This is more of a mind dump than it is a properly structured post. I want to write freely, quickly and confidently like before. I guess behind writing poetry, prose, and quotes I also want to write personal essays, and I’ve been reading some stuff about how to create one, and this is one way to create one—by writing in a stream of consciousness to keep the creative juices flowing.
I actually like writing in freestyle because it reminds me of the time when blogging was simply blogging. Just taking everything that’s in my head and writing it down and feeling good about doing so. It’s therapeutic writing about anything, but it can also be self-destructive. For me, at least.
Anxiety and Pure-OCD really do affect my writing even if I don’t want to and if something feels wrong, I will delete it. You see, I even have this thing about the word count being perfect. Let’s call it “word count ocd” just in case someone might search this term on google. I like the feeling that bam! It’s exactly 500 words or 300 words or 60 words since six is like a “magical number” that my brain likes to think it is and eight is like a “bad luck number” that my brain likes to think it is.
This is one of the things that makes me want to kill myself because it’s so fucking weird and it makes me feel so fucking alone. I’ve already picked my destination to jump, and there are simply 108 days left for me to live.
I’ll be leaving my last collection which is beautiful nothingness. I have nothing to say about it for now. I’m sleep deprived again, and I can feel the weight of darkness pushing me deeper in this sea of uncertainty.
If my cause of death could be summarized in a single word, it’s uncertainty.
If there’s no other way.
If there’s nothing that can make these obsessions go away.
Then nothing in this world could make me stay.
I have a date in mind, and that’s March 3, 2019, my original plan since I was in the process of writing my second poetry collection. I guess this is my fate and I have 122 days left on this blue planet of ours.
Sometimes I wonder what’s beyond this human existence. I hope it will be lovely. But there’s always an idea in the back of my head that there’s nothing. It will be like fading into an eternal sleep where I’ll never wake up.
Suicide is now my shield for suffering. I’ll focus on the things that matter to me before I depart. In the end, I’ll always be alone, and it’s better to die alone peacefully than to live alone and forever stand at the edge of insanity.
Life will be over before I know it.
The butterfly effect… alternate realities… choices… do I have free will?… time… all sensation is memory… death… reincarnation… other worlds… kill myself… I hate being twenty… the butterfly effect… alternate realities… something feels wrong with my social media accounts… do I even exist?… death… reincarnation… words… words feeling unreal… something’s wrong with my debut poetry collection… numbers… the number eight… thoughts… thoughts create reality… failing… losing… OCD… bipolar… kill myself… life is a dream… am I only my mind?… the illusion of reality… what if I’m crazy?… the butterfly effect… alternate realities… choices… kill myself… kill myself… kill myself.
June 25, 2017, I was admitted to The One Algon Place because I tried to kill myself. I just couldn’t handle the anxiety that I was experiencing on a daily basis.
During my stay at Algon, I learned, rediscovered and experienced a lot of things. First, I learned how to wash my clothes in my first week. I learned how to interact better with people even though I’m a very introverted person. I also learned how to control my obsessions better by trying to be okay with uncertainty and letting go of the thoughts that I think aren’t healthy for me and as well as focusing myself on the present.
Second, I rediscovered my passion for singing. And people really did tell me that I have a nice voice when we had our music therapy session during my second week of stay there. I’m thinking that I should enhance it more by having voice lessons in the future as it will also serve as a form of therapy to me.
Third, I experienced the wonderful community that helped me put my brain back into its right spot. I made so many friends who are also struggling with all sorts of mental illnesses, and that made me feel less alone with the challenges that I face every single moment of every day.
So to all of my fellow students/patients at Algon, I wish you all the love, hope and healing in the world.
I am now and always forever changed.
How can I fix my mind if my mind is where the problem is in the first place? It’s getting hard to live day by day when all I could think of is my death. Along with a negative stream of irrational thoughts that haunts me minute after minute after minute.
Do I have free will? Does the butterfly effect cause alternate realities to exist where I could’ve been perfect? Is choosing death the ultimate real choice to freedom?
I’ve been walking around my room back and forth back and forth several times a day feeling very restless and angry. Contemplating about my death. Smashing ice cubes and hangers on to the wall. Arranging and rearranging things. Shouting occasionally.
It isn’t enough that I am understood by the people who love me. I am suffering and there’s no cure to my thought process. Some days I don’t even feel like anything exists. Some days I don’t even feel like I’m the real me.
I am powerless. I am flight. I am panic. I am anxiety. I am a soul that would eventually be set free from this world.
Hi. I’m Juansen Dizon. I’m a writer, and I suffer from pure o ocd including suicidal thoughts and occasional changes in mood.
I am anxious about certain numbers like 2 and 8, and I like the number 6. I am also anxious about this thing called the butterfly effect and how it affects my obsessive thoughts about alternate realities which led me to become depersonalized/derealized for a long time in April. It’s like I feel that with every choice I make I create a new version of myself. That’s why sometimes I think: Am I the real me? Or am I just an alternate version of me that made the wrong choice in life and has failed. Sometimes I think that it’s better to do nothing because then everything remains possible.
Other things that I am anxious about includes reincarnation, my blogs and social media accounts and time and how it makes me feel so guilty and hopeless because I’m afraid that it’s becoming too late to bring permanent justices into my own being.
I help myself by having a routine which includes jogging, having social media detox days, bibliotherapy and working with my current psychiatrist who seems to get what I have, unlike my previous psychiatrist.
Other things I do to help myself but find so hard to is not doing my compulsions which are deleting/decluttering, checking and mentally reassuring myself with the nice thoughts that I think about that temporarily decreases my anxiety. And the last thing is writing. Sometimes I think of quitting not because it’s hard but because sometimes I look at the screen and the words suddenly look like alien and I start to panic a bit, but that’s when I have to keep on writing to lessen the power that anxiety has on me.
And anxiety has been a bitch. I am not at peace most of the time because of it because I am always thinking and worrying and obsessing about the things that I know that aren’t really worth obsessing about. And it makes me want to cry because sometimes I think that I’m going crazy and I’m really desperate for healing and recovery, but it feels like the darkness is winning and it could only be a matter of time before death gives me the final punchline.
Hope is just for people who heal and become better.