I cleaned the "old" house the other day. This is the renovated/rebuilt house. There is hardly any left from the real old house-- the outer walls and everything in the middle has been gutted out and rebuilt, a second floor was added. It's intimidatingly large for a single person like me to be living in. 

I remember the old house started as a bungalow of two rooms. As the children grew older and wanted their own rooms sections were extended, much like Frankentstein-way where rooms are in places where they don't belong. Cracks and nooks abound where no one can use, but the rooms made for sleeping and privacy function well. That house was always welcoming. We always had visitors come and would like to stay long because of the way everything felt cool, dark but not scary. It was cozy. The furniture are all second had from an uncle-- the beds were cannibalized from where my parents can-- for a time I slept in an old metal hospital bed (still hope nobody died in it), and another time a wooden door propped up by steel rims. The colors where mismatched, an amalgamation of what was affordable for the time-- cream, red, beige, candy apple green, bare cement. 

The new house has high ceilings, white washed walls, tiled floors in the main living area, heated showers, a bath tub. The main area can fit two table-tennis tables if you wanted to. The bed room floors are blue stained wood. (I kept my old wardrode). To boot, my bedroom now is larger than one of my apartments (including the kitchen and bathroom). The room is large enough that I specifically asked for three way switches that you can close the lights from the bed and at the door, otherwise it'll be a long walk every night. There's a garage that two cars can comfortably open their doors without hitting a wall or the next car. There's a dirty kitchen to the back aside from the kitchen in the house. There's a space for a garden, though not enough to be called a lawn. The second floor has a storage room where all the stuff a family keep for no reason stays (old stereos, the toys of the kids when they were three, cumbersome furniture). The main bedroom upstairs has it's own toilet and bathtub (of course heated). Trehe is a small balcony looking over the garden. 

And now, I've moved in to an apartment in Pasig. This one of the old house apartments, the type that's like a townhouse circa 70's, six houses in a row. Two floors, two bedrooms, one bath, kitchen, dirty kitchen/laundry area, and most importantly, parking.

---------

It's such a large life for me. 

It's too large for me to move about and not feel the need to live in these places. Properly live. I suppose this is achieved by most people by living with family. The spaces I control now can comfortablly fit two families of four. 

I am not complaining. 

I am sad. 

I am sad with the empty space I begin to realize that I have.

That's the thing with therapy so far it realizing the gifts that I am provided with and the spaces I am allowed to live in. I previously took an apartment too small (it was really a dorm with your own bath). I felt at the time that I was just trying to survive. I was putting a lot of effort to shrink my life because I didn't feel welcome by the world. I didn't feel that can live in it and creating a footprint too small is the only way that I can carve out an existence in the universe. If I took out a little nook for myself, I wouldn't have to live with the rest of the world-- it'll leave me alone in peace.

----------

I feel like this is some first world problem bull shit. To have a family financially supportive of me, a child who definitely can afford his own living. 

----------

The horizon has opened up.

My last session was 1.) to ask to get myself out of meds, and 2.) to start not being afraid with the world around me. The last session we were working on my initiative. How I hesitate on the thing that I have to do. You know, classic anxious behavior. 

Let's talk about the meds later. I feel that shit is something some people have to hear about my experience with it. Sort of like a review.

So I did. I started doing stuff. I started to embrace the idea that that action I am putting off is not, and never, a one shot deal. 1.) it's okay to fail, 2.) failure is not the end of it, because 3.) success is not a destination, it is a process-- it is a collection of actions, and results, and efforts put in to the idea. 

I can fucking tell you, it's opening up new horizons I never thought possible, motivated by things I never thought existed. Honestly, my prior motivation was outright self-hate. I just hated myself so much I worked myself to death to prove that I am better than me. It's a fucking convoluted way of being alive. I would study and work because I KNEW that I was not going to be enough. Now, I do things because I am a verb. I am not a noun. I am not an engineer, an employee, a student. Fuck that shit. I am me, who do things.

It's terrifying. I've been sitting on this thought of fear and terror for the last few months now. The fear of being alive and feeling alive-- a feeling I have not had. But I just keep going not because I have to prove something. No. But rather, these are the things I like to do for myself. These are things that make me happy-- cleaning the house, doing my finances (to the best of my impulse-buying abilities), learning the guitar, playing video games, reading.

I like sitting in this place. I feel welcome. I feel cool, and dark without being scary.

But I don't feel settled.

---------

So. Meds. 

What does it feel like being in and out of it? My brain now is starting to relagate to guitars. Okay. So. 

Did I feel better with it? No. It made me feel less. I had the thinking that meds will magically remove my problems with anxiety and shit. Apparenly, it doesn't work that way. I smoothens out your feelings. It mutes out the extreme emotions. It was very hard to feel extremely sad, or extremely happy. It removed the rush I get from doing stupid things. Like, when when faced with the propect of a girl-- normally I'd be like 'I bet I can get this person to bed'. That's really died down. (I mean I use this as an example. I'm do not really a gamble but this is closest to me as a personaly experience.) Like the search for adrenaline (which people with my mental illness like mine) long for is not as rewarding. Being in proximity to the rush doesn't excite me, enough that I just give up, and find other ways to "entertain" myself. So again, no. It didn't make me happy. It made less suseptible to my impulsive behavior.

Now that I am without it, the world suddenly feels brighter. I felt every emotion slowly come back. It was an overwhelming sensation. But I didn't feel like breaking down anymore. I didn't feel like I should be shattered by a life experience. It did feel overwhelming. Because during the time I was in, I was also taking therapy and putting a lot of effort to make connections and make reconnections with the people around me. That made me feel "in there", but when I took off the meds.-- it's like being blindfolded and the blinds come off and suddenly it's your brthday. "Holy shit this people are friends. They are people I can feel connected to." It is very jarring, I tell you.

---------

So now, I want to plan out what I really want to do and manage my time around it. Because holy shit, I've collected so many things over the years, even my ADHD brain cannot take it. 

---------

Also a note about ADHD. I've surrendered the thought that I am in control of it. It's like a pet, like a Pitbull or a Husky. It has it's own strong temperament and character. You kinda just sort of guide to where you want it to go rather than full on asking it to do things because nothing will happen if you give it commands.

That's a strange way of describing my brain as it's something apart from me, but it is. Omygod. It is. It's hard as shit living with it, mostly because it's subtle. You won't really be able to tell there's something wrong with me at first glance, but trust me-- as you speak to me, you'll realize there's something askew with my line of thinking, something to the line of I keep jumping three steps ahead of the current topic.

Fucking wild.

---------

It's okay to be sad. It's recognized, and it's a room for improvement. It's okay to be overwhelmed. But I really want to feel settled. #eligblebachelor AHAHAHAH (every time I say that my staff just hit their forehead.)

I remember before leaving my therapist, we were doing schedules. He's like," see you next month". I'm like "No. three weeks! make it a week early." I don't know how to deal with this shit, and therapy had been a godsend, literally.

Posted by big.mati on August 11, 2019 at 09:28 PM | COMMENT TEXT!
Login to your account to post comment

You are not logged into your Tabulas account. Please login.