amaalrashad22-blog

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Antidepressing

The Xanax makes me sleep But not write well enough For anyone to read my work

I used to share my bed with my grief Calliope her self The muse of poetry and bared teeth

She shook me awake With terrors of genius So I silenced her With a plush pillow of pills

Now I am a heretic who preaches Her blasphemy to the faithless No one even looks up

For the godless have no fear of the God fearing The echo doesn’t speak to the silent When the dog catches his own tail He still goes hungry

I catch myself smiling for no reason And I think that’s the point But it feels like a robbery

So I make the bed for Calliope Set her a plate of dinner I miss her like a hateful lover

Like chewing the novocaine-filled cheek The wound is painless But I still want to taste the blood

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لا يمت للحزن بصلة

فى بعض اللحظات تنظر حولك و تقوم بطرح السؤال الوحيد الذى لم يخطر ببالك من قبل، منذ متى أصبحت حزين ؟ من هنا تبدأ رحلة البحث عن المفقود غير المرئ القابع بداخلك … صندوقك الأسود الممثل فى ندوبك النفسية، فعلى عكس ندوبك الجسدية التى تكون اول ما يراها الناس فيك و يمكن معالجتها بالخيوط و الضمادات، تكون التشوهات النفسية اخر ما تُلاحظ بك و لا يُعلم لها علاج فأنت لا تراها و لا تشعر سوى بنتائجها المفجعة، فتغرق فى ظلمات تفكيرك و جهنم عقلك التى للأسف أصبحت خارجة عن السيطرة كالوحش الهائج الصعب ترويضه و فى رحله التفتيش تلك تكتشف ما لم تلاحظه فى خواطرك البائسة من قبل محاولا إحصاء ندوبك و حلها ،و لكن دون جدوى تكون قد أدركت ان بعضها صعب تطبيبه و اغلبها يستحيل إخفاءه او علاجه فقد تشكل منه جزء ليس بالهين من شخصيتك و افعالك. هنا تصل لذروة ما يسمى باليأس فإما الخلاص من الحياة او التشبث بها بكل ما أُتيت من قوة منقبا عن البهجة، السلعة الغير قابلة للشراء او المقايدة. لكن لا يزال هناك امل دائما. من المتوقع ان يكافح المرء ساعيا للنفوذ، السلطة، الثروة، او الرفقة و الحب و لا يجد ما تمناه من سعادة… و يصعق بظهور ما يلون حياته و يبهجه على هيئة أشجار الكرز (Sakura) فى فصل الربيع و هى تُسقط ما بها من زهور وردية ليس لمنظرها نظير فتبعث بداخله الحياة من جديد و يبتسم تلقائيا، هنا تظهر بساطة الروح البشرية رغم تعقيدها و هدوءها المعاكس لشراستها. قد لا تجد علاج لما بداخلك و لا تعود لسابق عهدك، لكن يمكن الوصول للتصالح مع الذات و السلام النفسى الذى قد يجعل من مأساتك قوة و من ندوبك رسمة تُشكل شخصية ناضجة متماسكة.

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Portrait of Pauline Hübner, née Bendemann, 1829, by Julius Hübner (1806-1882)

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For the last few months, I decided not to end my life ANYWAY, I'm just allowed to feel the end. I always can touch the end moment, without reaching the final tip. I can touch the knife, close my eyes imagining the sound of cutting my skin, feel the coldness of the steel, but never cut.

Since the last time I actually committed suicide, I knew the next time will be the last of all times. It's been a year, and the idea of "the last time" was the one who is killing me. I make the "not to the very end" commitment just to save the situation, to feed my mind with all the darkness.

In the last few days, I fall apart. The commitment turned against me. I decided THIS should be the end. I feel like I'm spreading over my darkness everywhere, affecting everyone, specially the closed ones who I used to care about.

I feel guilty, I don't know what for, but maybe for losing myself after years of surviving depression. I used to be the image of the ideal fighter of all times! I was telling my story for a year, and it was an inspiration for some people to fight too!

I've tried again to commit suicide. During the moment I thought it would be the last time, my skin was hard to cut, it was resisting the knife. I kept thrusting my left arm hard, looking to the old scars and wish I made it one time. My skin was stronger than me to fight the madness.

In that exact time of being broke, I saw a woman, one of my old hallucinating characters, staring at me from the mirror. She only said two words: "Remember?" And "Loser".

She kept repeating them, till I lost my patience, and broke the mirror down with my fist.

I always lived in the terror of the last minute, but I always come bake with a miracle. I used to think that's a sign from god telling me that there's someone still needs me, or there's something waiting for me to do before I go.

I'm fallen, I can pretend that I'm better than ever, but I'm dying inside. I can't tell anyone what I truly feel, they have their own problems to care about. Everybody thinks I'm a superhero to survive depression and heal this way, even my therapist. She used to till me "Nobody can, but you're the fighter who come all that long way, so you CAN." I can't tell her or anybody; that I'm done being a fighter, I want a normal life!

It's madness, I can't tell, is everything around is falling or am I the one who falls?

I only know one thing and only, I DON'T WANT THIS LIFE.

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Day 4 is celestial!! I really wanted to bring back my fav from last year’s mermay for this one!!

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The full moon rises behind the columns of the ancient marble Temple of Poseidon at Cape Sounion, southeast of Athens, on the eve of the summer solstice on June 20, 2016. The temple located on a promontory at Cape Sounion, about 70km (45 miles) south-southeast of Athens, built 444 BC, and dedicated to Poseidon, god of the sea. (AP Photo/Petros Giannakouris).

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How would you feel if I told you I'm going to steel your control over your mind? It's a hard question to think of a feeling that suit. That's the straggle I fall into starting by Ramadan 2018. That day when I saw my father holding a gun, during Tom Cruies on the TV is carrying an orange juice cup to fight with. That's where I know I'm not over control of what I see, what I hear, or even what I do.

My childhood wasn't ordinary; I didn't play with other kids, never sing a song, and didn't even rais my voice in front of anyone. I was quite, spend my whole time reading a book or drawing some shapes. My family thought that was good, I'm a "genius" kid. Actually, all of that was supposed to be a sign that I'm upnormal. I used to till some horror stories that was inspired by my hallucination.That didn't change anything if the fact that I'm not a normal kid, but my family thought it was a good sign.

After 12 years old, I started reading about some psychological cases, I found my self in that stories, I understand that I have one of those stories to tell. Otherwise, I didn't till anyone about my hallucination, my suicidal thoughts, and even my normal depressed dark thoughts. I feel ashamed of who am I, I wanted to be normal, I wanted my life to be normal, but it was impossible to be. I get used to be able to figure out what is real and what is a hallucination, to fight my thoughts, and to suffer in silence. I'm over control of my brain, I can till the difference between what is real and what is not, I'm fine.

Year by year, life become harder and tougher, and my world become more complicated. My hallucinations become everywhere around me, my thoughts become more louder and dark, and my effort to live normal become more impossible than ever.

"You're losing everything by what you're doing to yourself." My friends said to me when I didn't want to leave my bed. I was lossing, I started to loos control over my brain, I lost the ability to till thae different between reality and hallucinations. I became lonly and depressed. Starting from Ramadan 2018 everything changed, my life become a dark cave with no bright sunshine at the end.

"You're losing control" my imaginary friend said after I told him what's happening, that was also the first thing my therapist said too. I started my meditation, after along ling time of suffering. "It's a lifetime to heal from, we need time." My therapist said. Over a year of meditation, I lost alot in my academic study in engineering school, I lost friends, and I lost even the old fighter I used to be.

Overall, the memories of all that thing from being a psychotic and schizophrenic to being unable to control my mind; I learned how to fight alone, and how to fight blind. I'm a new born child in this life, I may have memories from the other life I have lived, but at least, I have my own story to tell.