I am not always self-destructive, you know.
I have learned how to embrace darkness instead of keeping it at bay. It's not a peaceful coexistence, but sometimes you need to get your hands dirty before you can put it to real use
I am where I am not because I care too little. I actually do. Too much. I seldom love, and have very little people that I choose to love. But when I do, I love like a madwoman.
Which is why I ended up here
I am working on healing, not giving a shit about placating anyone, and more on self-care.
I can take care of myself
I always have
love and light
f.
Tuesday, 28 January 2014
2013 - belated recap
year kicked off with the death someone i love(d) [still uncomfortable using the past tense]
jan
fuck classes
mid-feb
pitch-black mode, retreated into cave, social isolation. first diagnosis on V-day
april
heightened social isolation
emergency room drama. four hours alone questioning my sanity. met face-to-face with death. survived, but scathed.
also failed two courses
mid-april
therapy commenced
found a best friend for life
may
summer sunshine. more rejection
june
few weeks of stability. until mom's phone call on her birthday.
mental breakdown resumed.
july
i honestly can't remember anything
....
switched therapist - clinical therapy
confrontation with previously undiscovered emotional abuse in childhood
august
gave a middle finger to Toronto
West-coast bound to meet with my soulsistabrownradicalwarrior
Whale-watching. Cried for something majestic for the first time in a very, very long time.
7 hours and sleepless in Seattle
Conversation at the beach before I left with the sister of my heart. Unpacking post-colonial historical amnesia and trauma. Confessions on brown girl bodies and sexuality. We got closer than ever.
Morning before returning to T-dot: basking in the sunlight, lying down at the park with my soulsista, embracing being brown. loving being brown. loving being radically brown. racialized passionistas. also surrounded by four weddings happening at the same time.
Officially started referring to myself as mixed-race and Brown, politically and ethnically. No more running away from the shame of generational forced assimilation. No more denying my identity that I was made to be ashamed of my whole life.
september
came back confused, unprepared for what i discovered about myself
mental breakdown 2.0
...............................
medications and meditations
and thus The Prozac Diaries began
october
found a healing space. found a mentor.
started writing vigorously again. with other brown women survivor-warriors.
perhaps found a glimpse of 'home'
november
still didn't give a shit about school
humbled by survivors of sexual violence
................
and then the phone call that changed everything
december
a 'perfect' full circle to top off the year - nearly lost my mom
fucked life and everything else - went back home asap
swallowed more anti-d pills at home more than i ever had here
suicidal tendencies came back
still haven't made peace with 'home'
failed two more courses
............................
i am really an adult now, and barely functioning
here's to 2014
inshaallah.
until i see that silver lining.
jan
fuck classes
mid-feb
pitch-black mode, retreated into cave, social isolation. first diagnosis on V-day
april
heightened social isolation
emergency room drama. four hours alone questioning my sanity. met face-to-face with death. survived, but scathed.
also failed two courses
mid-april
therapy commenced
found a best friend for life
may
summer sunshine. more rejection
june
few weeks of stability. until mom's phone call on her birthday.
mental breakdown resumed.
july
i honestly can't remember anything
....
switched therapist - clinical therapy
confrontation with previously undiscovered emotional abuse in childhood
august
gave a middle finger to Toronto
West-coast bound to meet with my soulsistabrownradicalwarrior
Whale-watching. Cried for something majestic for the first time in a very, very long time.
7 hours and sleepless in Seattle
Conversation at the beach before I left with the sister of my heart. Unpacking post-colonial historical amnesia and trauma. Confessions on brown girl bodies and sexuality. We got closer than ever.
Morning before returning to T-dot: basking in the sunlight, lying down at the park with my soulsista, embracing being brown. loving being brown. loving being radically brown. racialized passionistas. also surrounded by four weddings happening at the same time.
Officially started referring to myself as mixed-race and Brown, politically and ethnically. No more running away from the shame of generational forced assimilation. No more denying my identity that I was made to be ashamed of my whole life.
september
came back confused, unprepared for what i discovered about myself
mental breakdown 2.0
...............................
medications and meditations
and thus The Prozac Diaries began
october
found a healing space. found a mentor.
started writing vigorously again. with other brown women survivor-warriors.
perhaps found a glimpse of 'home'
november
still didn't give a shit about school
humbled by survivors of sexual violence
................
and then the phone call that changed everything
december
a 'perfect' full circle to top off the year - nearly lost my mom
fucked life and everything else - went back home asap
swallowed more anti-d pills at home more than i ever had here
suicidal tendencies came back
still haven't made peace with 'home'
failed two more courses
............................
i am really an adult now, and barely functioning
here's to 2014
inshaallah.
until i see that silver lining.
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