A note on my mental health struggles and how I’ve been doing
It’s 9 PM, and for the first time in months, I’m sitting outside on my patio, typing away on my laptop as I occasionally glance at the navy blue sky. There are mostly bad memories associated with sitting outside on my patio. For one thing, during most of 2020, I sat outside here under the blazing hot sun writing letters to penpals and cards to the subreddit r/randomactsofcards to keep my mind at bay from severe anxiety, depression, and OCD spirals. …
Up until a certain age
I always felt like life was so black and white
The boredom of school
Coupled with a lack of friends
And a home that wasn’t suitable for children
Was the fuel to my now-anxious mind, but alas,
A necessary force that propelled me to escape
To open a wondrous door called “Japan”
I befriended superheroes and other-worldly creatures named “Pikachu”
And devoured ramen under the protection and grace of cherry blossom trees
I learned about cosplay fashion and the freedom to express one’s inner bravery
And the Tsukiji Fish Market where auction bidders battle for…
I don’t remember when or where I took this photo.
But it’s one of my favorites because it marks the first time I successfully manipulated an image using Photoshop (as well as Lightroom for color edits).
I remember detesting the use of photo editing software during my amateur stages as a photographer.
At the time, my feeble mind thought, “That’s cheating! A real photographer wouldn’t need to use Photoshop or Lightroom if they’re truly skilled. Besides, the beauty of nature should shine through in each photo without the use of software.”
You should have seen how quickly I shut up…
A few years ago, after an intense 6-month period of depression, I was put in a fortunate position where I was able to work from anywhere as a writer.
Any city, state, country, hostel, AirBnB, you name it.
I did a fair amount of traveling during that time (within my budget), and today, I want to briefly share my experience in Big Sur, California.
To put it bluntly, I found Big Sur to be overrated and a giant pain in the ass to drive to from Los Angeles (About 5–6 hours total, with the second half of the rod trip…
Gaming with my dad
From London to India
Walking through spike traps
And swimming with piranhas
Sparking a love for travel
I still have my original copy of Tomb Raider 3, the insanely difficult game that revolves around Lara Croft traveling around the world to look for four meteoric artifacts. I too wanted to become an archaeologist who battled velociraptors in the South Pacific Islands, rattlesnakes in the Nevada desert, and creepy mutants in Antarctica, but for now, I’ll settle with an acting and writing career in Los Angeles. …
A micro poem about insomnia
Shock waves from the brain
When I knock on Dream Land’s Door
Where sleep is taboo
My dad has battled insomnia for most of his life, getting between 3–5 hours of sleep per night (But despite this, he functions better than most people I know).
I’ve always been the type of person who slept like an angelic infant during the silent nights. …
“Red” Haiku Prompt
A blind man asked me,
“What does red look like to you?”
“Insecure,” I said.
Before the popularity of r/AskReddit, Yahoo! Answers was the place to be for thought-provoking questions, answers, and troll comments.
In my youth, I came across the headline:
“The Most Difficult Question That Cannot Be Answered: How Would You Describe the Color Red to a Blind Man?”
I remember reading a bunch of different answers, but none that really answered the question.
Because in short, it is a very difficult question to answer when you include the element of sight in the equation.
A Haiku Poem
Creation of life
Empty bellies fill with joy
Only to suffer
The other day, in the midst of both a panic attack and trying to come up with my next poetic idea, I thought of the following notion:
I wish my mom hadn’t given birth to me. Why? So I wouldn’t have to suffer this much.
Granted, I don’t feel as anxious as before (oh, but just you wait!), however, this thought process is still interesting to me.
How a mother intends to bring joy into her life, and into society, via a child.
But will that…
A haiku poem about therapy
A fresh, open wound
Bleeding to a poker face
While they assess me
“How was your first therapy session?” my boyfriend asked.
“It was OK. I just talked about my anxiety and he taught me a breathing exercise. But I don’t like the environment. It feels artificial, contrived. I feel like a lab rat.”
This feeling carried with me throughout multiple therapy sessions, even while seeing a completely different therapist.
The feeling of being watched, being assessed. And that weirdly “comfortable” room that feels fake. Therapy is an extremely vulnerable situation to be in. Pouring…