We live in a time where social media determines our life.
People are constantly trying to turn themselves into something they’re not – just so that number of followers or likes will go up. We’ve lost ourselves to everyone else.
We care so much about how other’s see us that we actually change ourselves to fit the mould of what’s “cool.”
Why can’t we just be ourselves? There’s nothing more beautiful than someone who’s unique and raw.
We’re wasting our time trying to be what we’re not when we could be living our lives to the fullest.
So if you feel you’re being dictated by social media – give it up! Go for a run. Paint a picture. Go on an adventure. Write a story. Tell your loved ones how much they mean to you. Take up a hobby.
Just don’t waste your life being something you aren’t, because that’s not how we’re supposed to live our lives.
Monthly Archives: June 2014
When you’re living a life of Panic Disorder anxiety, it’s tough to be in any social situation. When you’re there and you’re anxious, you’re focused on trying not to be anxious. The last thing you need is people commenting on your obviously fragile situation.
If you see someone who is clearly anxious – do not tell them to smile. Do not tell them their “face is depressing.” Do not tell them to cheer up. Do not make them more uncomfortable than they already are.
These comments do nothing but make the person feel like a freak. Then it gets worse. The anxiety becomes stronger and they can’t deal with the social situation at all due to fear of being the weird one. Saying things like this does nothing for the person. It belittles them.
Personally, it makes me angry.
Nobody has the right to comment on my appearance because it makes them uncomfortable. Nobody.
So don’t you fucking dare tell me to smile. Not when I’m anxious, not ever.
I’ve heard a lot about people who go to prison not coming out the same, and I’ve come to wonder, is it the same with mental illness? To me, mental illness is a sort of imprisonment of the mind. You’re stuck with your own thoughts in your own world. But it’s not the world everyone else lives in. It’s darker. You’re not free. You’re a prisoner to your mind and emotions. You have to rebuild your life when you suffer from a breakdown or severe incident relating to mental illness. Can you come out as the same person, or does prison really change you?
I don’t think I could ever come out the same. I have changed so much during my rehabilitation. Not only how I act, but how I think. Everything is different now. But some others don’t do the same. They go back to their old ways, their old emotions, their old messy life – until they are imprisoned again.
I guess mental illness and prison have it in common that you can go in fucked up and decide your own fate and to gain freedom.
Since the intense, manic version of myself disappeared a funny thing has happened with my anger and hateful feelings. They certainly haven’t disappeared, that’s for sure. But now they get held in. There is no snapping. No unnecessary arguments. No telling people to shut up or fuck off. Instead, I bite my tongue. I hold it in. To save the drama, you know. But I’m starting to think this could just be me bottling things up.. If that’s the case, I have to rectify this immediately. A classic Zoe flip out is not pretty, to say the least. However I don’t know for sure if this is the case. Am I just avoiding drama, or am I bottling things up? When is it okay to tell someone their opinion is fucking idiotic? I’m assuming that isn’t really okay at all, but the misanthropist in me can’t help it.
Maybe if people weren’t so fucking stupid I wouldn’t have this problem to start with.
As someone with Bipolar Disorder, there’s something I’d like to address.
People using the word Bipolar where it’s not fitting – such as the weather.
Bipolar is a mood disorder – and a serious one at that. The weather cannot be bipolar as it is, well, the fucking weather. It is not a human and does not have a brain with a chemical imbalance. It has not suffered in horrible ways to cause itself to be bipolar. It’s the fucking weather.
Bipolar Disorder isn’t a joke. It isn’t a word that should be thrown around to describe things erratically changing, bad behaviour and simple hormonal mood swings. There is a stigma that surrounds the word Bipolar. One that makes it seem like it’s an illness for bad people.
Well it’s not. It’s a mental illness that affects many and can devastate lives entirely. It’s not something people want, it’s exactly what people shouldn’t want.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, it’s not an adjective, it’s a mental illness.
“You’ve gotta hit rock bottom to know which direction to go in.”
I’ve been quite bored as of late and trying to keep myself busy. I have gotten into the Netflix series Orange Is The New Black, which the above quote is from. It’s a great show, the characters are well developed and it’s pretty funny, too. I’ve also been going through some boxes unpacking my stuff. I found an insomnia diary and it had pieces of writing from my ‘rock bottom’ which was quite emotional to read. When I read them I thought, who is this person and how could they have ever been so depressed, so low? The quote got me thinking.
My rock bottom happened and there were two directions to take – treatment or carrying on with my messed up life.
So how do you choose which way to go when you hit rock bottom? You’re in a fragile frame of mind and things could get even worse if you don’t put effort into getting better. But it’s hard when you’re feeling that way because you’re just stuck in a pit of despair and darkness.
I went with the pretending my life was okay, and every day I felt less okay.
I decided to get treatment and though it has been a gruelling process, I have gotten substantially better. I may not be able to do things normal people do like catch public transport, my situation may be atypical, as my psychiatrist referred to it as. But I’m still here. The girl that wrote those letters to no one wasn’t going to be around much longer if she didn’t get treatment. But I’m still here, all thanks to the support of my close friends, family and doctors who really care about my conditions.
I’m happy I got to read those very upsetting letters, as I wouldn’t be so appreciative as I’ve been feeling since I read them.
“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”