Is it a disorder or just an order

Sometimes I sit down when the buzzing in my head is at a high and I try to write out what it means.

It always comes out different.

And now I’m afraid it could hurt other people. That’s not what I want at all. Part of me think I write to find a way to help others. Part of me wants to write to try to help myself. The only reason I started writing was to just try to figure some of it out. But I have never written in my journal or on the internet with the intention of putting blame on other people for my difficulties or expressing any distaste.

But I guess I’m not perfect. Haha.

Cause if I was I wouldn’t be here 🙂

Thank you for understanding my difficulties. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your desire to move on.

Love yourself. Work on yourself. I’ll be here working on me.


Stuck in the mud.

I think I’m an eagle.

An eagle stuck in the mud.

I feel like I have the ability to fly. To soar above the rest. Ive had thoughts like this ever since my grade 8 English teacher sat me down and told me I seemed very intelligent but I hadn’t handed in a single assignment on time and ceased to put effort into anything.

Now I’m sure I wasn’t the only one acting this way in high school. But what can separate myself from the other stories is that that behaviour has continued and only increased through the years. And it has left me with a blank page under the definition of happiness and journals upon journals describing the evil twin that undoes what life is about; unhappiness.

Yet the feeling that I could be accomplishing more has only increased to which during nights of insomnia I will shake and scream out to the silent night “WHAT DO YOU WANT OF ME?”

I see myself in an eagle.

Wise. Beautiful. Calm and non threatening but you wouldn’t want to mess with it because those same talons that gracefully perch on branches could leave you in pieces. It looks eaves beauty wherever it goes in a single feather. Always looking over the world.

Not so powerful when it’s stuck in the mud.

In August 2016 there was a video released of a photographer in Poland rescuing an eagle out of mud. The eagle was clearly losing the battle and the photographer saved its life.

Sometimes I feel like I’m waiting for my photographer even though I know they aren’t coming.

But a thought occurred to me today. I’ve always thought of that saviour as a human being. But what if it isn’t. What if that saviour lies within me. What if it’s a passion. After all so many famously grand people in this world: artists, celebrities and musicians all battle with their own mental illnesses. And they use it to do awesome things.

At a time, when in the midst of one of my lowest lows, I reached out to the person closest to me at the time. I asked “What is the point of life?”

You might’ve heard suicidal people ask this question before. I’ve heard all the common answers about being with loved ones and seeing what the world has to offer. But I remember her answer so clearly. “Maybe the point in life is to be there for other people.”

This hit home for me. You see it wasn’t a generic response for anyone anymore. This was a response for me. This is the point in MY life. And I want to be there for other people. To make a difference that the voice in my head can’t ignore. To do good. To be a difference maker. To be worthwhile.

So I’m an eagle.

And I’m stuck in the mud.

But my saviour is here.

And I promise you I’m getting out soon.


#hope #eagle #imgonnafly #resilient #hopeful #mentalhealth #mentalhope #inspiration #mentalillness #betteryourself #christopher101 #antidepressed



The 3 scariest words I can say or hear: I DON’T KNOW

Where do you want to go? What do we do now? How do you feel? Why are you acting that way?

I remember that in high school I had convinced myself that I was ugly and incapable of being loved. And I reached some weird, comforting acceptance with that notion. You see the voice in my head could convince me of anything. We all have an internal dialogue that may busy our mind or stress us out. Yet it is almost as if the voice I speak of is separate from myself. It represents all the judgement and hate that the world could pour down onto a single person. This voice looks down at me as if I’m the most gullible, vulnerable child one could imagine. And it holds no mercy. It throws my sense of logic and reasoning out the window and can convince me of anything with its overpowering negativity and implication of emotional danger.

At this point of my life I have fought back for the right to believe that there are people in this world who could find me attractive and better yet people who could love me. But even still, in my darkest moments, I am convinced otherwise.

Do you know how lonely it is to live in a world where you are surrounded by people who cannot love you?


The 3 most destructive words I can hear: BE A MAN

In my adolescence I remember getting into yet another fight with my older brother and I ran out of the house as my emotions boiled over. I can still see my childhood house so vividly.

I sat on the edge of our tiled walkway outside the front door, with my bare feet on the gravel and my head stuck between my knees. Snot was dripping down from my nose and splashing on the rocks below. I could hear my father yelling from inside but this time I did not go to him. I could not hold my head up and look him in the eyes. Eventually he came to me and explained that I had to find a different way of expressing my emotions because “real men don’t cry”. To this day I can still pinpoint the moment when a part of my childhood died and ‘Manhood’ became a dream that I would forever chase and never achieve.

That moment fragmented my relationship with my father for years to come. I’ve never felt man enough to impress a girl I liked. I’ve never felt man enough to be comfortable working a hard labour job. And when I got jumped and sucker punched by a kid and his friends and I offered a handshake instead of a fist in return I was the coward and he was the man. And when the girl pleads with me to open up and tell her what’s in my head I’m too much of a ‘man’ to show her my true emotions.


The 3 saddest words anyone can say: I GIVE UP.

I have no idea when I first became ‘depressed’ but I do know graduating high school was the beginning of the almost end for me. I had no idea what to do with my life, and that tore me apart. I concluded that I would just work my hardest at whatever work I could find and at the end of each day if I had made more money than I had lost; then it was a step forward. No matter how small that step might’ve been. But it broke me down. I lost my spirit. I became  irritable and aggressive with my words. The negativity of the voice in my head had taken over my whole livelihood. I lost myself. And then I drove away the woman that I loved so dearly.

At this point it felt as if it was me against the world, and the world was clearly winning. I finally said those three words. The voices took over in my head. You can’t live without her. You can’t do this. You’re worthless. You should be ashamed. I gave up.

There was the time I went into the bathroom, found a bottle of sleeping pills and swallowed all that were remaining. I awoke to an urgent knocking on the door and to this day I do not think I can fully comprehend the fear that was in my friends eyes as I opened the door. That fear was for me? I certainly didn’t believe it at the time.

There was the time I researched how to overdose on Tylenol. You had to take just the right amount in the right time span to have a chance at killing your self or else your body would be able to reject them. It was a lot. Thankfully I’ve never been much of a chemist and I lay in my car parked at that dead end road for an entire night puking up red pills; higher than a kite. I don’t know if it was my suicidal state or the meds but that night my voice came to life. It sat beside me in my car, looked down at me in pity, and told me I was so useless I couldn’t even figure out how to kill myself.


The 3 words that can still win over: I LOVE YOU.

Months ago my father told me he was proud of me. I said thanks, quickly hung up the phone, and began to cry. I have no recollection of him ever saying I love you but that phone call meant everything to me. I know my brother has had similar difficulties in life as me, but we’ve never really been able to talk about it. If only I could say those words more often.

When the first love of my life said it to me I thought it meant she could save me. But it turns out a 19 year old girl, who’s going through her own struggles, doesn’t know how to save an extremely dependent and suicidal boy who won’t let her tell anyone else about his problems. Go figure.

Since then I’ve let fear take over. Fear that I would make the same mistakes again. And when you give fear the opportunity to take control; it will. So here we are. If only I could let those three words heal instead of complicate. The good news is I still believe in the power of those words. Even in my current state of mind. Time and time again I have learnt that I can get better only to end up lying on my bed, restless and hopeless. Feeling isolated from the world and thinking I’ve messed it all up. And the voice is now screaming at me that I do not show people how fucked up I am. That I do not tell people of my story. But maybe love is enough to shut it up.



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