Mental Block

I don't feel inspired to write. I do, however, have many thoughts. It's also high time I update this blog.  Last year was a bit of a rough one.  I reached a different, unexplored and unexpected low in my mental health. It was hard. I lost loved ones and could not be with my family. I lost friendships and close people moved away.  The battle to not feel alone, when alone was what I was , was an uphill battle that never ceased. It was hard. I felt hurt. I felt afraid.  Afraid of the feelings I was feeling. Afraid of the change. Afraid of the pandemic. Afraid of work. Afraid to be alone. Afraid that my life was going to remain one where I would constantly say farewell and goodbye to people. So afraid of myself. Afraid of my mind. Afraid. Scared.    I began to emotionally disassociate to cope. I felt so drained and tired. Exhaustion became a frequent visitor. It was hard. I stopped feeling for a while because I needed to.  I pulled myself out of my head an...

Last year, I saw the science behind making fire into different colours. There were multiple beakers and in each beaker, there was the standard flammable alcohol. The student and teacher began adding a reactant substance or chemical to each beaker. Lit the chemicals. And then the fires began to burn. In one beaker the flame was purple. In another it was orange. In another it was green. Each little beaker burning a different colour of fire. Today, I was thinking about what I've been experiencing in my dating experiences in the past year and a half. I realised that whenever I spoke about the people I have dated I tend to focus on how I was feeling and reacting in those experiences. I began thinking about what I want for future dating experiences. Aside from what I desire from a relationship and growing as a person, I want someone to bring out the best in me. This is when the fire experiment popped into my head. I began to ponder and realised that I am the flammab...

Growing up I was at loss of what to become in the future. What career to pursue. What skills I should hone to set me on that career path. And most of all, what job should I do for the rest of my life.   When I was 5 years old, I wanted to be like my mom: a nurse. When I was 7 years old, I wanted to be a teacher like my dad. For a brief period when I was 9 years old, I wanted to become an archaeologist. Shortly after, I changed my mind and from 9 to 11 years old I wanted to become an "Earth Scientist" ( not that I knew what that meant at the time). But I was not a favourite of my science and math teachers, so I felt like I was not smart enough compared to their favourites. So I gave up. Eventually when I got highschool, I decided that economic safety is best and I should rather become a charted accountant.   This is where things changed. I felt inadequate constantly. I was put in classes where the majority of the students always averaged way...

Slouching. Thinking. Coffee.   On Tuesday night I prayed. I haven't prayed proper in over a year. I prayed without expectation and a lack of belief in the words I spoke. I didn't know what to expect or ask for. So I said thank you and gave Him a life update. Like one of my 20 minute podcast voice notes I usually send to my friends.   When I left South Africa and moved to Japan, I felt like I was taking a step into the right direction. A direction I dreamed about for such a long time. Japan was the home I desired.   I also decided that I would be social. That I would drag that social butterfly out, which I knew in high school, and network, go out, and create a community of people who would become "my usual crowd". Let me say one thing. That did not happen. Well, it happened for a little bit, and then it died. And then I found myself closing up and shutting out the people I've come know here.   I decided that Japan will not be the place I fin...

I am feeling better since work has formally started. I've befriended my neighbour and the people at work are slowly getting to know me. Japan is home now - with bills to pay, places to travel and toilet paper to buy. One of the first things I noticed when I arrived in Japan was that most men carried handbags and purses. I was fascinated. A man standing in a train, full black suit, crisp white shirt, tie-straightened and neat, black shoes-shined and polished. Hair sleeked back, a bulky shiny watch... and then: A matching handbag on arm and matching purse in hand. Fingernails cut, hands seemingly soft to touch and untouched by handywork. Does this man know of a screwdriver, hammer or changing a lightbulb? Standing in supple feminity, a man could be a figurine. Unscathed from the rugged normative masculinity that the western world burdens upon the boys of this world. This a true man, I thought. Secure in his masculinity and unconsciously flaunting his feminity. I am jealous. I ...

Every breath with a whistle from my nose, chest repelling the air I wish to consume, absorb. Heavier each breath. Why must it be like this? Why must I feel like this? Why am I so critical concerning people and myself? I decided to move and live at my own pace. Each day, however, with each social interaction, I find that the pace of others pull me in like a nagging ocean current, dragging me towards the unmovable rock in my line of sight. At that point I stand up and get out of the water...out of the pool of social interaction that make me question my existence in that group from whence I came. I decided to change. To stop being cooped up in my own silence. To stop being indecisive. To stop being the shy person I inately am. To stop being so guarded. To be more like the self I wish  to become. This shall not remain a wish. I used to be all these amazing things. I miss that person. I miss being the person who would rally a crowd on a sports day. Who would show hundreds of k...

I've moved. Forward, away, onward, on. At my own pace. I am still moving. Slowly, breathing, small steps, diving into the deep end. I live in Japan now. I feel like the transition should have been a bit more challenging, however, I feel like I've done this before. This is normal to me. I'm surrounded by strangers in a new place, but I feel like I belong. Awkwardly belonging to a place that seemed to have accepted me. I've met people from different parts of South Africa and different parts of the world..I've become acquainted with them and they have become acquainted with me. It feels like I should continue to be awkward, but I am not. This place of moving and growing is a strange place to be. At this point I am living my dream. And I am proud of myself for taking that step. I have decided to move forward and be the best version of myself that I can be. However. With moving your life across the ocean, comes some manifestation of stress. It is ...

The past is important. It is a place that one can learn from. It is a place that will always exist and one cannot run away from it. I have always looked back in my life; looking back helped me make decisions, it helped me confirm decisions, it showed what worked and what didn't work, and it gave me a frame of reference. Today, I helped my mother do a health assessment; and I could not help, but be reminded of what my personal health record looks like. Now my mom is recommended health guidance for some areas of her life and moving forward, in whatever task she takes on in the rest of her life, her health stats loom over her. And the same goes for me. As I grow older, I'm faced with things that I can change now so my health won't be negatively affected later. For example, last year I started smoking on and off, and I still do. I should probably stop so my risk of heart disease can decline now; then there's the sex stuff, is having sex, really worth the risks...and t...

A thought of a spiritual journey crossed my mind. I had no idea where to begin. I have no idea where to start. It dawned upon me while reading a book. A mundane book, a book unrelated from the thought I had. The thought was simple: how do I begin my spiritual journey of rediscovery. Finding my spirit for myself. Finding my God for myself. (Do I want to find God for myself?) I need to let go of life; I need to let go of death. This is a thought that I am exploring. How to I let go of life and how do I let go of death? I was taught as a Christian that if I believe in Christ, I will receive eternal life; for Christ has defeated death. We as human beings tend to fear death, but what would happen if one were to let go of that fear? I am not seeking a message of living in the moment/present. I am not seeking a cliched message of overcoming a fear to become a better a person. Rather I am seeking a message of self-expansion. I do not seek a freedom from death or life, bu...

One thing after another. That has been 2016 for me. I have never wanted a year to end this badly as I have this one. It seems like the number "16" is not a good one for me. Some backstory: When I was 16 years old, I fell in love. Then that love broke my heart and that was the first time I felt true heartache. Losing love. In the year 2016, after four years of regaining that love, I lost it again- or rather I fell out of love, thus it wasn't really losing love. However, that realization was as painful as losing love. But this is not the only issues I've had with the "16's". When I was 16 I realized that I was a depressive, despite my optimistic functioning. In 2016, the depressive nature became full blown anxiety and death became more appealing that it did 6 years ago.          ~ end of backstory. Now that you have an idea of the "16's", I shall move forward in telling this story. I will start from where I am now. To those around me...

I used to think that I could write. I identified myself as a "writer". I took pride in this idea of myself. It gave me passion, it kept me hopefully. It made me hope and believe in myself more than anything. Then I stopped writing. Somewhere along the line I became lazy - I identified as lazy. I went from writing and starting short stories, to writing poems. Poems that I don't even publish. Words I keep to myself and hide from the world. I kept going with the poetry and later on I started blogging. I was an avid blogger. I had so many ideas. So many thoughts and passions I wanted to share with the world. With you. Even there, I was not steadfast enough. Writing died; but from there, research birthed. Reading and finding new things to observe, vex about, and read! This opened up a new world of words for me. I was no longer just a writer. I wasn't a writer at all. I was just a girl who spent far too much time in front of a screen looking things up... and an aspirin...