Hope Contagium

A therapy journal of self-obsession, depression and meaning.

Tag: comfort

All This Optimism

I’m gonna take another shot at this “happy moments” thing. Today I’m a bit more positive and I’ll try to focus on glorious moments or small victories. Like the time my little sis was crying because she felt stupid about erasing a game she had been playing with Mama. I was a master in comfort! First, I reminded her that everybody does stupid things and that those stupidities teach us lessons. Then I distracted her guilt and sadness by telling her a story about when felt really stupid. She stopped crying and it was easy-peasy over with! Oh, did I mention that my first step was to pick her up and give her a hug? What a good job. I’m gloating because I usually have an anxiety towards physical touch and a very hard time accepting my little sisters sadness – something I’ve always been ashamed of.
Another proud moment was when I picked up seven children, one by one, and lifted them over the fence so that they could get a good look at the passing by tractor. Even the fat kid got a couple of turns – and let’s face it: I don’t got a lot of muscle. I was so good with these kids. I took them on adventures in the playground, they learned from me and I always included everyone of them.
How about the time I took a five-year-old and her father home in the middle of the night? They were strangers and the father was inappropriately drunk and made disgusting sexual gestures towards me. But this little girl was sleeping on the cold floor of the central station and I couldn’t have it. I held little Nou-Nou in my arms all the way home so she could sleep comfortably, I gave them a bed to sleep in and food in the morning. Yes, I thought they were homeless when they weren’t, but nonetheless it was a beautiful gesture. Let’s not forget that it’s only thanks to Levin the gesture became a reality!
But hold on – when have I been happy and not just done good? When did I do good for myself?
Well, I like myself when I finish a book, then I feel I’ve done well. The time I worked in Urban Outfitters AND worked as a dresser at fashion week was pretty impressive (considering my depressive state).
So sitting here thinking, being positive, makes me realize:
“Okay, so good things do happen and quite a few of them.”
They’re just so darn invisible in all this darkness. Remember your dreams Marmaladescreams, your real dreams. They are beautiful. And all this optimism is thanks to my new contact person Zenia.

Conversing With Reality

Life seems so empty and bad. I can always point out something negative. If I ended my life today what would people think? I wish I had the guts to kill myself, but even in that area I am weak. Will my past ever feel good to me? Will my present? Forever I long for strong love and acceptance. I want a love that tells me I don’t need anything else in my life. But all my thoughts are fantasy; unreal goals just building up the misery. Once I could find comfort in my imagination, it was filled with hope. Now I’m simply growing older so I’ve lost that ability.
The ugly reality is staring at my face, laughing, crying, and shouting at the same time. It hates me and I hate it. Reality makes me crumble and hide…
When will this uncomprehending, meaningless, pondering imbalance in my brain end? There’s no escape! Eternal anxiety with no trigger. Mood-swings that change in a minute. Confused, angry, tearful, cuddly, thankful, blah, blah, blah! Thinking about it is wearing me out. I just want to find peace with myself and be normal. If I can’t be normal let me be great! Let all this nuisance lead to a bigger picture.
But let’s ask reality: Do I have greatness in me? Or am I just trying to convince myself of a destiny? Reality just smiles patronizingly at me without ever saying a word. I feel its pity.

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