Le Voyage

you’ll think of me

my note: Brace yourselves for a lengthy blog.

In my dreams of recent days, I’ve been having the strangest feelings. I’m usually aware of my feelings before I sleep. Partly, this is due to spending about five minutes praying and another ten or so daydreaming.

Recently, I haven’t been doing either very much and mostly because I spend a good few hours focused on writing my novel, Listening to Georgiana. I do a lot of my thinking during these hours about my past and also some of the wishes my heart makes. Then, I take twice as many hours watching tv shows and films on Netflix that make me happy or momentarily lets me forget that I’ve just recollected bad memories. Penelope and Pride and Prejudice (2005 adaptation) being only a couple of them. Sometimes, I’ll watch films that I believe can enhance my novel, the novel I’ve taken decades writing because I just never knew if my main character was going to get a happy ending or any ending for that matter. When my family arrives by five or six in the evening, I restart myself by messaging friends and singing as loudly as I can. Then after, I return to writing until my self-made curfew of ten in the evening.


I work around a schedule because it makes me feel like I’m doing something with my life. It makes me happy to know that I’m spending time the way I wish to do so despite my need to get a job. (Trust me, job hunting is getting to be very tiring, especially when your sister sends you all sorts of links to different places hiring. I’m at the point of pulling my hair out because these are either places I’ve recently applied to already or places I can’t apply to. I currently have an injured right shoulder—I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow to figure out what happened—and can barely lift our 10LB pom-chi, let alone 50LBs.)

Anyway, writing makes me a lot happier these days and I’m actually inspired to draw again. I stopped back around the end of April because I fell off my rode-to-recovery-wagon. I was crying a lot for reasons I couldn’t explain to myself. I was simply extremely sad that my brain had to release the sadness through tears. I let myself cry, over and over again. Every time that I did, I felt free for a moment. Even though I’m not sure why I cried so many times during that time, I’m glad that I just let my feelings take over. I’ve been taught my entire life that crying is stupid and an act of defeat. I’d always just sucked it in and when I did cry, I felt like an even bigger loser. Not this time. This time, I was just crying. I didn’t feel wrong, rather, it felt very right.


One day, I found myself tearing up while my mind was completely blank. I was just staring at nothing for a long time and then BAM, the tears started to fall. I couldn’t stop it. They just kept falling. I immediately had to tell someone because it was overwhelming but before I did, I finally looked at the SSRI my doctor had prescribed me back in November.


My mom said back then, “I’d prefer if you just found a psychiatrist and not take the pills.” Months later, still no professional help and my mom comes up to me, “So, now that you’re happy” … Um… when did I say I was? But I kept the bottle unopened because, shit my mom said no. Yet, after crying, I realized, she’s not the one crying, I am. I’m the one who feels completely and utterly lost. ME! So, as instructed by my doctor, I started taking the pills. I’m currently out of them—I weaned myself off properly! (I knew I’d run out before I could tell my mother about it and before I could get a proper doctor’s appointment.) With or without the pills, I was happy. It was a slow process. Side-effects made me feel energetic and happy but my true happiness came when, again I was just staring at nothing, a fit of laughter overcame me. I was laughing so hard, I started to cry. I’ve never had tears of joy before and even as I recall it, it makes me incandescently happy.

What a wonderful feeling!

And so, returning to the dreams, I found them to be very strange because my mind was tackling things I’d never had to before. I kept having dreams of being bullied by my family, especially my mother, and being unable to do anything. I didn’t have a voice. Every time I tried to speak, my lips would feel dry and stuck together. I’ve had about three dreams of something like this.

I’ve also had dreams of old love, from the many him in my life. They’ve all been good dreams where we’re getting along swimmingly. We’re not awkward anymore. It’s a lot like our friendship has returned to normal.

But then, I also have dreams of one particular him. He’s the guy with no distinct face, someone I’d never met before. We’re talking again, walking, strolling around a park, and smiling. Recently, I had a dream where he told me he loved me.

I didn’t start writing this blog because of any of the guys. I’m here because today I woke up from a long detailed dream that was interesting and fun until the end. My mother looked at me and practically said, “You’re a failure” in so many words. For the first time, I said something. Here’s what I told her exactly: “You have no idea what I go through, day to day. You pretend to care but turn around and pretty much disown me. I took this interview because I felt guilty about the debt. It would be nice to get it because I hate the debt just as much as you but not to the point of losing myself again.” She laughs at me and something in my mind clicks. My lips were dry and stuck together but I peeled them off from each other. “You’re an ugly person.”

Truth is, I don’t think at all that she was my mother. Rather, because my mother is a trigger for my depression, she’s the personification of my depression.

My depression is ugly.

When I woke up, sure, I was sad for a moment. My own mother laughed at my face for the struggles that defined my journey in finding me. But when I really thought about it, my mother has been very understanding. She didn’t use to be but she tries and that should be good enough.

My depression is ugly and my mind knows that now. There’s now a separation between my mind and this hooded figure. I hope that this means I’ll slowly be okay with letting myself become even happier than I already am.

All images are from Storybook Magic. It’s quite easy to spot them and she sources all her photographs. If anything, just get lost in the world she’s created. It’s such a beauty that I’ve loved a for a few years now.

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