipers going back and forth I think set it off, because my vision was the first thing to go, and when the hypnosis was done on me, the therapist used his finger going back and forth, like the windshield wipers were. The lanes in the freeway blurred and all of a sudden I couldnt see. my heart was racing, my limbs went ice cold and then I couldnt feel them at all.
I managed to get off the road and felt my throat start to close. Everything was spinning. I was leaving my body. I called this dude I was dating at the time and he had no idea wtf to say to me, he said try getting out of the car and doing some jumping jacks, but I couldnt move my body at all. so he said I needed to call 911. By the time I did that, all I remember is telling the operator that I didnt think I was going to be alive by the time the ambulance got there. It was like I was being choked or like I was drowning, everything was closing and my vision was spinning into nothing and I couldn’t feel my body. My heart was pounding. I had no fucking clue what was happening. Long story short, after id been taken to the ER and they ran tests, the doctor came in and said “I think you had a really bad panic attack”. I was like what the fuck?! I was no stranger to anxiety at all, but I had never been through anything like that. That was 100% physical, I was used to the mental obsessive compulsive terrorizing thoughts and paranoia of the mind, I’d dealt with that most of my life, but this shit? Had no idea that was even a thing.
I took a cab back to where my car was. Interestingly enough, he asked me what happened (the cab driver) so I told him, and he told me the same thing happened to him. Turns out he was also in recovery. Its a trip when things line up like that.
When I got back to my car I still had another hour to go to drive home and it was like 4 AM at this point. I had another panic attack on the way home, and had to pull over again. This time I called someone, they actually answered at that hour and their voice had to basically guide me home, I needed something to hold onto so I could maintain the ability to see the fucking road and not have my entire body be numb and cold. That was the first one. I cant count how many times they’ve happened since.
Driving was an issue immediately, they’d almost always happen while driving. the days after that felt like being in an alternate reality. When I looked in the mirror, I didnt recognize myself. Ive struggled with feeling ugly most of my life, and that used to be a very obsessive thought for me. But after this massive energetic purge, I looked at myself in the mirror and did not recognize myself at all, but I remember being like, hey, im actually not ugly, wtf is going on. That was a weird thing. Silver lining I guess.
After talking to people in recovery about this situation, other people told me they had been through the same. Thats ultimately what led me to going to getting on meds. I then started my years long trials of god knows how many drugs they tried on me that wound up causing really bad side effects. When I used street drugs I used heroin, I never liked uppers, but these pharmaceutical drugs made me feel like I was on meth or some shit. Years went by, the drugs piled up, and I just dont remember anymore. I know that at one point things balanced out, I started doing martial arts which was fucking great for my mental health, and I remember getting a job as a social worker for a child abuse and neglect prevention program. Unfortunately, thats when shit went to a new level of fucked.
I had stopped making music at this point. I think thats something worth noting since it’s why I live today. But music was gone. I was only at that social work job for two weeks before I snapped. I was also prescribed three different very strong drugs, so I now know in hindsight that those drugs can cause medication induced psychosis and thats likely what caused, well, the psychosis. That and the trauma I already had. When I started seeing these small children in situations where they were being abused, I cant explain to you what happened. Ive done all kinds of social work before but with ADULTS, not kids. Not toddlers. I still cant get those images out of my head but I wont go into what I saw because I am not trying to transfer trauma here. Shit is highly disturbing to say the least. But what happened was a psychosis. My reality broke. Basically here’s what it felt like: being completely sober, but on a bad acid trip, all at once. It was like someone dumped a vial of LSD in my drink one morning and this shit lasted for WEEKS. I had no clue what it was, and I thought 10000% it was real. The world I got shot into was truly hell. I believed to my core that I had to die to get out, and I was completely dissociated from this earth. I felt like a ghost on a planet that needed to be exterminated. I felt like everyone could see me, but not really. They saw my body but the world I lived in inside of it, I still dont even want to really disclose publically what reality I was living in. All I could see over and over again were scenarios of horrible things happening to kids and I thought it was real. It was like being there, it was like being in it, I cant explain it, and I truly believed I needed to die. If I would have had a gun, no doubt I would have pulled the trigger. The only thing that kept me from killing myself outside of that was the fact that I lived with my then boyfriend, and he had lost someone very close to him. I was still attached enough to reality to have the thought of “I dont want to add to the trauma he has around death, so I cant have him coming home to a dead girlfriend.” So that was literally the only reason why I hung on.
I was hospitalized so many times. Finally they gave me the one drug, the drug im actually coming off of now, that stopped it. They tried a bunch of other shit and it had zero effect. After a few days, I was back in real life. It still took a long time for the panic attacks to stop. At that point I was having those severe out of body ones probably three times a week, but on a day by day, minute by minute basis, I was more suicidal than I had ever been in my life. im familiar with that headspace as my first suicidal thoughts came upon me when I was about 10. I was a big self harmer/cutter, and by the time I was 14 I already had a few suicide attempts under my belt (weird sentence but I dont know how else to put it) and my limbs were covered in scars and scabs from me cutting on myself constantly. once I left home and started using street drugs though, the suicidal shit went away, and I stopped cutting myself. Obviously those drugs I was using will kill you, the love of my life and first love who I went down that road with back then actually just died a few weeks ago. trust me ive questioned and resented why the fuck im still here but found some resolve and vowed to get more serious with my mission of sharing my experience in hopes that it’d help someone else either avoid that situation, or help them out if theyre in it, but tonight, I got hit with this tsunami of, I dont even know if sadness is the right word, I just knew had to write. So let me get back to what I was saying.
I just described being suicidal at a young age and living like that daily back then. Well that shit did go away with the street drugs, toward the end of my addiction they came back bc drugs are like a boomerang, you shoot all your problems away and think youre on top of the world, but it always comes back for you, and rips you to shreds, only thing remaining intact is the shackles they still have around your fucking neck. Thats addiction. If youve got the willingness to do whatever it takes and jump into the black hole of a life you know nothing about, you have a shot at sobriety. Im alive because of it. and incredible things happen because of it. Its never a guaruntee though, even if you get sober youre never immune to the possibility of a relapse. Addiction is a really fkn tough issue to deal with, that shits an understatement. But lets back up.
So now we’re approaching 2016ish I think. The level of suicidality I felt was far beyond anything I felt when I was a kid. It, like those severe panic attacks, was also physical. It felt like I lived in a case of broken glass. I was no longer able to work, I was constantly in and out of hospitals and going from doctor to doctor, going to therapists, group therapy, natural/energy healers, acupuncturists, fucking anything I could think of to make this stop. I was just trying to survive inside of a body that wanted to die. Or maybe its the reverse. Maybe the body wanted to live but my mind was obsessed with dying, I have no idea, body and mind are connected though. Sometimes youve got trauma stored up in there that you didnt know about, and then one day, boom, it shows up and you gotta deal with it. It comes out of nowhere, it doesnt give warnings. Theres a book called “the body keeps the score” that covers that topic in depth for anyone curious about that shit.
Anyway, nothing was working. A year had passed. I knew it was 2017, I was on multiple drugs but I just kept getting worse. No psychosis, but the panic and the constant urge to kill myself and a depression beyond anything I can even fucking explain just kept getting worse. No matter what I did. No matter how many meetings I went to, no matter how much I tried to show up to be of service to others and get out of my head, no matter how much I talked about it, no matter how much medical/psychological/spiritual help I sought, no matter how much I prayed, nothing worked. And for the health people, no I am not someone who just sits around and eats garbage. I actually have some food allergies so my diet is clean as fuck, because it has to be. I learned how to be healthy physically from my time doing crossfit and martial arts and all that shit so this isnt a case of someone just eating McDonalds and never leaving their room. If someone does that, no shit theyre gonna be depressed. This was not that. I was constantly fighting to get out of this, to treat this. Then I guess you could say I was saved, as they say, by “seconds and inches”.
I remember my boyfriend being at work. You know how I said he was the reason why I never ended up killing myself? Well all of a sudden, that reason stopped being a reason. I crossed the threshold and I was done. At this point, I was in a 5 day a week outpatient program at a hospital for mental health, taking three different drugs, and had just gotten out of an 8 day stint at the psych ward. Nothing was working. I had been on the phone with my insurance company every day for weeks, trying to find one of those inpatient treatment centers for PTSD that I could go to, because it was the last thing left, and I knew people who had been to them and had success. But still, nothing.
I remember being collapsed on the floor with a kitchen knife. I had the knife in one hand, my other hand searching for a pulse on my neck so I could find the artery and cut it. Found it. Something real weird happened then. It was like having time stop. I recognized that pulse inside of me as something separate as whatever the fuck I saw myself as, whatever the fuck was in my mind. I could feel its innocence. It was beating along, completely unaware that the body it was working so dutifully to keep alive was about to slice it open. It was so weird. it was like something foreign to me, maybe like being pregnant your first time and feeling the first kick of the baby, recognizing that theres something innocent and alive inside of you, separate from the nightmare that I was.
I couldnt do it. It didnt feel like killing “myself”. It felt like killing something innocent. I just froze. I dont know if I cried or what the hell happened, but the phone rang. It was a trauma treatment center in the southwest. They took my health insurance. My boyfriend came home to a living girlfriend that night. The next morning, I was on a plane to the trauma treatment center.
I spent two months there, and so much happened I could literally write a book about it so I dont wanna get too heavy into it. Music came back to me while I was gone. I wrote 16 songs and some spoken word pieces. Lucky me, I happened to be in there with a few other musicians, poets, rappers and singers. We’d share our work together and write together every day, that was one of the biggest benefits.
The other one was that I was able to find a connection with a higher power again, because my faith had died during this process. I knew I needed that, because no matter how much therapy I had one on one or in groups there, I knew the day would come when I’d walk out the doors. I knew if I didnt walk out of there with a god of my own (relative) understanding, I’d be right back where I started.
They fucked with my meds a bit in there. Put me on some shit that made me hella sick, I lost 15 lbs in two weeks. I was already thin, I was in shape at 135 lbs and im 5’8. I got off that drug immediately, but because of its long half life, I wasnt able to eat solid foods for two fucking months. When I left I was 120 lbs. That was three, almost four years ago. How much do I weigh now? Fuckin 115. I stayed at 120 for a while, no matter how hard I tried I couldnt gain the weight back. Im still trying and im back at it with the gym/weights so that should help. I got back up to 125 at one point, but then went through a gnarly breakup and dropped 5 pounds and that never came back. Stayed steady at 120, but in the last two months lost another 5 lbs due to… well a lot has happened in the last two months.
I got really sick, im not trying to ring any cancer alarms but they found something on a CT and Ultra sound in one of my organs that they now need to remove at a surgery center next month, and theyre screening me for an auto immune disease, so theres that. I dont know if what they saw on the scans is benign or cancerous, they wont know until they biopsy it. So im not trippin but I did get sick. Then, about a week or two after getting hit with that news, Dylan died. Hes the one I mentioned earlier, my first love, the love of my life, that I got with when I was very young. We both got into drugs back then. I walked away from the relationship after I got sober and we went on our own seperate paths. Never had bad blood or completely lost touch, with neither him or his family, mainly his mom. She’s always been like family to me. Probably because she took me in when I was so young. An incredible woman she is. last time I talked to Dylan was pretty recent. End of the summer. He was doing good, said he had been clean, had gotten his shit together. we were making plans to meet up for lunch to catch up, but I was so busy with my different jobs and shooting music videos that the summer was fkn slammed, so I figured after things calmed down I’d have a free day.
Nope. Next thing I heard was he was dead. So yeah, more weight lost, but thats no surprise. Who the fuck has an appetite when someone you spent the first half of your life with dies. Anyway lets go back to the timeline we were on cuz I just brought you guys into a peak of what right now is but imma bring us back up here from where I left off.
Okay so its end of 2017, im out of treatment, my food stamp case worker knew what was going on and kept telling me to apply for disability. I didn’t want to, but she was fuckin pushin for it and I was like whatever, no one gets on it ever anyways (I heard it was damn near impossible). I was still fucked up, I cant really explain it, I was just cleaning houses and shit for money at that point. That was about all I could handle. Definitely no more social work. And def wasnt trying to go back to the restaurants at that point, I’d end up stabbing someone who got an attitude about not getting their ranch dressing fast enough, which is about one in three so, no thanks. Lets keep the community safe ya know.
I applied for the shit, and to literally everyones surprise, they approved me after seeing all my medical records. Suicide attempts and a few other things that I wont include in here because its disturbing and im not trying to trigger the fuck out of people but Idk I guess it was enough, within 6 months I got on it. I still kept cleaning houses because unless you dont have to pay rent, SSDI is not enough to live on, but it sure in the fuck is better than nothing when youre in a fucked off spot where you cant fully stand on your own. im grateful for it, but in a weird way, I hate it.
The legal age of being able to work in the state I live in is 16, so on my 16th birthday, I spent the entire day filling out job applications. Before that, I made money the “illegitimate” way. I knew money was the way to independence and freedom. Ive never been a lazy person, always had tons of energy, and i take pride in my work ethic. But being in this weird world of feeling like youre wading through molasses all the time, can barely fuckin move or function, dont know if youre crazy or if its the multiple drugs they got you on, everything a haze and to not be able to stand on your own as an adult, when I could do that shit just fine as a teenager, that shit doesnt sit well with me.
I never stopped fighting and I wont until I die. Shits just been weird. I’ll fast forward through the next few years. I did get back into music, I hit it as hard as I could despite still dealing with really crippling mental symptoms that I did everything in my power to hide from the general public. I went through a lot more trials and tribulations and shit, whatever, there was good stuff in there too. I started performing a bunch locally and finally moved to LA. back in 2014, before the hypnosis, before the panic attacks, I had been to LA for my first time. I fell in love with that city. I went down there for a protest and holy shit, again I could write a book on just the one week I spent down there, so much happened and I loved it, total chaos and everything was so wild and crazy, I was obsessed. but when I came back home after that week in 2014, I wound up getting into a relationship, going back to school, staying here, then mental health went to shit, so never made it back to LA in 2014 like I had planned, cuz after that week long visit I wanted to move there. But it was 2019 now, and I was going.
I packed my shit and was out in 13 days. I had a room to rent that a friend of a friend hooked me up with. Didnt know the guy, but hes to this day one of my favorite humans. I can tell that mf anything. Easiest person to live with ever. I hit the jackpot with that old bastard. (Hes not actually old im just talking shit.) But thats when things, sort of started getting better.
I still struggled alot. Still kept going to healers and up keeping my own spiritual practice and shit but I was far from perfect. Spent a few months living with him on the outskirts of LA county where it was cheap(er), but then I got accepted into the musicians institute in Hollywood. The program was dope as fuck, I had met another guy down there who was a rapper/producer/engineer who went there, and as soon as I got accepted, things just lined up. I wound up finding housing down there, just a few blocks from the school, the roommate seemed dope, (turned out to be a lunatic, but before that, he was the sweetest thing ever) and the finances of the whole thing, which was my biggest concern, all worked out. It was like it was meant to be.
The term started and it was hard as fuck but I was in heaven. Working 16 hours a day on nothing but different areas of music/the business and I loved it. I met so many dope people. I was finally doing what I knew I came here to do. I was performing at open mics and got to do a radio show, YouTube podcast/performance, there was soooo much going on. But we started hearing rumors of something called the corona virus. We saw some students wearing masks, but they came from countries where its normal there for ppl to wear masks just when a regular ass flu or cold is going around, or for pollution in the air, so us Americans just shrugged the shit off. The term was 10 weeks long, finals week was week 11. I went to that school, that amazing place with incredible artists and limitless knowledge and opportunity for 10 weeks. Week 11 showed up and we all got the email. LA was shutting down, and soon the rest of the country would too. We were now all to take our finals online. We were like what the fuck, this is weird, but we thought it was just gonna be a short little thing. funny now, nearly two years later.
The stuff that happened during the lockdown in LA, bruh I got another blog for that that I havent published yet because im writing it as a freelance thing for another publication, but I will publish it, but if you want a taste of it you can listen to my song quarantine blues. It looked like housing loss, mayhem, violence, no jobs, ppl ODing and killing themselves, insane government overreach, riots, protests, empty grocery shelves, a brief trip to LA county jail, just chaos. Some ppl their world slowed down, mine lit on fire and sped way the fuck up. All of its a long story, I wont get into it here. But shit got outta hand. I stayed in that school I was telling you about online for about the first 8 months of this shit, but in the middle of the last term before I dropped out, I moved back to my hometown. Man I swore to god that id rather die than come back here, but shit got real crazy where I was at, I was having some personal stuff go on, and everything was fucking closed and I was just inside doing these zoom classes and trying to record music and shit while paying insane amounts of money to live there, and there were no jobs unless you were “essential” so im like why the fuck am I even here, I’ll just come back when shit opens again.
I left school after that term and was like “if imma be paying all this money I dont wanna do this remotely anymore. Im gonna wait til they open back up because half the benefit of being in this program is being able to be there, network, meet with the faculty in person and access the on campus resources, you cant do that shit through zoom.” Plus yes, I was getting into trouble, and I had to get honest with myself and realize that my aggression had gotten so high that I didn’t think I could stay outta jail, so I needed a time out. This sounds weird as shit because im not being specific but its a whole fuckin story that I’ll just post later. Just madness. Everyone was going mad. Im sure theres plenty of ppl that say they did just fine, we all had our own experiences. I did what I needed to do for my own mental, physical and financial wellbeing. Its no shade on LA, I fucking miss my life there so bad. I still grieve for it, still feel melancholy for even the hard parts or crazy times during the lockdown. Sometimes I even miss the roach infested shithole I lived in for a minute. Its not LA, it’s the gross mishandling of the pandemic on behalf of the government and then just, yeah it was like dominos. No one talks about the toll that shit took on peoples psyches/mental health/the collective etc everything is always about fucking vaccines and politics.
Soon I’ll be leaving here again, and getting my life back. Of course the music didnt stop, still got new shit thats set to drop as early as next week, still been recording, writing, doing videos, yada yada. Unfortunately I cant go back to LA due to certain MaNdAtEs that prevent me from entering public buildings, imma try out Nashville and just kinda keep my eye on the politics in LA, but a lot of ppl are getting the fuck out if they fall into the category of people who either are not ABLE to be juiced, or who do not WANT to be juiced. I have to use that language because ive been threatened with losing literally every fuckin social media platform I have for just asking questions or looking into shit and having conversations. Never been on some Q shit, just a regular person being like hey what the fuck is happening, but you know how it is, the powers that be dont like that. Plus, I got my own set of physical health issues going on, I dont need to explain to nobody why I dont want the thing or why I cant take the thing. Thats just my situation plain and simple, has nothing to do with political views.
So I guess that brings us to now. The void. Idk what happened. I was working real hard at bars and restaurants and driving for a food delivery service (still am) and shooting tons of music videos and doing collabs and what not, even some paid features. But then the health stuff happened, and then Dylan died, so the last few weeks have been something out of a nightmare, even though theres always this bittersweet beauty in death because with it comes the agony, but the preciousness, of knowing you got to experience true love in this lifetime, even if it never happens again. your whole life flashes before your eyes. People come out of the woodwork. You start questioning things you never thought you would. Everyones got something to say. Some reconnections are welcomed and cherished, others not so much, but im doing my best. Im working my recovery program harder than I have in years, im finally back at the gym, and his celebration of life is in two days.
After that, I was gonna start looking into an opportunity I may have in Nashville, and go visit out there. I have to have that procedure still next month to remove that suspect shit they saw on the CT scans/ultrasound and im just gonna go ahead with the assumption that its benign until I hear otherwise, no sense in freaking out. This shit with Dylan has had me floored on a way ive never felt, ive had so many people I love, so close to me, die from this shit, but nothing has ever felt like this. And him and I werent even together still. But some bonds dont require your permission or even awareness to exist. When you grew up with someone, when it was your first love, when you spent nearly half your life with them, when you planned on getting married and having a family with them, holy fuck. Thats not just your average relationship. And this was by far the longest lasting one ive ever had. My last memory of him now is his lifeless body during a viewing. I looked at that body, no longer him, laying down there, and I remembered the thousands of mornings and nights I laid next to him in that same position. How am I here and youre not.
This feels like a glitch in the matrix, like this wasnt supposed to happen, like somethings gone horribly off the rails. Every day its something new, every fuckin day. But tonight, when I came home from my meeting, I just got hit with this insane wave of sadness. I wonder if its more than just sad. I dont know. Its nice to be able to be sad or cry, because when I was on all those drugs I couldnt. Thats why last winter I decided to taper off all of them, and surprise surprise, my health improved. My mental health is better than its been in a long time, no panic attacks, not even really much anxiety, my thyroid was all fucked up and I knew it had to do with the meds and guess what when I got off the one I thought was causing the issue, thyroid levels returned to normal almost immediately. Out of the three drugs I was on, im only on one now, and am in the tapering process. Its a heavy one though, not one you can just come off quickly without severe withdrawals and seizures and shit, so im doing it very, very slowly.
I think at one point in my life I likely needed them, but intuitively I can just feel that they are/were making me worse, not better, and as ive come off them, things have gotten better. Yet still, the fact does remain. I do not feel like me, I feel like I have been a shell of a human being since 2014-2015. Im gonna keep moving forward and all that shit, but at night, in the shadows, in the tears, whatever hit me tonight, I knew I had to write, because I felt completely hopeless. I felt like a complete failure in life. How many years of life had I lost to bad decisions, or health crises, and what the fuck happened to me. I’m still searching.
I saw a comment on a lofi mixtape on YouTube the other night. This is exactly how I feel so im just gonna write it verbatim, and I’ll close with it.
“Being depressed is more than just being sad. It’s missing when you were happy. Your friends, your hobbies, activities, etc. You miss the warmth you once felt in your heart. The satisfied feeling when your head hits the pillow every night. You miss the days that felt like the golden glow of the sun was upon you, no matter the actual weather. You miss feeling invincible. You miss the relationships, friends, romantic interests, the people you filled your life with who are now gone, for whatever reason. In summary the person you miss most, is who YOU used to be.”
I dont know what happened to that person. The invincible one. The powerhouse. I feel like I’ve been living off of a dead battery for years. That person, that powerhouse of a girl/woman, I was never on ANY medication when I was that person. I want that fucking person back. And I dont want to feel like I live in a fucking graveyard anymore, so getting out of hometown, once again, is necessary. One more med to get off of, about 25lbs to gain back, and a whole lotta music to make, and finding a new place to live that isnt just a place I call home, but a place that FEELS like home. I havent had that in years either. Ive got my work cut out for me. I will either achieve my goals, or the mercy of death will hit the reset button. So as fucked as it feels now, I guess it’ll end up fine in the end. But who the hell lives for the end anyway. I just want this journey to feel like im alive again.
-Tess, aka Tesstamona, aka The Great Silencing, a 12th house moon trying to sing in the shadows.