Conversations Inside

Conversations Inside

The mind asks itself: “why do I relapse over and over again”?

A tougher question to answer then one might think ..

A few ideas come to the mind, bouncing from wall to wall.

“When one feels betrayed, unimportant, ignored, sad, degraded, abused.. where do I run? Oh! Where do I escape?!” The unbalanced mind shouts.

“Talk to those around you, those you love and that love you” The heart says softly.

“I know I sound pessimistic but talking usually hurts more than anything else. Most of the time I feel like people don’t really understand” The mind answers sadly.

The mind builds another wall.
The mind and heart take a moment to feel the pain.

“I know a way we can stop feeling this pain” The heart says to the mind, almost playfully.

There is a pause.

The mind wanders through its many thoughts for a moment. Contemplating the idea of getting high, of letting the needle pierce through the skin, into the vein and for a moment, not for long, to feel nothing.

“Thats not the answer my unstable, impulsive friend. We can’t do this, we need to learn how to cope with things and construct a life where we don’t want to get high. Paying to die for a little while will only result in feeling guilty- thus more pain.” The mind says to the heart, trying to sound rational, so that together they could figure a way out of this mess.

The heart weeps.
“Ah fuck it. Stop feeling guilty for trying your very best and slipping.
Stop it! Stop it! It’s making me feel heavy and useless.” The heart begs the mind

“I wish I didn’t feel so alone. We are more than misunderstood. I really do wish people could understand the pain of others and stop giving their opinions, espechially when they have no idea what someone is feeling. It’s easy to come up with solutions when you aren’t living through it. They have been brainwashed, the ones that share this world with us. They believe we are evil because we use drugs. They punish us and people like us by ignoring us, telling us what to do (even though they have never been in our shoes). Meanwhile, they don’t believe they are evil for their own addictions. They drink their wine as they look down on us, sometimes on their fourth cigarette or cup of coffee. Others are spending their money on all sorts of things they don’t need.
They all look down upon us.
I feel so small. But of course they know better, they know how to “fix” me, as they go on chasing whatever they are chasing, not seeing for one second that in the end it is all the same.” The mind says with a sigh.

“Fuck them all.” The heart cries.

“So I am hurt, angry and alone. I want to run, but where? Where is the escape button? I can not even sleep anymore, I want to run out of myself, but no matter what I am stuck knowing I can not out run me. Tell me my dear heart…where do I, do I…run?” The mind says begging the heart for answers.

“I know where we can feel better for a little while” The heart says in response.

“Are we horrible?” The mind asks.

“You think we are the only ones looking to run? We just happen to know the best escape route” The heart responds.

“I am hungry” whines the stomach.

“YOU just SHUT THE FUCK UP. We have summer clothes to fit into, to look better in, do you NOT remember what those shorts looked like on you yesterday ?! DO YOU?!” The mind shouts at the stomach with anger and shame.

The heart sheds a tear.

The stomach hides itself back where it belongs and does not utter another single sound.

The fingers almost in robotic fashion start to scroll down the contact list.

“No!!” The mind shouts.

The fingers drop the phone back on the bed.

The heart sinks.

The fingers pick up the phone again.
“yeah, give me 45 minutes” the man says.

“I need to fix this. This can not be how we spend the rest our life.” The mind says in despair.

“No forget it. we CAN change this, we are going to change everything and find the road to happiness, no matter how long it takes.” The mind screams with pride.

“Stop living in your fantasy world. You and I both know the unforgiving grounds we walk on every single day. We are never making it out of this. Look we just called again. We have been trying for years” The heart says bitterly.

“You are scared. We both know it” said the mind, wiping the tears falling down the hearts sides.

“We are lost, aren’t we?” The heart asks the mind through its’ tears.

“I know baby. Welcome to purgatory. We stand on the line of life and death.” The mind whispers into the hearts vessels.

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Review of Lou Stokes “Boney & I”

I have watched and read every book, movie, TV show, YouTube videos, documentaries and every other media source (well almost) about eating disorder, particularly anorexia. I was never inspired by any of them, too be honest most of the time I would be triggered. This is the main reason I would seek out media that was about eating disorders. I guess a part of me wanted something or someone to relate to. I feel most of the media/information about eating disorders glorifies eating disorders. I won’t really go into that because this is not what this review is about. However, I felt it was important to mention to describe how Lou Stoke’s “Boney and I” is the complete opposite of that.

I was completely shocked by how much power and influence, Lou Stoke’s “Boney & I” had on me. I was not triggered at all. Lou reminded me of all the reasons I wanted to recover. I have had an eating disorder for 17 years. The idea of living with an eating disorder as an adult, the fact that I was an adult and still had and eating disorder made me feel completely defeated. This is what I believed before reading Lou’s story.

Lou is brutally honest about how eating disorders control every aspect of your life. There is nothing glamorous about it. An eating disorder follows you EVERYWHERE: when you eat/what you eat/if you eat/what are your safe routine foods? It is there when you get dressed in the morning and look at yourself in the mirror in disgust. It is there when you are intimate with a man/woman. Oh, and it is extremely lonely and isolating. You and your eating disorder want to be alone. It robs you of truly enjoying your life.

I truly felt Lou’s happiness and self-love that she develops on her journey. That this isnt’t a fake happy ending, Lou is extremely real. Lou takes the reader on her journey of overcoming her eating disorder and how she learned how to heal herself, and all the steps along the way. She shares her methods with the reader, which I followed, and I feel I am really on the right path for me. I cried so much reading this book but it felt so good.

There are SO MANY quotes that I wish to share but I will choose one, which is very hard. When I read the following passage, it made me want to be better, it made me want to change and give this a real shot (many passages did, that is why it was so hard to choose one because they were all equally beautiful and inspiring):

“But deep inside, something keeps niggling away at me. There must be something bigger than this? Something deeper, something purer? There must be more to life. I know, deep down, that all this external stuff is not for me.”

Page 47, Chapter 38
(Boney & I)

Even if you do have an eating disorder and do not want to recovery, I recommend you give “Boney and I” a chance anyways. Lou is truly a beautiful soul and her journey taught me it is possible to have an eating disorder and find happiness. Read it just to get to know this strong, admirable, enlightened soul. Her approach, I promise is not the regular stuff you have heard a million times from your parents, boyfriend/girlfriend, therapist or anyone else. Lou shows you through her story to be your own therapist.

Thank you Lou, for writing “Boney and I” and just being your inspirational self. You have become one of my greatest role models.

boneyandi

My Unescapable Hunger.

It is three thirteen in the morning.
I am wide awake.
I awaken with my stomach growling, as if begging for food.
I wish I had an on/off switch for my appetite because my body is confused.
Food can not feed my hunger.

I am hungry, not for food.
I am hungry for balance.
I hunger for passion.
I am hungry for those I have lost, which can not be brought back.

I am hungry for an escape from my emotions, those I feel trapped by.
I am hungry for safety.
I am hungry for love.
Most of all, I am hungry for a different kind of world, a different “me”.

I long for moments that have already passed.
Remembering them, give me both extreme joy and pain.
I hold on to them ever so tightly.
I never let go.

“Dear Professor”

Dear Professor, Its been years since I’ve heard your voice.
Since, I have smelt your cologne or held your hand.

Years since I have physically spent time with you.
But our minds have filled the gaps.
We still spend time together, writing to each other via messenger.

Oh baby, we’ve become each other’s private diaries,
Yeah!
We’ve become each other’s private diaries,
yeah!
Modern pen pals,
oh, yeah.

Oh professor, we write to each other every day.
We share every emotion, event and our loss of all our hopes and dreams.
We share our intimate secret and how we are ripping at the seams.

We are very similar you and I.
Two shut-ins, afraid to leave our shells.
We both comfort and help each other as we fight our individual hells.

Oh professor, I remember when we first met.
I was so excited, so wet.
I still fantasize about you fucking me on your desk.
Oh professor, I know you remember.
My cum dripping on the floor.
Anytime someone could walk right through that door…

Oh baby, we’ve become each other’s private diaries,
Oh yeah!
We’ve become each other’s private diaries,
Oh yeah!
Modern pen pals,
yeah.
 

 

“The Sick Child”

The sick child.
The delicate child.

The sick child, becomes the sicker adult… if they make it there.
The sick child is kept alive by the system, using its small body as an experiment.
The sick child is kept alive by family sacrifice and powerful medications.

All the other children get to grow up.
The other children become true adults.
They become grown ups with children, a drivers license and choices, independence.
The sick child’s future is a life of dependency and limitations.

Put simply, a burden.
The sick child slowly chokes to death.
Choking on guilt.

Nothing can be fixed with words.
Nothing can be fixed with medications.
Cures kept behind locked doors.
Locked doors that the masses can’t afford.

 

Coming Into this World.

I spent my childhood running and biking through the streets.
I remember we were a group of fifteen or twenty kids.
They all lived in my neighbourhood.

We played a lot… ah, espechially during the summer.
My small body, so sticky and stained with food colouring from all the Mr. Freezes.

I remember my very best friend lived on the corner of my street.
How loud we would play my parents stereo while they were at work.

My parents knew all our neighbours.
No, they didn’t always get along.
I grew up with three brothers,
Oh, all the farts I had to endure.
My parents were too busy to keep tabs on me.

I remember my parents throwing dinner parties.
I can still smell the red wine and cheese on their breaths.
I can hear the loud voices and the laughter.
Often, I fell asleep on the corner of the couch, or in the laps of “aunts” and “uncles”.
I remember being carried to bed in the arms of my mom or dad.

The world was so big, yet so small.

 

The Fake Smile Pharmacy

The Fake Smile Pharmacy

Welcome to your one stop drug stop.
Your friendly neighbourhood pharmacist… or rather your dealer.
They convince you with their white lab coats.
Convince you that you are better than the junky you pass by on the street.

They give you your meds.
So you can put yourself to bed.
So you don’t give a fuck, what is going on inside your head.

We all need fake smiles to “function” through the day.
But we all, every single one of us have that day.
The day we break.
No matter how hard you you try to paint.
To paint that smile back on your face.
But no matter how hard you try, you can’t.
So you go to the doctors…

Welcome to your one stop drug shop.
We dumb you down, and numb you out.
So you forget, forget what life is all about.

They need, NEED, your fake smile.
Your fake smile convinces those around you that
they need to smile too.
Fool yourself, while you fool the rest too!

You’re not smiling, whats wrong with you?!

Come on now! Pretend you’re not dead inside.
Come on now! Wake up!
Stop being selfish!

Shove that pill down your throat and let it hit your brain.
Congratulations, you’re all the same.
Convincing one another that the smile on your face isn’t hiding any pain

Welcome to your one stop drug shop…
We are open twenty four hours a day.
Seven days a week.
Are you tired of every one calling you selfish and weak?

Well come on in !
We have pills for all…
The tall and the small.
Don’t like what you’re feeling?
Come on in!
Lets start healing…

A Movie Review on “Prozac Nation”

“Prozac Nation”, starring Christina Ricci as Elizabeth or as everyone called her, “Lizzy”, is one of my favourite movies.
The following is my review on what I believe “Prozac Nation” says to me, as the viewer, and the themes it explores. I finish my review with my thoughts on what would help Lizzy, and my thoughts on “pills to cure mental illness”.

There are two quotes in the movie that I want to share, as I believe it helps me explain the point I am trying to get across. I think they both show how Lizzy (with no medication) thinks before she takes them, and the second one shows how she feels after taking the medication.

The first quote refers to when Lizzy gets her Anti-Depressants from the pharmacy and how she feels about taking this new “medication”. Lizzy discovers this is how her society “helps” or “numbs” mental illness, a quick fix”. 

“I call this a crack house, where I come to score. Dr.Sterling (Lizzy’s Psychiatrist) is my dealer. Seems like everybody’s doctor is dealing this stuff now. Sometimes it feels like we’re all living in a prozac nation. The United States of depression”
-Lizzy (Prozac Nation)

The second quote refers to when Dr.Sterling tells Lizzy it is her choice to take the medication but she recommends it should be taken.. after a fit of confusion, Lizzy runs upstairs to the washroom. In the next scene Dr.Sterling finds Lizzy in her washroom and see’s Lizzy attempting to cut her wrist with broken glass. A few moments later, Dr.Sterlings young daughter (five-eight years old) walks in to the washroom and is exposed to the scene. Dr.Sterling while comforting her daughter. In this quote Lizzy is talking after being put on the medication.

    “If only my life could be more like the movies. I want an angel to swoop down to me, like he does to Jimmy Stewart in “It’s a Wonderful Life” and talk me out of suicide. I’ve always waited for that one moment of truth to set me free and change my life forever. But he wont come… It doesn’t happen that way. All the drugs, all the therapy, fights, anger, guilt, rage, life, suicidal thoughts, all that was some sort of slow recovery process, the same way I went down, I came back up, gradually, and then suddenly. The pills weren’t the cure at all, God knows, but they gave me breathing space which allowed me to start writing again only this time it was not as if my life depended on it.”
(Lizzy, Prozac Nation)

Lizzy states that the pills weren’t the cure, but they gave her “breathing space”. However before taking the medication, she infers that her country is putting a band aid on a huge crisis, “The United States of Depression”. Yes she can write again, because the anti-depressants are numbing her emotions so she can be functional. Lizzy ends up taking the medication basically because of guilt. Guilt from her psychiatrist, guilt from her mother, guilt from every one around her. She had no other options presented in front of her.

I believe the second quote shows how the anti-depressants brain washed Lizzy from the ugly truth, the ugly truth she discovered before being on the medication. When she’s on the medication …she says the pills gave her “breathing space” but also says they weren’t the cure at all. I feel when she says “breathing space”, she means she got every one off her back, and to stop making her feel guilty for having the feelings she was feeling.In a way she had to do this, to survive, for a “quick fix”. Non medicated, I feel like Lizzy made a break through, when realizing she was not alone when she says “…seems like everybody’s doctor is dealing this stuff now…the United States of Depression…”. In the second quote she seems completely apathetic to this new realization.

The first quote depicts Lizzy’s real feelings and realizations, her “non medicated” feelings. Where as the last quote shows how she has now been numbed, where as the first quote Lizzy saw the truth, that she, along with the rest of America is living in a “brainwashed” nation. A nation of mood stabilizers, anti-depressants, uppers, downers.

Most peoples breaking points in their lives is when they can no longer keep that fake smile on their faces anymore, when they become “non functional”. Drugs like prozac and other mood inhibiters, just do the same thing, they numb your emotions so you don’t care about what is going around you, so you can put that smile back on your face and stop questioning your reality. Lizzy was always an amazing writer, yet always had problems with “depression”. Everyone experiences emotion, it is natural! some of the best pieces of any art form are the darkest. Emotion has triggered the most beautiful pieces of art, of all media.

Mental illness usually stems from somewhere, and dealing with the symptoms and emotions from that place or place(s) is a process, not a quick fix pill. Sure, the pill “stabilizes” a person, but is that really life? Does this pill allow you to truly enjoy life?

No it doesn’t.
The work is internal because that is where the pain is, one must be one’s own “psychologist”. Ask themselves questions? See where the pain started.. what triggers those emotions?

Clearly Lizzy had problems with abandonment, maybe from her father leaving the family home? It doesn’t matter what caused it, all we know is that it is now this emotion is alive. This is obvious when Lizzy dates her boyfriend and calls him up to twenty times a day and gives him no space. Lizzy needs to recognize these patterns and learn to love herself, and learn that if she loves herself, she can love and be loved by others as well, and also that she can heal herself without Dr.Sterling or pills. Dr.Sterling doesn’t love Lizzy, but Lizzy needs to love Lizzy.

Self love is very important, and before one learns to love themselves.. they will always experience problems because the core issues have never been resolved. This is also something people must find on their own. We attend schools that train us like robots, schools that will threaten a child’s education if the parent refuses to put their child on medication.

The system does not want to deal with “emotions” or the nature of who we really are. Children are supposed to be excited and hyper and have trouble concentrating, they are in the early years of their “training”. Schools do not teach children to love themselves, and question things and do their own research, not research based on other peoples research, schools do not teach children that they are anything of value. They want children to be just like adults. To “shut up and get over it”. What kind of adult will this produce?

As someone that was once on mood stabilizers and anti-depressants and seeing many psychologists for over two and a half years… I can say that it never worked. There was always another outbreak, always. But once I learned to truly love who I am, or at least start working on loving myself I was able to heal myself.

“Walls”

This isn’t really a short story or an organized thought, it is really how I feel right now in this moment, and this has become a place that I have felt comfortable sharing it.

    I’ve always struggled with depression and other mental illnesses. I was diagnosed with “borderline personality disorder”and it is very hard to cope with. 
My mom has always been cold with me emotionally and every time I ever tried to get her love or approval or attention I just feel like I am bothering her. 

Many people say that you cannot have both anxiety and depression. But this is how I feel. I feel numb but overwhelmed. Suicidal but I always feel bad for those I would leave behind. I feel really trapped.  All i’ve been doing is crying and exercising. The skinnier I get the better I feel about myself, but the more of my life I lose. The only other thing is heroin and I really want to leave that part of my life behind. I feel like where ever I try to run to, I keep hitting walls.

No where to run, no where to hide.

Advice on how to Improve Writing

Anyone can read a book, right? We all become better readers just by reading, right? Learning to put letters together into words and understand what they say—learning to read—that’s a learned skill. But once you’ve pretty much mastered that by fourth grade, you can read anything. There’s no skill to reading a novel. What is there…

via 4 Ways for Writers to Become Better Readers — Helping Writers Become Authors

“My Dependency on the Man”

I write a lot about the struggles I have had with drug abuse, however I never really write about the progress I have made in these last few years. I tend to write about the difficulties I still face. The following is a piece I wrote that depicts the everyday experience of many addicts and how this part of my life as an addict is gone.

“My Dependency on the Man”

As I wake up every morning I try to be thankful for the obstacles that I have overcome. One of the ones I am most proud of is waking up in the morning and not depending on some asshole (the man as I would call him), as in “The man is outside” or “I’m still waiting on the man”.

Some asshole that makes his living off of you but still treats you like you’re less than garbage. You definitely feel like you’re bothering “him” every time you call, even though they always answer your first call with “I’ll be there in an hour”.

But that is rarely the case.

It has been an hour.
So you call again. On the other line an angry man will shout at you telling you that “you are not the only junky in this town and to wait your turn” and then tell you that he will be there in an hour.

Another hour slowly passes by, with you looking at the clock every moment because even if you try to distract yourself, all you can think about is when your drugs are coming to your door. As you cry out in pain, you reach for your phone and call again, calling an hour later on the dot, not a minute less or a minute more. On average by then they will get to you.

But don’t you forget there are always the days where you call that hour later and they tell you “Oh shit bro, sorry I forgot about you” and tell you that they wont be reaching your hood for a while.

Sure waiting two, three, four, five hours or more isn’t the everyday but it happens one hundred times more often than them even getting to you within two hours. Oh, and don’t forget you call every morning, when your withdrawal symptoms kick your sick body awake.

Why didn’t you get enough yesterday so that you would have enough for tomorrow and not go through this every day of your life, or better yet buy for the week?

A sensible question.

However, most of the time the answer is simply because whatever you got that day will always be finished by the end of your day. You are lucky if you have even a small hit left to calm your every growing withdrawal symptoms.

But eight out of ten times you wont even have that, and you’ll be shooting water that you put in your little baggie from yesterday to absorb any small grain that was left behind, smaller than even the tiniest pinch of salt.

With your money in your hand, as you wait for the man.

Every time I relapse I am reminded of this time and time again. One day I hope I never have to wait again. But I am so grateful that this happens about once a month, and not every single day of my life.