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A Think Piece by Nina Storey

A Think Piece by Nina Storey

I sometimes wish I could kill all the negative self-talk within me and just physically remove that part of my brain so that I never judge others or feel shitty from depression. With all these technological advances around now, I’m still wondering why this isn’t possible yet.

I tend to overthink often but what I notice is that all the shitty people I’ve ever met, including best friends and others I grew up with, my mentality was influenced by those shitty people and experiences, they’ve colored my whole life.

I’m only now able to examine myself and see just how much damage has been done and how alone and misunderstood I’ve been through it all. I’ve even silenced myself under the assumption that no one would or could ever understand and empathize with me…I still feel that way a great deal of the time.

I feel broken usually, not like it’s someone’s job to put me back together, but rather that some experience will come along that allows me to be happy and living in the space in life where I’m most comfortable. A great deal of life has reminded me that I’m black, female, queer, poor, unworthy, etc. and that I am undeserving because of that.

I tend to overthink and so I’m crying while writing this but it just seems…idk.

Don’t know what the extent of your knowledge on the major chakra system is but so many of these fucked up people and happenings has colored my experiences and interfered with my will (yellow solar plexus chakra) on more occasions than I can count. And to think through it all, I was also living under the assumption of my words and existence not mattering.

It’s just fucked up how life can trick you in such a way, even if existence is mostly subjective.

I always feel angry but have learned not to give into stereotypes and so I transmute my anger and rage into sadness. Fists become salty tears. It sucks but that’s the way it’s been for so long now. I can’t remember the last time I expressed anger in a healthy manner. I’m sure I’d have snapped and gone off the deep end by now if I could ever choose to give into those emotions.

I think we have a great deal of it wrong. Emotions aren’t irrational. They are not meant to be transmuted. They are meant to be lived and expressed as they are but somehow that’s irrational…

I’ve bottled things up for so long that I really can’t even recognize myself anymore. It’s all just sadness. Depression has really warped my mind, and I feel that there truly is nothing wrong with me at times but that I’ve just been had by so many people and adding in all the times I’ve sabotaged myself, both knowingly and unknowingly, and you can see how that takes a part in fucking with a person’s perception of what they’re capable of achieving and the talent they naturally possess, albeit raw. They don’t know they’ve been had.

This has been pretty cathartic, and in writing all these, I feel like I’m beginning to tap into the part of myself that I hide, and that’s okay. I’m cool with it. I’ve become less and less paranoid over the years about exposing my inner world to people. I can’t expect to connect to anyone if I’m walking around guarded with a bunch of walls up but it’s just for survival.

I feel insane for not speaking up earlier but I didn’t know how. I just wanted to speak about some part of myself for healing. Therapy doesn’t work because I’m still working with walls up. I don’t even trust them. I don’t think they can understand. My parents definitely don’t as they’re both almost 60 and so of an entirely different generational mindset than me. I don’t have any physical friends, at least I don’t have any now. I used to but depression fucked me up and ran them off too…

I don’t know, with all that’s gone on, why I allow myself to carry all this around. It serves no purpose, and I try not to dwell on the past as part of my new spiritual journey or whatever but it’s mostly impossible not to. No one I know has ever healed from their trauma, no matter the kind. They’ve just learned to survive by masking it with scriptures and church and shouting and family cookouts where we all try to have a good time but never do enough actual bonding to get to know the members who are more quiet or who are depressed. We never do it beyond prayers and any other type of rumination that can be done to ignore the root of the problem. They ignore their illness and call it a trial or tribulation instead of calling a spade a spade.

Idk. I may end this now and try to noodle on guitar to see if I can finish some songs. It’s all I have these days pretty much, just a bunch of noise. I really like music, if you haven’t been able to tell. I just never talk about it much anymore. Depression. Just gets in the way of everything with anhedonia and all. It’s my norm. If only it wasn’t.

I wonder sometimes what life would be like without depression that just eats away at your morale and will to live each day and think of how easy my life would probably actually be if things were that way. It would be nice. Can’t change how you were born with that I suppose. Meds can only do so much, and so can therapy. This digital space is nice. In recent years, I’ve been more accepted here but I’ve never felt a sense of true community. That’s happened only in a few places. I can probably count them on one hand actually.

Based in Nashville, Nina Storey seeks to carve out a niche through visual art, music, and random bits of poetry as they seek to find themself in the world. Using these various mediums of creativity, they aim to connect with those who share the experiences of blackness, mental illness, queerness, and those who feel alienated by various social constructs present within their given society. You can find them on tumblr and soundcloud. Illustration also by Nina.

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