i think
im kinda sad.
mdd
they called it
i think
its kinda complicated.
the simplicity.
it's just sadness.
but it's not.

BPAD
And
MDD
And
GAD
And
ADD
And
PTSD

And you wonder why I call my brain
Alphabet soup?

So many things
Going on in my head
And while I am astonished
That you love my insanity,
I am even more bewildered,
That you've somehow
Come across the parts of me
That are sane.

And I struggle from time to time
Finding bits and pieces
Of sanity
And putting it back together,
But you help
With casting light on those parts
More than you could ever know.

And I feel like
My chest is too tight
And like
My throat is closing
And like
I need to rip my heart out,
It's beating too fast.

But even on my worst days,
You still find ways to show
That you love me,
And I could never be more grateful
To you--

For holding me through anxiety attacks,
For wiping away tears,
For making me smile
When I forget that I can.

I know you hate when I thank you
For things you think you're supposed to do,
But no one before you
Wanted to.

And no,
Love can't heal my disorders.
But it sure does help me
Along the way.

Here it goes, I never thought I would be able to celebrate my 25th birthday today but thanks to God for giving me the Grace and the strength to carry on and continue living.

It’s been months since I’m under medication for MDD. There are days that I feel normal with no bouts of sadness but there are days that I want to end my life because I’m tired of feeling so helpless and worthless. Before I thought that those who has MDD are just a little bit exaggerated with their emotions but now I salute all those who continue to fight this battle. Despite the stigma, the name-calling, the constant pull of sadness, they still choose to move forward—one step at a time.

And today I just want to celebrate life and it’s diversity. I want to tell everyone that your emotions are valid and no one has the right to invalidate it. You are feeling it, experiencing it because you can and it’s part of life.

Let’s also normalize “blue days” as much as how to acknowledge “celebrations.” The sun is not always shining so don’t feel ashamed when you all want to do is to lay down and cry.

Some may not agree on how I live my life, on how I do my job, or how I manage people, but I’m very much thankful to those who still believe in me despite my flaws and incompetence. They are one of the reasons why I haven’t end this beautiful journey yet.

So let’s cheers and be happy while the blue clouds are still away! Happy birthday, self!

“Up, down…” She held her pen and moved her pen up and down right in front of my face. The point was to follow it with my eyes, similar to the way a lion would look at a zebra before pouncing. That pen angered me, so did the old lady’s bobbed black hair. Or the way her neck drooped practically to the floor. What’s the point of me looking at her leopard-print glasses? What’s the point of this pen? What’s this going to help?

“Okay,” she muttered, “That’s worrying…” I zoned out again. Crap. She held it back up again. This time, she moved it side to side. I followed it as best I could. My stomach stings. I haven’t eaten since lunch 3 days ago. She brought a big box of fruit snacks today. On the box it says, “Party Sized!!!” With 3 exclamation points, even though it wasn’t all that exciting. It was just me eating this “party sized” box of 40 fruit packets. She sighed and put the pen on the chocolate-stained desk. Did I do that? I should probably clean up better next time. Ugh, I hate this room. It smelled of old ketchup and perfume… Was that just her? She started talking to me. There is no window in this room. I cannot see the outside, which makes me anxious. But I won’t tell her that, because if I keep getting anxious over such small things, I’m going to be confined to this isolated room much longer than I have to.

“So, I’m going to put Zoloft on…” I don’t care what she’s about to diagnose me with. It doesn’t matter. “Ava?” I feel tired and my chest feels heavy. It’s MDD, dysthymia, PTSD, anxiety, the list goes on. I wish she didn’t keep piling meds on top of my regular diet of 2 potato crisps a day. “Earth to Ava?” God, I hate that name. It sounds sour on the tongue. Ava, Ava, blah blah blah. I hate it almost as much as I hate silver cars, and red trucks… And the smell of pancakes, which is weird because pancakes are my favorite breakfast food. Who ever heard of hating the smell of your favorite food? “Ava!!”

Oops. “Yeah?”

“What do you think?”

Crap. “About what?”

“Have you even been listening?”

I haven’t. “Of course.”

She starts to lecture me. How annoying. I scream at her to shut up, but only in my head. Lots of things go on in my head. I have learned to mostly ignore them… They talk too much. “Quiet,” I hissed at them (in my head), “I’m trying to work!!” All those missing assignments, all their doing. Nothing bad is my fault, right? Always blame it on my head. I could never express my feelings out loud. But I could put on a real good fake smile. She goes on and on about “not being able to help me if I don’t help myself.” So what? How is telling me what’s going on in my brain even helping me?

I hate therapy, I hate being tired…
I hate it here.

There are letters behind my name
not ones earned with prestige and degrees but ones that follow nonetheless
MDD, GAD, BPDII, ADHD, OCD, hEDS
defining traits of my mental
and while they label they don't add any value to my life
in fact they do the opposite
they hinder every moment
every thought
every action
every task it takes a village

---I hate asking for help