Today is a new consumers holiday, 11th of November is the singles day. If you are one of the "lucky" people who have seen the 11:11 pattern you'll understand why I am in a hurry to make this post today. I might, and will regret posting, sharing but maybe it is worth it.
P.S. I won't be posting to both Greek and English from now on, it takes so much time.
"My face of depression. Struggling with it since last summer. I am the black blooded troll. Who just emerged from the depths of a cave. And has never learned to communicate with others. Everyone has a need to speak and be heard. Inadequacy kept me silent. And the same feeling is what I will impose. Admitting our weaknesses will set us free. And when our each individual paths meet, a complete and unique story will unfold. Not perfect, not desirable, just like life itself. My struggle right now is to how to show my true colors. My painting is a dark story. Because all in all darkness is something I lived with for so long. My everlasting companion"
Hey! A new post no one will read. And guess what? It is about me! You must be tired of reading how bad I am with this or that.
And you must be thinking, stop complaining and post something we would like to
read for a change. Like one of those supposedly interesting stories you are
working on. And guess what, I will tell you a story. A true story. So maybe you’ll
get inspired from it and create something, rather than wait for my useless
ass to stop being lazy and pitiful and work.
I’m looking at my picture, while writing this and think of the day I took it. I was sad, of course, and on a period of me playing with my camera, taking selfies and not completely hating how I look. I was keeping myself busy this way and my mind away from my sorrows. I’m having that smile, not the happy smile. The one that masks the pain but not quite. I don’t really like myself in that photo but I kind of let that slip cause it works with the narrative. Later I wrote a small text about my situation. I was really happy with the combination of these two. I thought, yeah, that will make a nice post. But I was postponing it for some reason, for later. How later? Almost a month, after the day I saved the txt file on my computer.
Those days in between I was working on the “get a fix on” story and I can tell you how the inadequacy issue (Inadequacy kept me silent) hit red critical levels. (You don’t know spelling!, You don’t know grammar! )The last part of my text kept me going (And the same feeling is what I will impose) I have the basic education, can I be a writer? Can you read a story with all these errors? I did write one, "Get a fix on". And I have share it. Was it THAT bad?
So when I was confident, that yeah, this is it, this is my story. And my blog was ready and the translation of my story was ready. Goddammit all the things you need to learn to publish one short story! Huh! Anywayz, then, before my big exposure as a writer, I decided also to post that photo on instagram. I guess it was my way to say, you're about to read a story from me. I don't have the proper skills required to that. I'm also bad at communication because I am really a troll. And I also have depression because no one understands me. But I will make you read my story anyway.
And now to the point. The true story, which I’m
afraid you won’t believe. As I opened the Instagram
app to make my post, my photo with the lovely text to go with, I saw a
story from another user about a photo shoot(*). And in the picture he was at
gunpoint. And I thought to myself wtf? Why I was surprised? Because at a past
time this was how I had describe to a friend of how I was feeling. I said I’m
feeling that someone has a gun to my head. And if I don’t follow the orders I
will be shot. I was under heavy pressure to do things, to have a some kind of
progress in my life. But none of them was fulfilling, for it was happening
under extreme stress. And furthermore, that gunman of mine is screaming. “Who
the hell cares!” “No one will believe you!” and I was faking my fears. Pretending
that there is no gun to my head. And there still is, that is what keeps me
silent, that taunting voice. But at the same time, this is what keeps me going. Why am I writing this bloody text no one will read
(I also have the videos no one will see) Well for the same reason I post the
bloody photo I don’t like. Cause I wished, more that everything, that someone
would have told me certain things, that came as hard lessons later.
The months that followed I had to deal with a
new issue. The aftermath of me sharing my story “get a fix on”. The hard
lesson. When you have a weakness, then someone will point at it. And this hurts
like a bitch. I got so scarred that I could write anymore like I used to. (My
other story “shelter”) I wasn’t ok about the inadequacies. I thought I was
ready to be reviewed. I knew I was depressed and that step I made didn’t make
my insecurities disappear. On the contrary it brought them right into my face. “You
are not good enough” “You are lazy” “You think you have something interesting
to say” the screams from my gunman brought me to my knees. And it was even harder
to decide to ask for help, mainly for financial reasons, but deep down because
I was believing that I didn’t need any help. I thought, there are real issues
in the world that comes first, “you can deal this situation by yourself”. And
that stubbornness caused a downfall, I grew self-hatred. One part of me was
pleading for help while the other was screaming “shut up and die already”. I
realized that I was, at the same time, the victim and the gunman( gunwoman?)
And how can you fight this? Kill yourself? Literally? Metaphorically? The gun,
the hostage situation will not just end. I can’t go back being lighthearted.
What made me actually seek for help? I realized
that in the process I was not just a danger to myself but to others. I was
really reckless, I grew anger issues, and I had even attack people. So I was
lucky to find the best possible help and guess what? For free. I’m getting
treatment to a public hospital in a wing supervised by one of the best universities
in the country. I am a lab rat. Cause yes, my low self-esteem won’t allow me to
see my treatment otherwise. I don’t deserve help! remember? And my “depression”
is not a “depression” is an “anxiety disorder”. And even this made me feel bad,
I’m not even sick enough. And I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. I
know there are plenty of souls out there who will not seek for help either
because they feel like there is no help or because they can selfheal their
illness, or because they believe, like me, that they don’t worth it. Be lab
rats people, do it for the others, for the doctors. For giving that opportunity
to someone young and ambitious. Even my treatment fails(hard lesson number two,
not every effort is successful) I know that my therapist, who is much younger
than me, is doing her practice to someone really fucked up. And I’m a proud lab
rat for seeing a new and promising scientist, someone useful who will help
people, “grow”. Nah, really, who am I? I’m the one who need help, the sicko,
how can I help anyone else? Strangely I am. And there is no other way to make
you see that unless you try it. Have someone learn from your shitty self. And
for me, these sessions have been my negotiations with my gunman. This issue
will not magically will go away but maybe, perhaps, we will find a way to
coexist. No, not really.
“Just
shoot me”
(*) This photo is no longer online and it's too bad. It was like a screenshot of a twist plot in an action movie, with very interesting characters. I have also delete this photo and many other photos from my instagram account for a "who the hell cares" reason.
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