Most days the weather is grey.
Everything I look at is grey.
Not just the clouds that turns grey, but the entire world.
As if the color has drained from life..
But I feel either all black or all white.
There is no grey, no middle ground, nothing these two extremes.
I just swing between the two
And it’s either ‘all good’ or ‘all bad.’
There’s no bridge in between, only emptiness, feeling stuck, defeated angry, and helpless.
Maybe I need to rethink how I look at the colour grey,.
Recently I was shared this by my therapist:
“almost everyday last year I wrote the date in my diary”
” it is now the new year and we’re well into the month of Februar and I still sometimes find myself writing the year 2024″
“so when it comes to telling you that you deserved love, safety and care and t hat everything is not your fault, of course when I say this, you won’t believe me”
“because you would thought about this several times a day through entire life”
This hit me, it made me realise how much I feel like my entire existence was rooted on how much I did not even deserve to exist.
Ever felt like you’re watching a world you’ve
pushed away, but still wish you were part of?
I scrolled past a video of my old friends celebrating a birthday. Laughing, smiling—together. And I wasn’t there. And why would I be? I
pushed them away, and made it SO hard for them to ever get close to me.
But Even though I’m the one who closed the door, I still you to come knocking. But instead, I’m sitting here, Watching .. and feel like I’m nothing.”
Happiness is fleeting
Joy is fleeting
Things will go wrong in your life
And things are going to hurt and upset you
But HOPEFULLY you have the ability manage it
and take care of yourself
I had a really good thing to look forward to…..
I’d finish my appointment, I’d stop by the café just a block away from the appointment, and get myself a hot chocolate.
But not just any hot chocolate—a creamy, fluffy with the perfect sweetness ratio.
I could already imagine how the warm, comforting it’d be. And most importantly it will fill me up.
But I should know myself better, the way I shit on my own experiences…
I was running late to my appointment, and I could feel my pulse rising with every minute lost.
I told myself, “That’s it, I’m not going more” like a sulking child
Suddenly, everything felt ruined.
Even if I stopped by for the hot chocolate, it wouldn’t feel the same.I won’t be able to have it the way I imagine it. I needed to recapture it. I need it to happen exactly how I imagined it.
It derailed me into a spiral which I can only let go of until the new sun rises again
I needed that ease and comfort.
I needed it, I really needed it.
“Are you going to your mum’s house?”
“Have you just visited your mum’s house?”
“Just go talk to your mum, and just stop all this nonsense”
“Why don’t you talk to your mum?”
“You know it’s wrong to not to talk to your mum.”
“They’re your parents, at the end of the day, you should respect them no matter. We all had to deal with stuff growing up—we just have to put up with it.”
“You’re in the wrong for not speaking to your parents”
“Why haven’t you visited your dad, he’s ill you know?”
“You’ll have to answer for this.”
“Every parent loses it with their child once in a while. No parent is perfect!”
“They’re your parents; you must respect them, no matter what.”
“A child should respect their parent more, and it doesnt matter if the parent respect their child”
“But we’ve invited your parents, and you’re their child, you belong to them, therefore we’ve included you too. You don’t need a separate invitation.”
“Your parents are not that bad.”
“No parents is perfect DARLING” – sarcastic tone…
And in the relapse judgement where I am “speaking” to my mum.
“Oh that’s very good”
“I’m so glad that you’ve made up”
If only they knew. If only they knew…. how much their words hurt me.
How much they reduce me to nothing, and how I do not matter in this.
If you’re going through therapy right now, I want you to PAUSE and ask yourself this question:
Are your therapy sessions operating at a cognitive level?
What I mean by that is—are you just talking about the problem? Analysing it, intellectualising it, putting a temporary bandage over it? And does it feel like you’re actually processing it?
Here’s the thing: this can run the risk of still being superficial. The real, transformative work happens when you allow yourself to truly feel those emotions. To sit with them, allow them, and process them fully.
And that’s the extremely hard part.
So, catch those feelings. Let yourself feel them deeply. Go right through them to the other side.
Because only then can you begin to let them go.
Ambitious.
The Oxford Dictionary defines ambition as having a strong desire and determination to succeed.
Growing up, I wanted others to see how ambitious I was.
I wanted to see myself as ambitious.
It was my identity.
I wasn’t going to be the lazy wasteman floating around with no purpose.
I had a clear aim, and I was willing to do anything to get there.
But what I didn’t realize…
was that my ambition was like stacking a tower of cards—unsteady, destined to come crashing down.
And you know what the funny thing is?
When I did achieve…
I never felt emptier.
I’ve come to understand that being ambitious isn’t just about chasing success.
It’s about being accepted—by others, yes, but most importantly by myself.
And in the past, ambition was the only way I could catch my father’s hollow attention, the only way to feel accepted by him
“If you expect nothing from somebody you are never disappointed.” – Sylvia Plath
This quote hits me. It resonates a sense of loneliness, it makes feel like the only way to shield myself from the disappointment from others is not to expect nothing at all, and to me that translate as keeping people at a distance.
The inverse way of looking at this is, having courage in allowing others into your life, knowing that disappointment is a possibility.
“I felt dreadfully inadequate. The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn’t thought about it.”- Sylvia Plath
When I was young child – dawats (family gatherings) used to be a thing for me.
It was a late Saturday afternoon, my mammy (aunt) hosted a dawat. I was excited to escape the suffocation of the house I’m living in.
I remember arriving at mammy’s house—the air was buzzing with chatter, relatives weaving in and out of rooms, loud laughter echoing off the walls. As I stepped into the crammed living room, my eyes scanned around, searching for my cousin.
And then I spotted her….
She wore this dark burgundy velvet dress with lace-trimmed edges.
A sinking feeling filled my chest as I glanced down at my own dress.
Clinging onto my echo of worth.
I quietly slipped away from the noise. Away from everyone, my footsteps careful on the stairs leading to the dark seclusion of the upper floor.
I found a wardrobe closet crawled inside and pulled the door shut, hugging my knees to my chest.
They’ll notice me now. They’ll feel guilty for not getting me a dress, I thought.
But no one was searching for me, not right away.
The sounds of laughter and conversations drifted through the cracks of the dark wardrobe door.
I stayed there, hidden and silent—spiraling, twisting every thought into deeper sharper torment.
Eventually, the door creaked open. My parents stood there, their faces twisted in barely concealed rage and contempt. They fought to keep their masks on. But I could feel it. I could feel their mask about to snap like a fragile twig.
“What is it!?” My mother spat out.
My father’s bulging eyes were blood red when he saw me. He was completely still and silent.
My mammy and mama appeared behind them. They knelt down to my level.
“What’s wrong?” Mammy whispered in my ear.
“I want a dress,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I rubbed my eye with one hand and pointed to my cousin’s dress.
My mother nervously laughed with the sound of irritation.
my mammy and mama realised that I wanted the same dress as their own daughter.
They took my hand and led me out of the bustling house, away from the noise, away from everyone.
We drove down to the store. I was stunned silent the entire time.
I watch my mama purchase the exact same burgundy velvet dress they brought their own daughter.
When we returned to the house, I wore it.
Nothing changed.
The hollowness now settled in my chest.