meeramos

[meeramos]

Apenas escreva

Para variar ela está cheia.

De dúvidas, de saudade, de fome.

Cansada, com sono e doente.

Aquela doença da alma que não se cura, esconde-se.

Ela está cheia!

De medos, de erros e palavras mal ditas.

Que o ano novo renove sua coragem, sua determinação e garra.

Não desista!

Escreva.

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“I thought that I've been hurt before But no one's ever left me quite this sore Your words cut deeper than a knife”

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Um clichê GRANDÃO: Amigo é o irmão que a vida nos deixa escolher. Discorde de mim se quiser, mas se é clichê é porque funciona, ou como diria uma irmã de vida: É REAL! Uma das coisas que “aprendi” recentemente que são nas discussões que aprendi muito sobre a minha personalidade. E depois da minha família, você é a pessoa com quem mais discuti na vida. Não consigo pensar em nada que concordamos sem fazer esforços, acho que nem no sabor da pizza. Na verdade, você tem um dom incrível de me tirar de sério ao ponto de me levar as lágrimas. E o mais inacreditável é que sobrevivemos e hoje entramos em uma fase totalmente nova da nossa amizade, você vem mostrando uma maturidade e compreensão que nunca imaginei encontrar em você, e isso me deixa muito feliz. Mas, sabia que nada me conforta mais do que sentar ao seu lado em silêncio e você me abraçar. É nesse momento que eu sei todas as discussões e brigas são irrelevantes porque o carinho é muito maior. Chega de doçura? Hehe Parabéns minha mala mais pesada e mais doce de carregar! Gratidão por mais um ano da sua vida e da nossa amizade. Que Papai do céu te ilumine cada dia mais e mais, com saúde e milhares sorrisos. Amo, né. Fazer o que. rs #HBdayBestFriend #pravida #malinha

[meeramos]

❤️

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Enquanto a gente procura a alma gêmea, esquece de olhar o que importa. Quer alguém que goste de comida tailandesa, filmes iranianos e retiros espirituais. Encontra a tampa da panela. E meses depois, ou anos depois, se dá conta de que passou tempo demais tentando encaixar aquela tampa perfeita em sua panela amassada. Passou tempo demais dividindo intimidade de mentira com um estranho de verdade.

Mariliz Pereira Jorge

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Então você olha para frente pensa: é hora de mudar de novo.

Talvez no começo se questione se é por si mesmo ou pelos outros. Adianto que não importa.

Ótimo se for por você mesmo, e se achar que é pelos outros apenas aceite isso.

As pessoas que querem te mudar, não merecem a pessoa que você é, por isso, mude... Com elas!

Seja você mesmo, com as pessoas que merecem conhece-lo verdadeiramente. E não se preocupe a vida te mostra quem serão essas pessoas.

[meeramos]

Como me sinto hoje.

Nas minhas buscas pela minha "auto educação", encontrei o texto enorme e engraçado da Hyperbole and a Half no qual explica exatamente como estou me sentindo hoje, exceto que ainda não encontrei o meu milho.

"Depression Part Two

I remember being endlessly entertained by the adventures of my toys. Some days they died repeated, violent deaths, other days they traveled to space or discussed my swim lessons and how I absolutely should be allowed in the deep end of the pool, especially since I was such a talented doggy-paddler. 

I didn't understand why it was fun for me, it just was. 

But as I grew older, it became harder and harder to access that expansive imaginary space that made my toys fun. I remember looking at them and feeling sort of frustrated and confused that things weren't the same. 

I played out all the same story lines that had been fun before, but the meaning had disappeared. Horse's Big Space Adventure transformed into holding a plastic horse in the air, hoping it would somehow be enjoyable for me. Prehistoric Crazy-Bus Death Ride was just smashing a toy bus full of dinosaurs into the wall while feeling sort of bored and unfulfilled.  I could no longer connect to my toys in a way that allowed me to participate in the experience.

Depression feels almost exactly like that, except about everything.  At first, though, the invulnerability that accompanied the detachment was exhilarating. At least as exhilarating as something can be without involving real emotions. 

The beginning of my depression had been nothing but feelings, so the emotional deadening that followed was a welcome relief.  I had always wanted to not give a fuck about anything. I viewed feelings as a weakness — annoying obstacles on my quest for total power over myself. And I finally didn't have to feel them anymore. But my experiences slowly flattened and blended together until it became obvious that there's a huge difference between not giving a fuck and not being able to give a fuck. Cognitively, you might know that different things are happening to you, but they don't feel very different.

Which leads to horrible, soul-decaying boredom.

I tried to get out more, but most fun activities just left me existentially confused or frustrated with my inability to enjoy them. 

Months oozed by, and I gradually came to accept that maybe enjoyment was not a thing I got to feel anymore. I didn't want anyone to know, though. I was still sort of uncomfortable about how bored and detached I felt around other people, and I was still holding out hope that the whole thing would spontaneously work itself out. As long as I could manage to not alienate anyone, everything might be okay! However, I could no longer rely on genuine emotion to generate facial expressions, and when you have to spend every social interaction consciously manipulating your face into shapes that are only approximately the right ones, alienating people is inevitable.

Everyone noticed.

It's weird for people who still have feelings to be around depressed people. They try to help you have feelings again so things can go back to normal, and it's frustrating for them when that doesn't happen. From their perspective, it seems like there has got to be some untapped source of happiness within you that you've simply lost track of, and if you could just see how beautiful things are... 

At first, I'd try to explain that it's not really negativity or sadness anymore, it's more just this detached, meaningless fog where you can't feel anything about anything — even the things you love, even fun things — and you're horribly bored and lonely, but since you've lost your ability to connect with any of the things that would normally make you feel less bored and lonely, you're stuck in the boring, lonely, meaningless void without anything to distract you from how boring, lonely, and meaningless it is. 

But people want to help. So they try harder to make you feel hopeful and positive about the situation. You explain it again, hoping they'll try a less hope-centric approach, but re-explaining your total inability to experience joy inevitably sounds kind of negative; like maybe you WANT to be depressed. The positivity starts coming out in a spray — a giant, desperate happiness sprinkler pointed directly at your face. And it keeps going like that until you're having this weird argument where you're trying to convince the person that you are far too hopeless for hope just so they'll give up on their optimism crusade and let you go back to feeling bored and lonely by yourself. 

And that's the most frustrating thing about depression. It isn't always something you can fight back against with hope. It isn't even something — it's nothing. And you can't combat nothing. You can't fill it up. You can't cover it. It's just there, pulling the meaning out of everything. That being the case, all the hopeful, proactive solutions start to sound completely insane in contrast to the scope of the problem. It would be like having a bunch of dead fish, but no one around you will acknowledge that the fish are dead. Instead, they offer to help you look for the fish or try to help you figure out why they disappeared. 

The problem might not even have a solution. But you aren't necessarily looking for solutions. You're maybe just looking for someone to say "sorry about how dead your fish are" or "wow, those are super dead. I still like you, though." 

I started spending more time alone. 

Perhaps it was because I lacked the emotional depth necessary to panic, or maybe my predicament didn't feel dramatic enough to make me suspicious, but I somehow managed to convince myself that everything was still under my control right up until I noticed myself wishing that nothing loved me so I wouldn't feel obligated to keep existing. 

It's a strange moment when you realize that you don't want to be alive anymore. If I had feelings, I'm sure I would have felt surprised. I have spent the vast majority of my life actively attempting to survive. Ever since my most distant single-celled ancestor squiggled into existence, there has been an unbroken chain of things that wanted to stick around. 

Yet there I was, casually wishing that I could stop existing in the same way you'd want to leave an empty room or mute an unbearably repetitive noise. 

That wasn't the worst part, though. The worst part was deciding to keep going.

When I say that deciding to not kill myself was the worst part, I should clarify that I don't mean it in a retrospective sense. From where I am now, it seems like a solid enough decision. But at the time, it felt like I had been dragging myself through the most miserable, endless wasteland, and — far in the distance — I had seen the promising glimmer of a slightly less miserable wasteland. And for just a moment, I thought maybe I'd be able to stop and rest. But as soon as I arrived at the border of the less miserable wasteland, I found out that I'd have to turn around and walk back the other way. 

Soon afterward, I discovered that there's no tactful or comfortable way to inform other people that you might be suicidal. And there's definitely no way to ask for help casually.

I didn't want it to be a big deal. However, it's an alarming subject. Trying to be nonchalant about it just makes it weird for everyone. 

I was also extremely ill-prepared for the position of comforting people. The things that seemed reassuring at the time weren't necessarily comforting for others. 

I had so very few feelings, and everyone else had so many, and it felt like they were having all of them in front of me at once. I didn't really know what to do, so I agreed to see a doctor so that everyone would stop having all of their feelings at me. 

The next few weeks were a haze of talking to relentlessly hopeful people about my feelings that didn't exist so I could be prescribed medication that might help me have them again. 

And every direction was bullshit for a really long time, especially up. The absurdity of working so hard to continue doing something you don't like can be overwhelming. And the longer it takes to feel different, the more it starts to seem like everything might actually be hopeless bullshit. 

My feelings did start to return eventually. But not all of them came back, and they didn't arrive symmetrically.  I had not been able to care for a very long time, and when I finally started being able to care about things again, I HATED them. But hatred is technically a feeling, and my brain latched onto it like a child learning a new word. 

Hating everything made all the positivity and hope feel even more unpalatable. The syrupy, over-simplified optimism started to feel almost offensive.

Thankfully, I rediscovered crying just before I got sick of hating things.  I call this emotion "crying" and not "sadness" because that's all it really was. Just crying for the sake of crying. My brain had partially learned how to be sad again, but it took the feeling out for a joy ride before it had learned how to use the brakes or steer.

At some point during this phase, I was crying on the kitchen floor for no reason. As was common practice during bouts of floor-crying, I was staring straight ahead at nothing in particular and feeling sort of weird about myself. Then, through the film of tears and nothingness, I spotted a tiny, shriveled piece of corn under the refrigerator. 

I don't claim to know why this happened, but when I saw the piece of corn, something snapped. And then that thing twisted through a few permutations of logic that I don't understand, and produced the most confusing bout of uncontrollable, debilitating laughter that I have ever experienced. 

I had absolutely no idea what was going on.

My brain had apparently been storing every unfelt scrap of happiness from the last nineteen months, and it had impulsively decided to unleash all of it at once in what would appear to be an act of vengeance. 

That piece of corn is the funniest thing I have ever seen, and I cannot explain to anyone why it's funny. I don't even know why. If someone ever asks me "what was the exact moment where things started to feel slightly less shitty?" instead of telling a nice, heartwarming story about the support of the people who loved and believed in me, I'm going to have to tell them about the piece of corn. And then I'm going to have to try to explain that no, really, it was funny. Because, see, the way the corn was sitting on the floor... it was so alone... and it was just sitting there! And no matter how I explain it, I'll get the same, confused look. So maybe I'll try to show them the piece of corn - to see if they get it. They won't. Things will get even weirder. 

Anyway, I wanted to end this on a hopeful, positive note, but, seeing as how my sense of hope and positivity is still shrouded in a thick layer of feeling like hope and positivity are bullshit, I'll just say this: Nobody can guarantee that it's going to be okay, but — and I don't know if this will be comforting to anyone else — the possibility exists that there's a piece of corn on a floor somewhere that will make you just as confused about why you are laughing as you have ever been about why you are depressed. And even if everything still seems like hopeless bullshit, maybe it's just pointless bullshit or weird bullshit or possibly not even bullshit.

I don't know. 

But when you're concerned that the miserable, boring wasteland in front of you might stretch all the way into forever, not knowing feels strangely hope-like. "

Outra coisa com que me identifiquei muito foi com uma frase da Ana Maria Saad, na qual ela diz que nunca foi ouvida.

Talvez por ter me importado demais com as pessoas que amo, nunca tentei dizer o que realmente sentia e as poucas vezes que eu fiz isso sentia que incomodava profundamente as pessoas com os meus pensamentos solitários. Mas a verdade é que eu tenho essa sensação de que jamais fui ouvida.

[meeramos]

Uma breve confissão e observações de uma semelhante

Em setembro desse ano fui diagnosticada com depressão. Como quase todo mundo, aceitar que isso é uma doença foi difícil, porque é preciso vencer os seus próprios preconceitos.

Acredito que esse seja o primeiro desafio que a depressão te impõe, caso você que esteja lendo não tenha depressão, saiba que essa doença te impõe uma série de desafios que você precisa vencer.

Quando aceitei que estava doente já estava em uma depressão profunda, então precisei de ajuda além da minha médica e da minha psicóloga. Precisei da minha mãe e mais tarde, minha amiga e das pessoa que me ensinam todos os dias no estágio.

Mesmo assim, percebi que sinto falta de alguma coisa. Sinto falta de pessoas que falem disso com tanta naturalidade quanto eu vejo a minha doença. Pessoas que contem suas histórias e a superação dos seus desafios.

Não! Eu não quero abrir um grupo de apoio, nem pretendo divulgar esse post. Só quero colocar em palavras o que venho fazendo a alguns anos, os meus sentimentos. E de repente possa ajudar e ser ajudada, ou mais que isso, saber que não estou sozinha, não no sentido de estatística, mas na forma de encarar os fatos e seguir em frente.

  Pois bem, quando se tem depressão, a sensação de solidão é imensa o que na maioria das vezes gera um sentimento de tristeza profunda.

Hoje li um relato de uma menina de 12 anos, que sobre de bulimia, depressão e frequentemente se corta com tentativa de diminuir as dores que esse processo de criança/adolescência nos traz.

Queria poder escrever diretamente para ela, mas não a sei que ela é. Mas, se um dia ela entrar nesse blog por acaso, assim, como eu descobri a história dela. Gostaria que soubesse que a opinião dos outros raramente importa. Que o bullying escolar acaba quando você para de se importar com essas crianças medíocres.

Aprendi um tempo atrás que não existem EX amigos, e você é muito nova para saber distingui-los. E que as pessoas só te decepcionam quando você espera demais delas.

Sou depressiva também, entendo que por conselho das pessoas em prática é difícil. Mas, eu acredito que a nossa depressão melhora quando aceitamos quem somos, e o que considero ainda mais difícil, é saber quem você é a para aceitasse.

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“I always said that I would make mistakes I'm only human and that's my saving grace I fall as hard as I try So don't be blinded See me as I really am I have flaws And sometimes I even sin So pull me from that pedestal I don't belong there” ♫♪♫

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[meeramos]

What counts in life is not the mere fact we have lived. It is what difference we have made to the lives of others that will determine the significance of the life we lead.

Nelson Mandela

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"I won't do what you told me

I won't do what you said, no I'm not gonna stop feeling I'm not gonna forget

I don't wanna start over I don't wanna pretend You are not my lover That you're only my friend" ♫♪♫

[meeramos]

Aqui naufraga-se em qualquer poça

Nada disso é pra você - Johnny Massaro

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Reino de Copas

"O que você precisa entender é que não vale a pena. Não adianta muito tentar agradar a todos e ir cultivando os sorrisos face a face. Entender que a felicidade de cada um não pode ser tratada de forma individual e aleatória. Você precisa enxergar que de nada vale diminuir o sorriso que você carrega no rosto para tentar fazer o outro mostrar o dele. Porque o que você talvez ainda não tenha entendido é que aqueles que valem todo o sacrifício, tempo e esforço são aqueles pelos quais você na verdade não precisa fazer nada além de mostrar a sua própria felicidade, seja por que meio for. Porque nós que torcemos por você, pelo seu trabalho, pelo seu sorriso, por sua felicidade e pelo seu sucesso, não queremos de forma alguma que você diminua em nada pra isso. Ao contrário, só queremos ver você maior, melhor, sempre."

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"So am I wrong? For trying to reach the things that I can't see? But that's just how I feel" ♫♪♫

Am I Wrong - Nico & Vinz

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Amiga, professora, companheira, cúmplice. Generosa, competente, esforçada, determinada. 'Brigona', chata, mal humorada, estressada. Depois de um dia das mães onde todos as clasaificam como "melhores do mundo" e, digo que não! Você é a melhor do MEU MUNDO. Melhor nas brigas, nos conselhos, nos abraços e em coisas simples como respirar. Você não me deu só a vida, mais a oportunidade de conhecer outros exemplos de mãe, de mulher, de amiga. Me deu a oportudidade de ser melhor, de seguir o seu caminho sozinha. Apesar de saber que está sempre ali para me amparar. Mãe, o que me faltam em palavras sobram em lágrimas. E só de lembrar dos teus abraços e beijos meu coração só transborda de um sentimento muito além do amor incondocional. Obrigada por todos os sacrificios que fez por mim, mas um obrigada ainda maior por estar correndo atrás dos teus sonhos. Tenho muito orgulho de você, minha "Bela Vera"! Feliz aniversário, amor da minha vida.

[meeramos]

Então você percebe que não há mais nada a ser dito. As lembranças são maiores que os textos e o amor é maior que as lembranças. Mas, é sempre bom dizer: Eu amo você e sempre poderá contar comigo. Feliz aniversário amiga/irmã, sorrisos sempre! #Pravida #Melhor #Bday #Bestfriend

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A voz do meu coração.

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A primeira festa do meu Príncipe foi sensacional! Vi minhas amigas que não via a anos, relembramos momentos e criamos outros. Estou muito (muito, muito,muito) feliz por você amiga! Obrigada por compartilhar essa história linda comigo. Eu te amo. PS: Não vejo a hora de conhecer meu Principezinho <3 #bestfriend #PríncipeDaviLucas #chádebebê #amordemais

[meeramos]

"Na alegria e na tristeza. Na saúde e na doença. Nas coisas certas e erradas" é assim que funciona na amizade. Obrigada, meu lindo. Te amo! PS: Vou tentar parar de chorar, prometo! #amizadeétudo #saudade