Blogging, Life, Mental Health, Mental Illness

THE WISH LIST.

I wish I did not act often like God were a figurine on the mantle or like He fits in my back pocket but rather like He is creator of the universe, and He loves me…

I wish I could shield myself from my own agonies and insecurities. From phones that do not ring, from snubbed emails, from the 6 A.M. alarm clock, from saying “no” but still feeling the responsibility to explain myself, from the malaise of bad company, from fair weather friends; the kinds that fly the coop as quickly as they can, at the first hint of trouble, from the frayed ends of the welcome mat…

I wish I could shield myself from depression, from Bipolar II Disorder, from mood disorders, from relapses…

I wish I could shield myself from false hope, from wet blankets, from naysayers, from rabble-rousers, from toxic people, from unnecessary tirades, from the losing team, from people with an agenda to harm, and those wild flowers meant solely to disarm…

I wish I could shield myself from romantic relationships that lead everywhere but the altar. I wish I could shield myself from relationships marred by arguments that feel like the brink of a break up. I wish I could shield myself from relationships characterised by constant gaslighting. I wish I could shield myself from relationships that make me second-guess my decisions. I wish I could shield myself from relationships that seem like love is a misnomer or a fictional concept. I wish I could mow the lands where people have lost their vows…

I wish I could feel more at home especially in the love of the most precarious sight…

I wish perserverence were solely meant to mould life into love of fine, gold or cold firing…

I wish I could make society destigmatise the conversation around mental health within the snap of my finger…

I wish I could make us all refer to mental illness as mental “trillness” 😎…

I wish I could make us all root for all the people affected by the scourge of mental illness…

I wish I could wipe mental illness off the face of the earth…

I wish I could rap like the enigmatic 2Pac. Or sing pitch perfect like the regal Whitney Houston. Just so I could give a concert for free and heal a soul or two…

I wish I could master Messianic oration like Obama just so I could bless the human race with gracefulness and mind blowing speeches that move you to tears and orchestrate you to leave your comfort zone or be your brother’s keeper…

I wish I could write like Chinua Achebe, the mercurial creature with his own unique quirk, aspiration and preference that still drives me to aspire to create my own stories. I wish I could shield myself from bland and boring reads. I wish I could only encounter riveting reads. And wordsmiths. The more arcane, the better…

I wish I could be half as compassionate as Mother Teresa…

I wish I could be a flaming charisma like my big sister Beryl…

I wish I could effortlessly be the prime purveyor of grit and the patron saint of resilience…

I wish I could be the kind of Kenyan who does not see politicians without the hedonistic desire to bury them in stones, the kind of Kenyan who watches the local news bulletin without being sick to their stomach, the kind who takes pride in their passport because of the country in it…

I wish I could fly an airplane just so I would satisfy my wanderlust by visiting spots around the world on a whim, validating my travel dreams, one bucket list city after the other…

I wish I could read minds just so I would get into private investigations and solve the myriads of crimes that wreck(ed) the world…

I wish I could experience osmosis just so I would go to libraries and transform my brain into the richest data bank…

I wish I could buy a bottle of confidence, just so I would take a case and put it in the pantry! I wish confidence were wine, because wine comes in bottles…

I wish I could erase all of my struggles with sadness, lethargy and the minefield of self-actualization. I wish I could remedy every regret and every bad decision. I wish I could take more chances, different chances, try harder. I wish I could sift through my life, alter details and discard parts of my history on to the cutting room floor until ultimately editing all of the pieces together to create my own picture-perfect story. I wish I could act it out all again before the curtains fall…

I wish I could revive seamless conversations from my childhood…

I wish the bountiful sky could let me bring some of its stars down and let me soak my soul in the joy of their illumination…

I wish I could be as prickly as the bougainvillea so I would not require a nod to harbour the blooming sight that wishes to protect the flower pod…

I wish I could catch a dream filled with love and awe-inspiring things and hold it locked in my heart until I get to see my Dana in heaven…

I wish I could become a vibrational match to each and every one of my dreams and aspirations…

I wish the whimsical beauties that are the butterflies darting and swooping as they frolic between the greenery while I look on dreamily, touch me by their pale gossamer wings and leave their magic on my skin as they restore my faith…

I wish we could acknowledge that we struggle with our faith because we see so many bring shame to it…

I wish Father Time could slow down so I can make many more monumental memories with my brilliant nephew Yul, and keep reminding him someday when I am gone, that I love him mightily. ❤️

I wish we could all agree unanimously, that after Hip-Hop & Rap, Ohangla is the second most timeless and tasteful music genre…

I wish we could all understand that a patriarchal society CANNOT become egalitarian without feminism…

I wish Capital Steez did not take his own life on the cusp of stardom…

I wish, consequently, that everyone would understand that people who commit suicide do not want to end their lives but the pain…

I wish, like Kid Cudi, more rappers were never afraid to bare their soul on wax, and give their lyrics a greater emotional potency that touches so many of us living with depression and battling suicidal ideations, in the most unheard of ways…

I wish I could understand why most of my heroes are either dysfunctional or dead…

I wish my loved ones never forget how grateful I am for being patient with me while I’m teetering between stoical and fervid…

I wish the brain fog understood that I am a wounded healer and I have the power to turn wounds into weapons and trauma into triumph…

I wish everyone knew they are imbued with heavenly powers and they can use them well for the highest good…

I wish these words could fly off this blog and into print and someone somewhere picks my soul up off of those pages…

But most importantly, I wish I could be me. Just me; my best me. Regardless of whether I am slouched in front of my computer or hanging out with my best friend. Because if everyone were extraordinary, who would be extraordinary?

But I am but human. A human with a bleeding pen in my hands. A leakage of me lost in a brown study.

~ Ida-Sharon.

🖤

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Bipolar Disorder, Blogging, Life, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Mental Wealth, Mood Disorder

Y(our) Story Isn’t Over Yet;

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk to bloom. ~ Anaïs Nin

You are worthy. These are the words echoing in my mind, vying for attention. Another life lesson has been cultured. As a voracious reader and a fledgling writer, I love words with all their nuances and layers of meaning. The connotation of the word “encourage” stares me in the face and I can’t hold it in anymore.

Are you discouraged? Struggling to navigate from cradle to grave: call of duty, earthly undertones, work, school, relationships, family, adulting …life?

Difficulties in your life do not come to destroy you but to help you realise your hidden potential and power. Let difficulties know that you are difficult. ~ A. P. J. Abdul Kalam.

How are you today? If you squirmed at my greeting then this post is for you. I’d like you to know that Your Story Isn’t Over Yet ;

It may seem like you have hit rock bottom. It may seem like you have hit a dead end. Perhaps turned a corner and suddenly rammed into a brick wall. Perhaps it is the same old compounding treadmill of vanity and no fruition. Perhaps it is jostling through the labyrinth of life searching for the exit from the debilitating maze of the mundane. Perhaps it is dying to live yet living to die.

If you have ever listened with shock as the doctor shared test results, if you have ever watched the casket close on your loved one, if you have ever lost a job, if you have ever had your heart mercilessly ripped out by the person who should have loved you authentically, if you are going into the red, if you are wallowing in self pity, if you are going to pieces, if all these have hit a little close to home… perhaps there are no more skeletons in your cupboard or no more crisis looming in the horizon but you are still angst ridden, dog tired, guilty, broken and longing for something different from your already full plate, this post is for you. Your Story Isn’t Over Yet;

These moments of trials and tribulations, these bouts of apathy and despair are the chief cornerstone on which your story of glory is founded on. Find and shield the blueprint. Guard it jealousy. When everything seems dark and dizzy, hang in there for a second more. Stars need the darkest night to marvel. And when they do, they adorn the night sky. If you are going through hell, keep going. Let your heart break, it is good for your art. There is no glory without story. Realise that your soul purpose is your sole purpose. The seed must grow regardless of the fact that it is planted on stone. It will be lonely but the caterpillar is alone in the cocoon because transformation time can only be done one on one. Take heart, because you will soon transition to the beautiful butterfly.

Failure is a detour; not a dead end street. ~ Zig Ziglar

Search for that tiny flare of hope, religiously. Make those recurrent episodes of closed doors, silent cries, lead heavy eyes and stuffy nose bring out your tenacity, your grit, your will power, your resilience, your strength. Process, own and manifest the power of nothingness. Keep feigning strength until it is inked in your bones. Adopt resilient dynamism.

Your wings are carved and shaped to slay the demons, therefore you will not be touched by turbulence in the aura. You will not be tainted by failure. Rise from the ashes like the phoenix. Soar like the eagle. Heal like the wolverine. There is beauty in the struggle; you are the radiant sparkle of beauty. ❣️

God is still out here drawing straight lines with crooked sticks! 🙌🏾

Pitch your tent in the land of faith.

Your Story Isn’t Over Yet;

If you are probably wondering why there is that semicolon at the end of that mantra but not one more word as it should be after the semicolon, (or if you have been coming across people with semicolon tattoos sometimes often with the mantra), here is the reason: it is in solidarity with Project Semicolon, an organisation dedicated to “presenting hope and love for those who are struggling with mental illness, suicide, addiction and self injury,” and “exists to encourage, love and inspire.

A Semicolon is used when an author could have chosen to end their sentence, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life.” ~ Amy Bleuel, founder of Project Semicolon.

I hereby regurgitate the beautiful mantra of Project Semicolon by giving my testimony. I am a young woman living with Bipolar Type 2 Disorder. I have survived suicide. I am definitely not some of these labels and actions but rather a survivor. Not a victim, a survivor. My morbid fascination with suicidal ideations and tendencies are erstwhile struggles now. So I’m not doing this to be judged or fawned over – I’m doing this to be matter of fact. I have an astounding support system of wonderful mental health professionals, friends and family. A team that supports me, and I support you. I do not want your sympathy, I want your empathy. I want you to know that somewhere someone you love shares my story in one way or another.

My Story Isn’t Over Yet;

Today is also the annual World Mental Health Day. 💛💛 This year’s theme is suicide prevention, in order to raise awareness and action to prevent suicides. Therefore I will do my part: if anyone reading this is struggling, I will listen. Empathetically. Remember sadness is a mood but depression is a mood disorder. We are alone, TOGETHER. We are fighting the good fight whether or not it shows. My DMs are open and I’m looking foward to start an epidemic of smiles!

✊🏾

Love,

Ida-Sharon.

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Bipolar Disorder, Blogging, Life, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Mood Disorder

HEAVEN COULD NOT WAIT. ❤️

Friday 4th September 2015, 08:30 pm. She shuddered and expired. Heaven could not wait. 💔❤️

My eyelids turned lead heavy, my heart painstakingly hollow and my blood felt like acid. A sick joke? No. A death. Death. My grandma’s sudden death.

You see grandma was larger than life. She was my first country. She was beyond love. She was ahead of her time yet still on time. She had a demure demeanour that easily lit up a room. She was always wreathed in smiles. She was beauty and everything that pertains to it.

Laced with self-consciousness, intuition, veracity, willpower, tenacity, grit and LOVE. Obviously a senior citizen and your typical African (great)grand(mother), and as such, had some of the obligatory traits — spontaneous deafness, an unerring ability to stand right in the way and a bat-like sonar system that allows her to yell at you when you left one dish undone but stand ten toes down when she herself did that. She was nonetheless an absolute sweetheart in the grand scheme of things.

Grandma binged on love and affection. Authentic love and affection. A birth giver to stars. A magic maker. She had children, grandchildren and great grandchildren who would keep her on her toes; a wild ride to places she’d only see on telly. But I saw something striking in her liquid eyes, something that guided me from the moment I met her — her unflappable philosophy that whatever came her way she’d manage. And because she’d manage, we would, too.

Her relationship with God was a very skyward and personal one. She regarded Him as a friend. My own odd odyssey has been perhaps convoluted, my image of Divinity has somewhat shifted from that childhood vision (I believe due to my struggle with mood disorder), but the simplicity of those prayers remain! And so does something she told me when I asked her where God lived. She smiled at me very broadly and replied with a laid-back tone and somewhat aloofness, “In your heart.”

In her demise, I learnt that when the sled of death launches on you, when you watch the casket close on your loved one, it somersaults your mind forever. It brashly disrupts your mental, emotional and physical equilibrium. It brazenly reminds you of the frailty and fickleness of existence. Realization dawns on you how terrible it is to love something that death can touch. I still hear the sound of her laughter under the starry sky in the middle of June, I still see her snow white teeth and her beautiful wrinkly cheeks traced with tiny spider veins, I still find bits and pieces of her in the music I love and I still hold random conversations with her in my head 4 years after her passing, religiously. I still reminisce on everything.

I have learnt that there is no sanctuary for death; no respite, no silk cocoon you can wrap yourself to avoid it. Death is life and life is death and therein lies the metamorphoses, for both change and death are inevitable. Death can come fragrant as a dozen roses tied in silk ribbon, or it can slither in on the belly of a snake waiting for the right moment to strike or it can wrap itself around throttling your breath from you. Death is the cold cup of coffee you never finish as you write your last words.

I think what puts us on edge regarding death no matter how familiar we think we have become, is its finality, surreal because there is no grand finale, no crescendo that can lead up to the moment.

So dear Dana, I know I walked into your sendoff significantly mortified and soul-sick and a complete cesspool of mental illness, but today, 1460 days on, as I type this, I’d like you to know that I’m consciously blooming into an orchard of sunsets. Not because it got better but because I got stronger. Because I’m a budding wolverine, by virtue of you having been a veteran wolverine. That is why I can’t help being a purveyor of stout-heartedness, courage, ferociousness, aggression and fearlessness. I symbolize everything that is threatening or threatening. I’m firmly rooted, built up and established in the faith. In the faith that if it is good it is beautiful and if it is bad it is experience. In the faith and the notion that everything will be alright in the end so if it is not alright it is not the end. In the faith that I must keep feigning strength until it is inked in my bones. In the faith that I am a gladiator and I must never lay down my shield.

Thank you for teaching me that my patchwork heart and my glitchy mind are all WORTHY.

You are cradled in my heart eternally! 💫

I miss you terribly! 💔

I love you mightily! ❣️

And to my other Dana, my maternal grandma Suzanna, woman of statuesque beauty, exquisite strength, courage and love. She was as alpha as they come. Strict, advocative and now peaceful and free as a dove. (She laid down her shield and gained her heavenly wings earlier on in February 2015).

So dear Dana Suzanna, you are the piece of my heart of my heart that is forever missing. Your memory is my keepsake from which I’ll never part. My life is a conduit of your love and the monumental memories that we made.

If love be quantified, mine for you is the numbers, walking to forever! 💫

I miss you greatly! 💔

I love you organically! ❣️

God bless the dead. 🙏🏾

💓

Special regards to everyone battling mental illness and loss. I know the hardest part of living is just taking breaths to stay but let us hang tough. We stand alone, TOGETHER. 💪🏾

Love, light and healing. 💫

I continue to envision a society that is devoid of all stigma associated with all kinds of mental illness. 💚

Love,

Ida-Sharon.

✊🏾

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Bipolar Disorder, Life, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Mood Disorder

MEET IDA-SHARON. 😊

Myself.

Hello everyone! It’s been a hectic few weeks of trying to get my brain meds to comply. Whew! S/o to my minefield mind (I nicknamed my mind the minefield of self-actualization and lethargy! 😭) for finally behaving. At least long enough for me to publish this blog.

My name is Ida-Sharon. (I’ve grown up to really really love the inspiration behind my double-barrelled name!) S/o to my parents, the realest MVPs for giving me this mighty name! Lol. My common nickname is Sharida. (When I was young I almost lost my reflex learning how to spell my real name Ida-Sharon, my teachers would sometimes change the order to Sharon-Ida which I almost frequently spelt as Sharida! My siblings binged on mockery; that’s how my sweet nickname came to birth!)

I’m in my twenties, mostly weighing around or between 53kgs and 57kgs depending on the seasons and phases. Lol. Standing at about 5″2. I have 5 siblings: Bill, Beryl, Bridget, Brenda and Brian, and one nephew (my favourite person) and the cutest gosh darn dog (Bruno) you will ever meet! My father is my lifeline and my mother is dynamite, a bundle of stardust. My siblings are the reason I don’t fret.

I speak about 5 languages including German, Swahili and Luganda. I think polyglots are quite alluring!

I’m bipolar. Scratch that. I have Bipolar Disorder. Bipolar II Disorder to be specific. But I cannot be SHAMED; I wear my Bipolar Disorder like a CROWN. I’m unapologetically social, very doting and a purveyor of resilience. A firm believer in the notion that everything will be alright in the end, and if it’s not alright, it’s not the end. Born into strength, I’m endowed with the spirit of the concrete rose: beautiful and delicate yet full of grit and tenacity that strikes more firm than its thorns.

I experience life through emotions. I am the patron saint of soulfulness. I feel colours, see love, smell achievement and hear a smile. I find bits and pieces of who I am in unexpected places. I fear having my voice muffled; my instinctual nature shunned. I value my freedom and the interpretation of who I am. I’m sensitive and creative. I’m a music lover; I wake up and go to bed with music. I’m intuitive and compassionate. I’m that girl dancing to the beat of her own voice. I’m all that is of this world both seen and hidden. I have unintentionally broken hearts and had my heart broken intentionally… Love is life’s biggest contradiction. I’m passionate and imperfect. I’m a playful spirit with an old soul. I find comfort in independence as much as I do in a riveting read.

I love being a woman (we are the world’s most passionate / compassionate nurturers). I love my faith; I love who I am and who I will be. I refuse to apologize for who I am. Apologies are just words and words are transient. I’m open minded and willing to try just about anything. I believe life is my textbook and day by day I will breathe in a page and be taught.

I’m just living my dash.

A few of my favourite things / people :

  • Smiles that heal the world.
  • Sunglasses.
  • Colour blue.
  • Tupac Shakur & The Outlawz. (They are my spirit animals. Everything they do resonates with me on a personal level).
  • The Psalmist.
  • The Blogosphere.
  • Beards that connect.
  • Philosophy.
  • Riveting reads.
  • All things anti-establishment.

My bestie Millah and I at the park.

Cheers!

Ida-Sharon.

❤️

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Blogging, Life, Mental Health

The Odyssey Begins.

Myself.

Hi, my name is Ida-Sharon. Common nickname is Sharida. Welcome to my odyssey. Here are the candid ruminations on madness, by a chemically imbalanced, (therefore deemed odd) girl seeking normality within bipolarity. Here is the journey to my recovery sometimes seemingly guided by a broken compass. Here is the yellow brick road to my destigmatization. Here is my internet “black box.” Here is my write direction.

Contact me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/idasharonn

Contact me on Instagram: http://instagram.com/idasharonn

Contact me on Facebook: http://facebook.com/shashafinesse

Email me: idasharon44@gmail.com

Thanks for joining me!

Love,

Ida-Sharon.

🖤

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