Iridescent Spirits

Shelter of a constantly changing Soul.


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For Starter…

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As for the first thing to write about in the new year, I have to tell you something important. Though, earlier I said I don’t believe in making resolutions, there was something I wanted to try. (By clicking the link you’ll se what I’m talking about, and by the way I’d like to thank the reader who somehow found this older post of mine and reminded me of one of my most important goals in my life 🙂 )

My last year was good and bad, but considering my mental health, which affected my life the most I have to say it was awful. Even despite the fact that I was/am medicated. And this is the point. A few weeks ago I realized something terrible and scary as hell. As a result (or side effect) of my medication I started losing the ability to feel. I couldn’t cry and couldn’t even laugh. Considering this, it is no surprise I was away from blogging, right?

After that realization, I decided I would stop taking medications. I had had my problems even before I started using tranquilizers but the problem was they remained and even got stronger after I got my treatment.

Now, I am taking one pill in every third day instead of taking them each day. In the beginning, it was awful, painful and frightening. Now, I am a bit clumsy, forgetful and goofy, but I have emotions and feelings as well. That is progress! Hopefully, soon I’ll be able to live and cope without any drug and I can gain back the control over my mind and life as well.

As for blogging, I won’t promise anything, I just wanted to tell you all of this.

Happy new year and have a nice day Everyone!

Cheers^^


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Restart – Or Why I Write (Writing 101)

Have you ever felt like you must do something extra or at least not so ordinary? I’m sure you have. Or have you ever felt like that your thoughts are engaged something completely nonsensical? Let me explain this.

Here is me, a perfectly ordinary(-looking) young adult, with a certain qualification and a certain job. I have my own struggles with money and life just like everyone else. I also have to mention that I live in a very small town, in a very small country. To someone like me nothing extraordinary could be expected in life. I finished schools, I have a job, probably I will get married one day, have kids and I will work and raise my children until I can retire. That’s it. And here is where we all freak out. That’s it!? Really? At this point, I have to say I’m well aware that lots of people go through this period. I know. But!

Continuing with my example here’s this blog thing. Again, I know, I’ve been a very bad girl, not writing (that’s not really true) or posting (well, that’s true) anything for a while now. I do feel bad about it. But to be honest, the urge never disappeared. For some inexplicable (yeah, I did learn that there is a word like this :D) reason, I feel I have to write the story that’s inside me. Apart from the clichĂ© thing. I do have a story, that’s a bit gory, scary and dark but it’s mine, only it has to evolve, just like me. And I feel excited about it! Even if I’m not writing, I always think about it, creating actions, complication, and also I try to analyze in the terms of my own mental health problems. I really wish I could draw so I could see the scenes I have hard times to write. So I guess I could say I wasn’t completely idle. This time, the urge is stronger, and that’s how it should be I think.

Pinterest

Pinterest

All in all..

I write because I have to. I don’t know why or what for, but this is the beauty of it. 😉


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Shh..

shh

 

They say it a lot.

“Don’t tell anyone about it… about your life, as there are poor spirited people who feed themselves on others’ pain. Or they make use of it on your disadvantage. Just hide it, hide everything and you will be fine.”

They say it a lot.

But they never say that silence can be more harmful than knowledge.

What if they knew all about me? My past, my illness and all the things they don’t know, and all the things that make me seem strange in their eyes. My past is past. My illness is still with me. And in fact, I feel much better when someone knows about my panic disorder. I use it not as an excuse for my behaviour, but it sets me free. Once I say it out loud ‘I have panic disorder’ all my fears disappear. I stop thinking about what they think about me. They know it and they can do with that info whatever they want. I am not afraid. Maybe because most of the time people cannot say a word as they had never met the illness before.

Maybe there are situations when I shouldn’t talk about it, people that shouldn’t know about it, but to be honest, I really don’t know how they could hurt me with this knowledge. Yet, I am well aware that poor spirited people can come up with the most incredible methods of trying to tear someone down.

But I am still wondering about this; Should I remain silent under any circumstances? Or I should ask just this; Under any circumstances?


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Now that’s why She is my role-model

 

So right, so true, and I wish I could tell this my teen self. Yet there still are many many lessons to learn..

“Spread the love!”

Hugs! 🙂


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Sweet Escape

Yet lately, I’ve been living my life to the most I am currently capable of, all of a sudden I had a very strong urge to escape to my imaginary world again. It has and always will be there, no matter where I go, or what I do it will always be a solid part of mine after all.

I would like to have a wonderful life. Not in the meaning of being rich or famous or anything like that, but literally; I’d like to have a life full of wonders. I need to see what cannot be seen through ordinary glasses. I need to have purple pigs running around me, I want leaf-people dancing with me and now I really want to take off that crystal dress for good. And, I want to write those chapters I haven’t done yet.

That is the real me after all. A little dramatic, sometimes a bit puzzling and last but not least, iridescent to the fullest.


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Am I invisible?

Yeaaah.

No, wait.

There has always been this problem around me. Depression and stuff grew so much onto me that I usually felt I’m invisible. They didn’t notice me on the streets, usually bumped into me, and always I was the one who didn’t have place on photos. People couldn’t even memorize my name, even though it is not that complicated, and also it is kind of old, easy, and I’m really happy that I didn’t get my name after the antagonist of a popular soap opera. People usually were/are so bad at remembering my name that they usually gave me new ones, the only thing that managed to stuck into their heads was the initial ‘A’, that has always been the only thing they remembered and I got my new names based on that. Even my psychologist (can you see the irony?) had a hard time remembering my name.

I sat right in front of him and he started, “Well, dear Andrea!” I couldn’t bear it anymore so I interrupted
“It’s Adrienn!”
“Excuse me, what is it?”
“I said, it’s Adrienn!”
“Oh, alright sorry Adrienn!” Then we kept talking for a maximum of five munites without any problem. Bang!
“So, dear Anette!”
“It’s Adrienn!!”
“Oh, sorry again…”

Now I mean can you really see the irony? After that had happened I almost expected to someone eventually call me Arshole. Really, I mean they always got the ‘A’ right, and nothing else. But I had to realise that this never will happen. And as for an extra gift today I got a letter from a site I signed up with the purpose of finding a job, I checked it I still have a valid account with my full name. I have to say I hardly read their messages as they are mostly spams but something caught my attention this time:

“Dear, First Name!”

C’mon! That doesn’t even start with an ‘A’! Oh, and by the way, thanks for the another brick to build my new self on! 😉


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‘I love You!’ Or What Compassion Means to me

I struggled a lot with this post. One of my blogger friends said I have lots of things to say (and really!) and she told me to say them well. Well, I tried my best with this one and this is what happens when I’m writing while having a panic attack:

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This post is written for the 1000 Voices Speak for Compassion movement, I stumbled across a while ago. Lots of you may know that my initial goal with blogging would be reagining and developing my real self. This is a hard and long journey of mine, but I have to tell I feel very enthusiastic about it.

Compassion has always been one of my strongest traits. Or empathy, the two of them are equal to me. And not only these two, but also acceptance and support, loving a person for who they really are. These all fall into the category of compassion in my dictionary.

Ever since I was little I could feel sadness and sorrow for anyone, starting from a homeless person, through the sadness in the eyes of a little child and even towards a movie character. I had a strong desire to help anyone I could, while I forgot about the one person I should’ve taken better care for. It took me years to realise that while I am able to support lots of people in my life, I was completely incapable of being compassionate towards my very own self. I took all of the pain I had for granted just like breathing and seemingly, I accepted it as a solid part of my soul. Seemingly.

For so many years, I got told a lot that I’m weak, far too fragile and sensitive, and also that besides these, I don’t have any other problem so I shouldn’t say a word. Without noticing, I began to take over this attitude but only until I got the diagnosis of my panic disorder and I decided to start therapy in order to put an end to it. I remember, my very first ‘homework’ given by my psychologist, was to look in the mirror, examine myself deeply and say this right into my face;

‘My family and friends love me, God loves me, and even I love You, Adrienn.’

When I looked into the mirror I saw a face completely emotionless and fearfully strange to me. I thought to myself, I don’t know who this person is, and besides, who does this person thinks she is to say anything like this? I was supposed to repeat this single line a few times every day in front of the mirror. Yet at first I couldn’t even finish the sentence, I burst out into tears. For the time of the blink of an eye I managed to notice something really painful hiding in the depths of those dim and dark brown eyes, something that reached my heart. I saw the little girl living with her mom and sister after leaving an abusive and alcoholic father. I saw the little girl who was only 4 years old when said to her to let her father take more money to go back to the pub instead of having her mother hurt. I think that was the first time, I realised how sad, desperate and how broken I was. I cried because I pitied myself, as if I was looking at somebody else. I cried like a little child, like that little child who went through the hardships I tried so hard for years to forget. But it doesn’t work like that. I had to learn that these became the part of me and accept what others rejected, because I rejected it too. It was me who was unable to accept myself, so naturally, how could others do it for me? I also had to look at my naked body which was as horrible as looking at only my face.

And yet, despite I often felt no empathy towards myself, especially considering my mental illness, I never forgot how important being compassionate and supportive towards the struggling is. Or towards anybody. Probably it was because I longed for these feelings so much. Also, I couldn’t understand what those people were thinking or feeling when they told me those rude words. I still can’t. We all have problems and weaknesses but that’s fine, it is the part of learning and development as humans. Also, we all are unique and different. For example I went to university to another city so I had to go there and back by bus that took two hours of my live every single day. I hated it but didn’t have any other choice so I accepted it. It exhausted me like hell, as I usually had to get up at 5 am and got home at 8 or 9 pm. Once I told this a friend of mine, who shrudded and told me he did this for years. Yeah, for him it wasn’t a big thing, but to me it was too tiring and I couldn’t focus on my studies properly. When I told him that okay, then that’s him, and I am me he didn’t reply. Yeah… Maybe commuting was easy on him and hard for me but I wondered, would he be able to live with panic disorder for years? I never asked him but as far as I am concerned, it’s sure like hell that I would choose years of commuting instead of years of suffering on my own.

As for acceptance, sadly, it is a very rare thing to accept people for who they really are. We all tend to either look upon them, we make celebrities and stars out of them, thinking that ‘Oh, they are so unique and such rebels! How cool!’ Or the on the other side, we belittle those children who are a bit different from the ‘normal’ saying that ‘Oh! (s)he’s such a freak and so weird.’ Or am I wrong?

True, I rarely felt being supported or loved, yet I am willing to give others what I didn’t get. I do believe that there are people who think like me, and WordPress became a place not only precious to me but also the one that proved that wonders do happen. 🙂