How can I not feel fuckin’ loved or fuckin’ blessed?

This year has tested me in ways I would never imagined possible.

I thought I was a lot stronger but boy, oh boy, has my strength been tested in forms I too, never imagined possible.

There were dark days that was a like war filled with mayhem, there were inside screams and constant outburst, my life wasn’t all-put-together- as I had come across. I was falling a part some some days I still do. 

The irony of what I thought was a support structure, had completely changed my perspective, the people I thought would never understand, or love me the way I am, had chosen to love the imperfect me, perfectly and it had overwhelmed me and given me a sense of hope and encouragement that is simply not easy to come by.

I am thankful for My parents, who through their own struggles, help me constantly fight my demons, help me get the best care and remind me DAILY that I am deserving and powerful beyond but most importantly that I am loved.

How can I not feel fuckin’ loved or fuckin’ blessed?




The Roller Coaster of Medication Withdrawal

It’s day four without my so-called bestfriends named in its highest dosage, CymGen and Fluaxol. I didn’t think it would be possible to feel the affects of not taking much medication so quickly, it was day one I had run out and thought, “that’s alright, I’ll fill my script in a few days time…” thinking I’ll be alright. Ah, what a joke! Twelve hours later I had succumb to an emotional tantrum which now seems pretty lame. 

Day four without my two besties and my heart is heavier than it’s been in three weeks. Or rather, twenty three days to be precise, because when you have so many ‘good ‘ol days’, you count down the days until a bad day hits. It usually hits like a ton of bricks that reminds me of that day I watched Harry Potter – Chamber of the secrets, Oh, the Irony. But you know, that day I wanted to kill myself because I had gotten to locked in my ‘chamber of secrets…’ 

It reminds me of when I was 14 years old and I had taken my first hit of ‘crystal meth’, what the fuck.  I mean, tik, or at least that’s what it is commonly known as in South Africa. It reminds me of dark days and sleepless nights, chasing my next hit but this time around, I just want to Fuckin’ sleep.

Tomorrow will be day five and I fear it but I’m so hopeful. 

Love, A. 

I’m ‘under evaluation’ as they’d describe it to be.

June the 20th 2017, I had found myself in the doctor’s room, crying uncontrollably to the chaotic noise that lived within. Constant cries that created a mayhem so great, it could easily be described as world war 3 or at least that’s what it felt like.
It was the buzzing sound of nothingness that had kept me awake at ungodly hours of the morning and kept me asleep throughout the course of the day, it had crippled my very being to remain alive. I had wondered, so often that I had lost count, wondering if it was even worth pushing through.
I recall being asked, ‘what’s wrong, Astrid?’ and ‘talk to me…’ over and over, I am almost certain I had gotten dizzy by the questions I had no answers too. In reply, I said; ‘I need help, or else I am going to kill myself’
Having to explain what was going on was incredibly difficult, it’s as if I could feel every emotion so deeply and even the slightest sound had overwhelmed me, I could no longer go dancing or listen to music, my Dad, whom generally speaks loud had to adjust and lower his voice around me because loud noises made me cringe and cry and literally took my breath away and.. not in the romantic kind of way.
I was medically diagnosed with a High Functioning form of depression and anxiety which well, lead to the diagnosis of Bipolar 1. However, Bipolar is still being ‘discussed’ or ‘under evaluation’ as they’d describe it to be.
I knew of my diagnosis since I was 13 years old but then I was too afraid to admit that I knew something was off or I simply crazy – as they’d describe it back then and often still in 2017. I guess, you could describe it as ‘crazy’ because on a bad day, I literally have no control over things said or done and it makes me feel ‘crazy’ after my calm has reached my storm. But it is not particularly a nice form of describing someone who honestly, especially when days are dark, wish they were ‘normal’.
Until next time…
Love, A xxx
Depression, anxiety
The Thriving Tragedy of the Tormented

My perfect kind of Chaos


I must have been about 13 years old when I realized that I didn’t particularly behave like every other teenager I was surrounded by. I laughed as often however, I always felt a sense of emptiness. I didn’t know any better than, I didn’t understand it and when I turned 14 years old I had turned to my first drug of choice. I didn’t blame my circumstances because frankly, my parents ensured that I had everything I had ever needed.
I just felt, empty and lonely to my very core. I will go into more detail over the next few months and try my utmost to keep my blog updated as frequent as possible.

You wonder why I am here? Writing has always been my weapon of choice, to escape the busy world. My mental illness has allowed me to wallow in failure, but I am in a different space, this blog might be brutal but full of honesty as I take you through my past, my present and my future.

I really hope you stick around, while I try to help those around me and ultimately help myself in the process.

Love, A.


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