Category: Mental Health & Whatnot

I’m doing it again. I’m working for 15 hours a day with merely any exhaustion.

It’s just; I seriously get high on work. I can procrastinate for so long, lay lazily in one posture for hours, feel bothered if anyone asked me to move from my place. Yet, at the same time, I can work nonstop for days without sleep if my body lets me.

Society often romanticizes overworking yourself, working beyond hours, overnights, and it’s so, so, wrong. Overworking yourself might achieve prosperity earlier than expected but at your own expense. Trust me; I learned this the hard way.

I know it can be almost impossible not to overwork ourselves given the work we have; a lot of times, there is just so much to do and so little time. I think what I am trying to say here is that it is okay to slack on some duties and studies if it means you’ll protect yourself from a potential collapse.

We need to fight the urge to work past our own ability; we need to urge more healthy sleeping and fewer overnights, more healthy eating, less caffeine consumption, more structured schedules, and fewer tasks. It’s vital to prioritize your mental health over your work or education; you wouldn’t want to burnout, because that mess is pretty frightening.

I’m writing this, and I know I’m a hypocrite; I would do all that, even during weekends. I would only drink caffeine drinks without eating all day, work for hours without any break, welcome new tasks over my jammed schedule with open arms, eliminate any chance of social or romantic life, and only log off when I finish everything on my to-do list, even if it’s 2 am and the first time I logged in was 8 am the day before.

I don’t do that anymore, or at least, I am trying to improve. In 2020, I burned myself out, and that is when major depression, anxiety, and panic attacks took over my life, blazing all my attempts of ever becoming a decent person. I literally had to rebuild my life, personality, identity, mental health, and points of view from the very start. It felt as if I am a newborn child with a 22 years old body, exploring everything in a world everybody knows what they’re doing, except me.

It wasn’t pretty; it really wasn’t. I’m still trying to fix what was destroyed, and all of that is because I chose to overwork myself. It’s not that we can work for days nonstop; we literally, physically, and mentally cannot. Our brain shuts down at one point, leaving us to deal with consequences.

I could go into the simple scientific reasons behind burnout, in my own basic words. Still, I think it’s better to read about it from professionals (do add to the signs and symptoms: MAJOR fear, anxiety, and panic). Also, here they explain the 5 stages of burnout, which I think is very useful to know.

This week has been an exception in my road to recovery, and today specifically has been brutal. I started working at 9 am, and here I am, at 12:38 am, just finished everything I had to do, and I have the urge to start with tomorrow’s tasks. It’s addictive, for all the wrong reasons, but workaholism is a thing.

I think one of the things I like about my current job is that it is comfortable. I am normally not one to choose jobs according to comfort, I would welcome jobs with 10+ hours a day if they make me happy- and dear God, I did. Even though a 10+ hours job gives so much satisfaction (before the burnout), it dismisses all other enjoyments and necessities in life, like weekends, family time, or friends.

Ever since I started this job, I am taking care of myself. I have more time for myself and the people I love, and I am going to therapy, and I am spending more time with my family, and I even created a blog!

I even have time to read and watch old movies on my movie list. I sleep early and wake up early. I have more time to listen to my friends’ problems and be there for them. I have time to do extracurricular activities for FoodBlessed, voluntarily, and I actually have time to reply to people’s texts.

I think all this is great; being happy is to be healthy and lead a content life. I still overwork myself now and then, but not as critical as before. Say I have FoodBlessed meetings, I would compile them all in one or two days, which are the days I go to the office, so I would have everything to do in one day and then have the rest of the days working from the comfort of my bed. On the extra hours day, I would make sure to walk and drink coffee from a cafe I like, which may not be the healthiest thing to do, but I do that out of self-care, which I guess counts as half a bonus point.

Let us fight the trend of going on days without rest. There is nothing glamorous about bad mental health behaviors, it will kill you alive, and I would hate to see you die.

I really didn’t want to publish this, as I think I’ve been too negative here, and it has become a place for me to be a baby. But I don’t want to encourage deleting unpublished posts and hide behind a fake façade, so here is some more whining ( 🙂 )

They all talk about the 14 days of COVID-19, but nobody talks about the aftermath of the 14 days. Nobody talks about the long-term symptoms and the long-term destruction that it causes on our bodies. Nobody tells us that infection can occur literally after we’re tested negative.

I’m in my 9th day of symptoms today and my 6th day without my sense of smell and taste. I’ve been reading a lot about people who’ve lost these senses for weeks, even months, post-COVID-19. Some people lost it for good. It’s terrifying me.

I’ve been asking all my friends and relatives who caught it before about this; the relatives who took the same vitamins and meds-but, of course, less-have all gotten back a day or two after losing them. A friend of a friend lost it for over a month, and a friend regained 80% of her sense of taste gradually and only 20% of her smell (she’s been negative since November).

Imagine not being able to enjoy the taste of your coffee or the smell of your loved ones; it’s like going around the world with no colors. I know some people have it harder, but I’m finding this so hard to swallow.

I’m trying almost everything. I even tried the “Jamaica recipe,” which consists of burning clementine and orange and eat/drink them puree. Nothing.

I still have 5 more days of this, and it’s over. I even planned my next week, and I am hoping it is the great breather I need after the 14 days of aloofness. I really really really want my smell and taste senses back by next week.

For those of you who know, know, and for those who don’t, well, you know now. I’m still in my fourth day of symptoms, but my anxiety is slowly easing up, and I’m more relieved that tomorrow is the fifth day and tomorrow we’ll know the result of my family (hoping for the best, please God.)

Aside from my physical symptoms, the psychological ones almost killed me; I couldn’t stop crying for three days straight; I even woke up at night to continue crying and then go back to sleep. My anxiety mainly went into three phases;

Phase 1 was when I first knew the panic of having infected anyone at all, and especially my friends who have high-risk family members; it suffocated me. I couldn’t not think that I will be the reason behind their pain, any pain, and that I might kill them and go through so much all because of me.

Phase 2 was the shame, the shame of carrying something that isn’t really my fault, yet it felt like it is. The shame of contracting a virus in the middle of a pandemic. It made me feel like I started COVID-19; it was born and bred in me as if I created this virus, and I killed people with it knowingly and not knowingly.

Phase 3 was the extreme guilt that I might be the reason behind my family getting the virus. This is the worst part, and I’m still very stressed about it, but less stressed as tomorrow we can know. They don’t have any symptoms, and we’re all being extremely careful, and I’m taking all precautions, so I do hope from the bottom of my heart that they remain safe and healthy.

But the anxiety is a beating, more than anything. I’m scared for my family more than anything, but I guess I’m trying to think that if it happens, it happens. I didn’t choose to get sick, and I definitely didn’t choose to infect my family if I did. It’s a pandemic, and I fought it for almost 8 months, and with my weak immunity, that is something.

Yesterday was exceptionally scary for me, as I spent my new years eve alone in a room, it’s something I was always afraid of. I had my dinner, ate cake, wrote here a little, watched some Friends, and slept at 11pm because I was sleep and because what even is the point?

Today I lost my sense of smell and taste, adding to my fatigue and back pain symptoms. I’m also sneezing today, which makes me panic more. John Mayer has been helping me a lot these few days, so I’m grateful for him.

It’ll pass, I hope it does.

I think it’s about time we talk about 2020. Generally, I’ve been avoiding writing these two days as I’ll sound depressing-more depressing than my previous post, but I need to talk about 2020.

2020, what have you done? How can so many pain be fit in 12 months of nonsense? How can I lose my people, my city, my sanity, my health, in one year?

2020 you have aged me like no other. You gave me a good few months only to take it all away in your days; you took away the anxiety only to throw it back at my face on Tuesday, as the last laugh, claiming your win, claiming the last bits of shards that were left from my life.

2020, you win. I no longer will fight you. In the first 6 months, you taught me severe loss and unbearable feeling of staying silent while my loved ones are tortured in front of my eyes. You taught me to work 16 hours a day without a meaning, working only to reach a dead end. You taught me to stay quiet on justice and reminisce on memories I never lived. You taught me great nostalgia that ached me for so long.

And then you taught me the real meaning of anxiety. Of days of pure blackouts and unbearable anguish. You taught me how to see life as a dark, hopeless abyss and go on days terrified, to my bones, to wake up in the morning.

And then it got better. For around four months, you taught me love and grace and peace. You taught me to see the beauty in everything and notice the pretty little things in people. I was able to find my happiness again; you taught me how to smile without trying.

And then you took it away from me, now, as you are about to end and as I thought the hard phase is now behind me. You forced me to carry all the weight that took me too long to leave behind; you forced me to carry it again.

And you showed me hell, for three days you threw the worst scenarios that could’ve happened in my face, and it’s still the beginning of the road; I’m still in the first days, and it physically still isn’t as hard on me.

2020? You destroyed me. I thought you didn’t, I thought the first few months were just that, and it’ll get better, but now as I celebrate new years eve alone in a dark room without anyone by my side, I can tell you that you put me in a place I always dreaded.

I might not even stay awake till 12am, because, what’s the point? That’ll only depress me even more.

I’ll just sleep you away, I won’t even stay up to say my goodbyes. I’ll just sleep you away.

I don’t feel like writing, but i know crying alone in a dark room won’t do me good, and if I let myself sink as low as I am sinking right now, it’s going to take me months to stand back up.

My aunt told me it’s not okay to be weak, but it’s okay to cry if that what makes me feel better, and i can’t stop crying.

Why do I feel like this is my fault? Why do I feel this overburdened responsibility that I’m the cause of eternal misery, and that I won’t, nor anyone around me, find happiness anymore?

I’m thinking of what would’ve been my upcoming weeks; we had so many things planned and set out. We were going to have two gorgeous getaways, and new years eve is in three days, and I’m going to spend it alone in a dark empty room.

Well this sums up 2020, I guess. Saying goodbye to 2020 alone in my room, and I would’ve probably be worse by then because that’s what it is I guess, that’s 2020 for you.

I think if this is true, I would probably have seen everything in this hellbent year, my mental health would’ve been tested in the most awful ways and I’m not sure how much I can polish back from it.

For tonight, I think I’ll go back to watching Friends and hoping all of this goes away in the morning. 

I’ll try to keep on writing to feel sane, or maybe finish posts I’ve already began writing, I hope I can commit to this. 

I hope my head stops hurting, and my tears dry by tomorrow. 

Leave. Don’t stay in your place and contemplate all the possible ways your bed can comfort you to death. You need to leave and be with people.

I know this is not what you want, what it’s telling you. I know it’s telling you that being with people is the worst thing you can do; it’s telling you that you are the safest if you stayed alone, in your bed, chair, in your place where no one can alleviate your fear and what it makes you feel.

This is not true.

When you’re alone, it’s where it can shine bright. Just like fungus, it needs darkness to grow and cling to your skin. It’s when you’re all alone that it’s the strongest; it can convince you that you’re the reason the world is so ugly and that it’s all your fault, everything’s all your fault. It can convince you that the minor setback you had is the biggest mistake in the world. It’ll feed on your fear, on your loneliness, on the fact that no one can help, no one is here to save you.

So leave. Get out of your bed, be with people. They can never hurt you the way it can; they can never do to you what it’s doing to you when you’re all alone drowning in your thoughts.

Be with people. Drink coffee with your mum and listen to her complain about your sister coming home late. Annoy your sister while she studies and talks to her about nonsense and listen to her complain about your mother complaining about her coming home late.

Or talk to her, if she understands, tell her how you’re feeling and what’s troubling you; it’s always best to let someone walk you through the problem, tell you that it’s not as big as you think it is. Let her tell you that it’ll be alright; let her give you solutions and reasons why you shouldn’t worry. Talk, acknowledge, feel the safety of the people around you.

Whatever you do, don’t stay in your place, don’t stay alone. Be with people, whoever they are. It can be the friends you love but didn’t have the energy to see, or the family gathering you were trying to avoid. Anything that makes you leave your bed. Anything but staying alone.

I don’t have great advice on anxiety, as I still can’t find my way out myself, but one thing I am more than sure of is that it is much more vicious when I’m alone. It feeds on my insecurities, and convinces me of the worst, and makes me believe that I should not leave my bed because leaving is unsafe, and that leaving would only make me feel weak and exposed. But it never is; being with people is always the better option, always better than staying alone. I promise.