THE MESS I AM

I am a mess! Psychologically, emotionally, physically and spiritually. There’s no lying it’ll take a legion of professionals to cure me. But I cannot afford a shrink. Neither can I afford a nutritiodiegodallapalmaoutlet negozigeox loevenichmutze lecosonnenschirm blundstoneoutlet cainsmooredonna relaxdaysstore akutrekkingshop harmonte-blaine relaxdaysonline mandarinaduckoutlet relaxdaysonline cainsmooredonna donkeywinkekatze harmonte-blaine nist. My local padre and I don’t see each other eye to eye for very personal reasons; reasons I hope to take to the grave! I have nothing against religion though.

Psychological mess

All the rest can wait. The real ailment is up here. Yes! In my cranium.

As I write this I am seated on the floor; laptop on my laps, cold soda and my phone to the right. Ed Sheeran’s album “Divide” playing in the background currently at the 7^th jam, “Happier”. Song got me feeling like texting my ex.

“Go ahead Nick! Do it”, goes the voice in my head that for some reason has BikoZulu written all over. No offence Biko but I believe you’d do exactly that!

“Don’t do it! Exes are just that! Exes!” comes in the voice of reason. This one sounds like Njugush in one of those BYOB summits. Motivational much.

And when I snap back from my delirium, I have wasted 10 minutes listening to Biko and Njugush battle it out in my head. My icons are fighting over me! There’ll never be a winner.

The anxiety

I suffer from a condition commonly known as anxiety but I’d rather call it overthinking. I overthink everything. Even how I breathe! Well, my nose is partially to blame. But that doesn’t bother me as much till I get to bed and sleep abandons me.

It gets worse in my personal relations. I overthink everything in my relationship too, blow the tiniest of issues out of proportion, throw bouts of anger out of the blues and cause chaos over avocado. At times I comfort myself that it’s called for, others I do not even think about. But I’d like to believe I am at least rational enough to throw tantrums over actual issues. Real issues. I have been labelled Psycho among many other words intended to point out my psychological (and emotional) dwarfism. The social perception is that all these feeling and what have you are for women. You know; only a woman is allowed to throw tantrums. Only a girl is allowed to overthink. Well, I don’t care. The mess I am!

Speaking of girls… or is it women?

The mess I am has a thing for psycho women. Crazy women. The women most men will shy away from as they reek of drama from miles away. I adore the bad girls. The kind of woman nobody at home approves of, the kind of woman you elope with. The woman who will stab you without batting an eye lid.

Well, I am well aware that nobody chooses who to love. But we are all responsible for who we give our heart to, our happiness. The mess I am really does not care. I fall in love with people who will probably screw me up a good one (by all means) and still hold on then brave countless days and sleepless nights trying to untangle myself from the mess I got myself into so I can get into another one.

Thing is, these women with pointy eyebrows, a sizeable forehead and really scary eyes really don’t give a hoot about how you feel. They will sleep with your best friend, lie to your face… okay. This is becoming a rant. See, they almost stole my show. On my own stage! Get hold of yourself dude.

Now playing, Save Myself

Song #16

Oh the coincidence!

I am the only one who can save myself. The mess I am can only be undone by myself. And what are my options? I can either rob a bank so I can pay a shrink (and nutritionist) or stand up and accept responsibility for my well-being. Accept that people will not change simply because I want them to and neither will the world change because I am not comfortable in/with it.

I have to live with the fact that whether I overthink or not, situations will always be there. Reasons to act up will never be scarce.

Depression and anxiety is self-administered. That I have to learn and memorise. If an issue depresses me, it’s because I am allowing it to. If I am anxious, it all my fault. The blame’s mine.

But I cannot do it all by myself. I need someone to talk to. Family. Friends. There’s definitely someone out there who is not ready to lose me. That much I know. And that is the person I shall talk to.

However, if I approach you and open up to you, please do not remind me that I am a psychology degree holder. Telling me it will be okay or it will fade away won’t be of much help. I need you to help me be okay.

I need you to help me undo the mess I am!