Normalize the sadness of others

Normalize the sadness of others – People are often too scared to acknowledge their sadness in public or express it in any way, in fear of what others may say/think/feel. We cry silently at night, wipe our tears in the morning, put on heavy concealer and mascara, or blame the puffy eyes on sleep deprivation.

We smile and laugh the whole day long, even if all we are thinking of are ways to die. We joke about other people’s sadness, might even call them dramatic or over-sharers, because normalcy is to suppress mental health and attack the ones who show it.

It is okay to be sad in public; this should never be labeled as attention-seeking or inconsiderate. You get to feel, you literally get to feel.

It pains me to see people roll their eyes at other people’s sadness or call it “cheesy”, we are humans, and emotions are part of who we are, and everyone is entitled to feel as free as they want.

My teen years were not my brightest days, my therapist says I had major depression with suicidal ideation and PTSD, but I never really showed it outside the few steps of my room. My best friend, the family, had a little sense, but no one really knew how hard it was to wake up in the morning and survive.

All the crap about “it will get better” or “you’ll look back years later sitting next to your loving husband and child and regret…” did nothing. I did not want it to get better, and I did not a husband or a child or a future or happiness. I just want it all to end.

I had a really close friend who I really enjoyed talking to, and we grew close because it was easy to talk to him, and he made me laugh a lot. There was a time where the darkness in me and around me was just too much to handle, and I started sharing a little about what was happening, telling him that I don’t really feel like talking right now or telling him bits and pieces of my suffering. We suddenly stopped talking, and months went by, and I missed him. I texted him once and asked him what happened between us, to which he replied, “you got too depressing for me.”

Since then, I vowed that not only will I not share my sufferings, but also never show them. I felt ashamed of my sadness, something that makes me unwanted and drives people away from me, and I never wanted that. I thought that it would be easier to let it kill me in silence than let it kill me out loud.

But that was not true. I was literally dying, and I could not tell anyone. The pain was unendurable, especially for a 16 years old, there was nothing that made it go away, and all I could do was sit with no lights and cry until my throat hearts. A year before, at 15, I chose to recluse myself from everything and everyone, leaving myself with only two friends and the a growing heavy upon my shoulders.

Years later, and as I volunteered with Embrace and learned so much about mental health, I realized that the single most important thing in recovery is acknowledging feelings and sharing them. There is a whole other world in sharing, and I cannot stress enough how much this can help in recovery. Sometimes sharing fears and feelings in a safe place with incredible support is all the therapy we need to prosper and get out of the bleak abyss.

But how are we going to share if feelings are labeled and judged upon? How are we to share if feelings are considered an opposite to masculinity and femininity is equivalent to the concept of a drama queen?

We need to normalize feelings, to support those who want to share yet feel obliged to crack a joke after being too emotional or talk about personal mental health issues with a smirk, laughing nervously, and looking all around in fear that someone might be laughing.

Please encourage people when they try to tell you about a certain bad mood or a mental disorder, do not shrug them or call them any shameful name, whether it’s a guy or a gal, they deserve a safe environment where they are comfortable enough to vent and put aside a little of the heavyweight they are probably carrying.

When you dismiss people’s troubles and undermine what they are feeling, you contribute to feeding the monster within them, which will reflect on their personalities and behaviors and contribute to their bad life decisions and the already tolling society.

Let us normalize sadness in public; if anyone approached us saying that they are sad, let us make sure they are heard, and they are loved, and that even though we may not help in any way, we acknowledge their feelings and are there for them. A healthy society starts with mental health, and if therapy is too stigmatized or overprized, we need to start to create internal safety and cheaper places for recovery.

No one deserves to suffer in silence; no one deserves to be lonely while the millions of conflicting shards of pain stab his or her heart at night.

If you’re not comfortable talking to a close person, talk to a stranger. Embrace’s helpline is 1564, and I promise you, they will help. Please don’t give up on yourself, not yet, at least. I love you, and even though you may think no one loves you, I promise you somebody does, and somebody will, because you are beautiful and because you deserve to be loved.

Thinking out loud

Thinking out loud and I’m not sure I’m okay.

And I’m not saying this from a dark perspective, or out of suicidal thoughts or anything; I’m just saying out of observation. My attitude, my acts, and my behavior, it doesn’t seem right.

I have ten unfinished posts in my draft box, which obviously stresses me the hell out, which leads to me not writing. I haven’t been writing. I even have great new songs that have been on repeat, which usually is my major motivator for writing, as I love writing while listening to good songs. But even that did not encourage me to write.

Except for last week’s rage post, I didn’t write for a month, and I’m disappointed in myself for that. The reason why I focus so much on writing is that writing is my absolute favorite thing in the world; it is my major source of happiness, and when I stop writing, it means I am depriving myself of happiness, which is why I know there is something not okay.

I’ve been writing since before I know how to write. I was five, and I would draw on paper a story and then give it to my mum, and I would tell her what to write as a story for each drawing. I’ve written so many short stories, poems, one long finished story, and long unfinished stories, and there is nothing that I love more than seeing how a word I am typing is appearing on screen or paper.

I know I am not the very best writer of all (I am not reading enough to strengthen myself 🙁 ) or have the best grammar, but I know I am good. I’ve had teachers who told me I made them cry, and others who say that they save my writing assignments because they are too good not to be saved. I had friends and even online people tell me I am more than good, so I kind of have an ego for writing.

For so long, writing was the only thing I was good at. I am science illiterate, and I cannot for the life of me study or focus on anything academic. I absolutely had no idea what to do in university because of that, so I grew up thinking that I am a complete failure, but I at least knew I can write well.

I dream of dedicating all my time to learning how to write professionally. Like an actual 5 years of university learning creative writing, reading literature and poems, and just living my life in Europe writing as I watch gondolas sailing in the Grand Canal and as I endeavor in my sweet coffee and healthy breakfast. I lust for this.

And when I don’t write, I hate it. And the more I don’t read, the more I feel like I can’t write because reading is the fuel of anyone who writes, and when I don’t read, it means I am stuck with my inane words and weak structure.

But it’s not just writing; it’s everything, really. I don’t read anymore, and I am binge-watching series (have you watched New Girl? It’s nice). I prefer staying home to going out (I haven’t felt this way in a year), and I’m not playing chess with dad anymore or reading with my family. I’m procrastinating more than usual, and I’m slowly distancing myself from my surroundings, and I’m having increased anger tantrums, and I skipped therapy for more than two months.

I went back to therapy last week, but I requested my sessions to be bi-weekly rather than every Monday night. I don’t know why; it just felt right.

It’s raining, and it’s dark and cold and beautiful, but I know I’m not okay. I don’t really like this path because I feel like I know how it will end, and it is not going to be pretty. I’ll work on myself, I promise, I always do. I’m just writing this as a self-observation from me to me so I know it’s out there and so I pressure myself into not falling into an abyss.

On a brighter note, look at how funny banks can sometimes be:

“Please destroy this slip after you have memorized this code” Jokes on you, bank, I sometimes forget my name.

Hope you’re doing well.

There is nothing wrong with you

Nothing wrong – As if dismissing the wrong things in me will make it go away. As if when we don’t acknowledge the wrong things in me, it will make it all better and make me think to myself: “you’re right! I am perfect, and I feel nothing.”

I’m so fed up with people dismissing my feelings, refusing to see that there is something wrong with me. I know there are wrong things in me, I know that, I acknowledge that, acknowledging it helps me cope, and you undermining it certainly does not.

When I tell you about a personal insecurity or a psychological instability of mine and tell you that I am going to therapy, please, do not dismiss me. Do not say things like: “you don’t go to therapy because you are sick, it just makes you feel better,” “you’re just oversensitive,” “there’s nothing wrong with you,” “you don’t look like someone with anything [mentally] wrong with them” please don’t say this. It does not make me feel better.

I know you say this out of pure intentions, reassuring me that I am “sane,” that I am okay. I know you do this so I don’t further indulge in the feeling of wrongness, and thereby, self-hatred; I know you only say all that because you care about me and because you want me to feel better, but saying all that only suppresses my feelings and doesn’t help with making the pain go away.

I don’t know how to not be in toxic social inquiries, whether in friendships or relationships, and I often hurt you in ways I never mean to, but you’re too polite to tell me. And I know I am oversensitive, I don’t deny that, but oversensitivity is a consequence of a psychological disorder, and acknowledging that with me helps.

I can’t have you dismiss my feelings, because it only makes me sad. Not all illnesses look the same, not all are visible. Mine is silent, it only kills me silently and it portrays itself as a dramatic oversensitive crying baby who would overthink breaking somebody’s chocolate bar by mistake, for days. It portrays itself as a drama queen who cares about the silliest and most absurd things while there are so many more important things going on in the world.

I’m a creation of residues of traumas and bad experiences, and on most days, I am too weak to face any of my troubles. I talk about my personal problems with a big crowd of friends and strangers in hopes you understand my weird behaviors and my ramblings, and in hopes you don’t judge me as much as you probably do.

I can’t be close to you, and at the same, I am people-oriented, and the only thing that would make me feel safe is people, but I cannot have you near me. I am not playing with your feelings or victimizing myself with “mood swings” or “PMSing.” I just want you close to me, but I can’t get close to you.

I am trying really hard to acknowledge everything wrong with me, every day, with every breath I take, and with every beating of my heart, I want to be better with everything, whether with you or whether with myself, and you dismissing the fact that there might be something wrong with me is not helping me.

I know I have been asking this for a year, and it’s now an overused and repeated statement, but please stay with me despite the madness. I promise it is not only melodramatic tantrums, or oversensitivity, or “she’s too depressive for me,” or pretty much a drama queen. I promise I will be better for you, and for me, but please wait on me a little longer.