Mental Illness Melancholy

I CANNOT THINK STRAIGHT!!!!!

And this makes me want to cry.

In this very moment I feel so out of sorts that I want to bawl and laugh hysterically while pounding my head against a wall until the only thing I see is blood.

I am not okay!

Life abroad did not “fix me” and now is threatening to become a big problem for my currently untreated mental health issues.

Everything seems to be going wrong.

I know perception has a lot to do with how one handles stressful situations; however, this is not a case of mind over matter.

I’m scared.

I don’t feel like “myself”. Whatever that may mean.

I guess what I mean to say is that more and more I don’t feel in control of myself.

It stresses me.

Which only scares me further because the more stress I’m under the more unpredictable my responses to occurrences in my life may become.

In comes my high-stress job of teaching ESL to young Korean children in one of the most disorganized and dysfunctional work environments I’ve endured.

I was so proud of myself when I originally felt a change in mental climate back in November and managed to make it this far without losing it.

Of course I acknowledged that I was fighting off a bad mood but for the most part I did not let others know too much about how I really was feeling. This led many people to commend me on how well I was dealing with the stress at work. This led my peers to compliment how I seemed to be navigating the stages of culture shock.

And all that has gotten me is lack of support now that my composure seems to be crumbling.

I have even shared with a few people that I have a history of mental health. They don’t believe me or perhaps they just don’t recognize the severity of what could come if things don’t improve and soon.

I’m not even sure which illness is the culprit for the symptoms that I’ve presented with recently.

Bipolar disorder seems to be the constant theme in my posts about mental illness; however, in case I have failed to make it clear that my anxiety isn’t simply a symptom of my mood disorder, I also have been formally diagnosed with GAD.

So many things have gone awry at work during the past several weeks that I would prefer not to distract from the topic of this post by listing them all. The fact of the matter is, it has occurred to me that I am employed by a school with very questionable business practices.

Things have gotten so out of hand that I even fear that my employment and livelihood here in this foreign country are at stake if I refuse to be treated like an indentured servant. The institute is unlawfully trying to bully me into working ridiculous hours, between 10 to nearly 12 hours per day with loads of administrative work and screaming disobedient kids. AND they are trying to scheme out of compensating me for the trouble. Not to mention imposing this confusion upon me only one week after paying me late with no explanation other than a half-hearted apology and play on my sympathy to please understand.

My nerves are shot.

One of the first telltales was when I noticed a drastic change in my sleep. Either I was restless because I was having bad dreams or so anxious about work that I would awake in a panic every 30 minutes or so afraid that I was supposed to be at work and had overslept. I began to grind my teeth.

The teeth grinding got so problematic that now the majority of the right-side of my inner mouth is chewed up. I have bitten my bottom lip, inner-cheek and tongue so terribly that I have difficulty eating comfortably. There is an ever-present coppery taste in my mouth.

Which brings about the next signal of trouble. My appetite is a mess. Either I am uninterested in bearing with the pain of chewing my food or my nervousness has ruined my appetite whether my stomach is growling or not. My gastrointestinal functions are all askew as well.

Lately I have felt in a bit of dissociative haze. Paranoid even.

I constantly feel dizzy and short of breath. I’ve lost sense of sureness of where I am and have been observed “spaced out” by my coworkers. I feel jittery and my hands quiver. I have had a persistent headache for more than a week now. I have had inappropriate responses to things: such as uncontrollable hysterical laughter when given another delivery of bad news or set of impossible tasks to complete.

I don’t know who I am right now.

I did not disclose mental health history (of course I couldn’t in the first place) so I have been trying desperately to hold it together. In doing so I have begun to lose a sense of self.

I have a grim history of not fairing well once I get too enthralled in the charade of pretending to be ok. Especially if doing so comes with the expense of being taken advantage of or passivity for the sake of avoiding confrontation.

I nearly broke down yesterday.

I had high hopes for this experience.

I may even be taking things a bit too personal but I feel wronged. In a matter of weeks the one thing that helped me battle the bipolar blues and homesickness, which was feeling pleased with my job, has turned into a complete shit show.

Which led me to cry out that I must be cursed.

Why does it seem inevitable that no matter how hard to I try to fight for my life, I keep having this happen to me?

Is it really possible to live a functional adult life with mental illness?

Or am I just buying my time before I become another anonymous statistic of the epic failure that is adequate acknowledgment of mental health disorders and the need for better treatment?

Why am I here?

Why is this my plight in life?

What do I do?

I am scared and am losing hope.

Normally I would say welcome to my world but instead I caution you…

Please take care of yourselves.

-dannie..peace-

When Culture Shock Meets Bipolar Depression

Can we just ignore that I have been posting spastically?

Can we overlook the fact that I was gaining new viewers and even new “followers” (I like to think of you all as imaginary friends) with every post and then for some strange reason that momentum just stopped?

Can I just tell you how I’m feeling?

How the cycle of bipolar disorder meshes with a cycle that is known as culture shock.

Can I tell you how trying it has been to have my annual season of depression fall on the same part of the culture shock timeline that invites unhappiness, frustration and severe homesickness?

Just my luck.

I moved here in late August, so it has been a solid six months since my arrival.

The onset of my major depressive episode began in November.

With no more than a few days at a time, I can admit that I have had spurts of joy here and there.

Honestly, I was battling the blues long before November.

I don’t feel that I have recovered from the major bipolar episode that hit me hard during the holiday season of 2014 leading into 2015.

Can it be possible for one to experienced a continued mixed-mood for just under two years?

I don’t know if it is clinically possible but such is my life.

I feel like for years now my life has been one major mixed ass mood.

Primarily filled with depression and daily suicidal ideation, I cannot tell you when was the last time I truly felt content and at peace.

But I’m not here to tell you that.

I am just here to document what a bipolar mood feels like when mixed with the homesick stage of culture shock. Or am I experiencing the homesick stage further burdened by the weight of bipolar depression?

Whatever it is, I just want to confess one thing.

Moving away did not (and now I know it cannot) help rid my life of this disorder.

I’m not sure what I was expecting by forsaking all medicinal and professional treatment and moving to one of the most hard-pressed, depressive countries in the world.
But I do know some part of me believed that LIVING (as in feeling alive, like I was taking on the world) would be just the fix I needed.

I was wrong.

This isn’t to say that South Korea is just some miserable place.

Quite the contrary.

The locals seem very happy to welcome foreigners and represent their country well whenever they have a chance encounter with an outsider.

However, with the high-demand for rapid growth and RIDICULOUS working hours placed upon the employable, this country is poised to inflict some serious emotional and mental stress upon its inhabitants.

The mental health community is almost non-existent.

Openly talking about any human deficiency or disability is taboo.

Many working adults are passive-aggressive.

And most, if not everyone of age, drink alcohol and chain smoke to alleviate the symptoms of stress and depression.

I am so over self-medication.

Though I should also admit that I now have become a bit of a drinker.

I have been drinking alcohol EVERYDAY for three months.

As much as I love the warm reception I have had since I moved here, especially as a black woman, I must admit that I am still discontent with my current situation.

I’m not sure if this is the angst of bipolar depression talking or the homesickness of culture shock but whatever it is, I am back to the drawing board on decoding the map for finding my happy place.

Until I get there…

-peace-

 

dannie

Like the Cool Kids

Six months ago I tried something brand new.

Foreign if you will.

I moved to South Korea.

I became an expatriate, English-teaching, E2 visa-holding resident of the Republic of Korea.

Five months ago I tried something different.

I shaved-off approximately 50 percent of the hair on my head.

I left the top to grow wildly like weeds in the height of spring. Though I hid it under wigs and things for several weeks thereafter.

It was a counter-attack to the first signs of another seasonal depression on the horizon.

Four months ago I bought a ticket to Thailand.

My first international trip of the leisurely kind to a different foreign country.

I shared my excitement on social media.

One of my Facebook pals even called me a “fancy b!#ch” for it.

Three months ago I fought fiercely.

I saw it coming and despite my hurricanesque readiness, it did not change its course.

No amount of preparation can deflect the inevitable. I became reclusive.

But I refused to go down without a fight.

Two months ago I packed my bags.

I was on my way to sunny shores and sandy beaches.

Fun in the sun until I was accosted by a gastrointestinal ‘situation‘.

Nevertheless, my trip served as a respectable attempt to thwart the darkness. I took some pretty awesome pics and even got a tattoo (another random drastic alteration of my appearance to combat a mood-related crisis)!

One month ago I began to care less and less.

But I couldn’t just give in.

Two weeks ago…

Under the pressure of an untreated bout of depression, I decided to adorn the “idgaf” armor and simply take it one day at a time.

No stressing about my future allowed.

No pre-planning what a “proper” adult routine should look like upon my return to the states.

No worries about student loans and how to pay rent in a place I don’t even live yet.

I threw caution to the wind.

No frustrations wasted over the things I cannot change at work.

I started dressing less conventional and tossed aside the wigs and things that I used to hide the haircut from month-two.

I even “came out” all over again.

And with that, I made the proud proclamation accompanied by an even stronger determination to find my truest self and show him and her to the world.

Yes I said him AND her. That wasn’t a typo.

There is more to me than seeing what you may mistakenly believe you will get.

I am the embodiment of freshly cultivated masculinity and inherently sensual, sometimes calculating–though not out of malice, femininity.

Who says I cannot be a king and a queen!? A lady and a boss.

I am more than what meets the eye.

Before you can walk in your truth, you must first own it.
After you do that, everyone else will have no choice but to follow suit.
I’m willing to bet that they’ll even respect you more because of it.

What’s strange to me is how the new people in my life are under the impression that I totally have my shit together.

I was an assuming wallflower with a great sense of humor and kindhearted personality if you got to know me. To most of the neighborhood [predominately male] kids I was a tomboy, one of the guys. I wasn’t quite the head-turner, double-take commanding, main attraction type. Popular was never a word paired with a statement about me.

While much of the above remains the same, I am now noticing the second glances.

Some people actually look up from their phones when I walk in.

Is this the beginning of something?

But what if I don’t want to be like the cool kids?
…what if I just want to feel free to be me?

no pressure//just ☮
-Dannie-

Perseverance

What do you do when your all is not good enough?

I have been in South Korea for nearly six months now.
I wish I had some horror story to explain away why I feel so unhappy. But the truth of the matter is, everything that’s wrong with me is more about ME than it is the country.

Which brings up the notion of running away from my problems.

I said that I would not do that.

I was insistent that this move was not about that.

However, here I am facing the reality that it seems to be exactly what is happening here.

I promise I am trying to address it. I have fought tirelessly to prevent it from being the truth.

But every time my brain attempts to think about what I am doing with my life I get sucked into a paradox.

Homesickness and lack of companionship make me want to run home to my mommy but the unresolved issues I needed a breather from lie in wait for me, just eager to threaten my sanity all over again. Which is exactly what prompted this move in the first place. So do I stay or do I go?

If I stay too long without properly dealing with my current state of depression, that could have disastrous results. If I leave prematurely then this all may turn out to have been for naught.

Living in a country that hardly acknowledges the severity of untreated depression and mental illness, let alone offering resources for coping, doesn’t help.
While I am so pleased that I have not met the ugly face of racial-prejudice that many have accused the locals of committing during my time here, that fact alone offers little solace.

The truth is, I am unhappy.

Living here has opened my eyes to how socially awkward I am.

Living here has forced me to acknowledge that my passive-aggressive tendencies are dangerously self-inhibitive.

Life abroad has forced me to admit that bipolar disorder is more about having a clinical mood disorder than it is just about “being moody”.

Living in South Korea has opened my eyes to the division, subtle acts of competitiveness and innate distrust towards one another that plagues the women of my race. (Not to say that we are the only group of people suffering from crippling cynicism.)

Living in isolation far away from the many distractions I once so easily preoccupied myself with has exposed to me my most shameful insecurities. Inadequacy.

Unworthiness.

Weakness.

Dire loneliness.

My soul has a gaping hole of something missing.

A deep-seated need.

A sense of purpose begging to be fulfilled.
Notwithstanding, lack of fulfillment.

I try to combat the despondency with daily affirmations.

But as the weeks roll on with no sign of this letting up anytime soon, I have grown more afraid that I may give up hope.

It has taken so much brain power, personal effort and emotional energy to keep the demons at bay. The truth is I am running.

As fast as I can.

For my life!

So when I open up to someone and try to explain (because they asked) how I dissociate as an instinctual method of coping with a less than favorable situation and the response is a cheerful “oh I do that too” or “everyone fantasizes from time to time” I get annoyed. If only psychiatric dissociation was as cute and cuddly as a daydream ‘from time to time’. True as it may be that daydreams do occur, when you LIVE the daydream for hours, days even weeks on end, one must beg inquiry to something more than fantasy.

When coworkers whom awkwardly let out nervous laughter force attempts at lighthearted banter; extend hurried and most times uncomfortable invitations to a Friday night group dinner just to say they did; or compliment me for the tenth time in 3 days on the same scarf that I’ve worn all winter (for the sake of having something to open with before getting to the point of their visit to my classroom), do not understand why I have no interest in small talk during planning periods and chalk it up to me being rude, I feel obligated to explain that my lack of interest is not due to what you may secretly perceive to be an intimidating or angry black woman. Perhaps I am so focused on doing the best job that I have been flown all the way from the United States to do because truthfully it is the only reason get out of bed. I cannot help that I am depleted of all energy and have none to spare on participating in the formalities of feigning genuine interest in someone who I otherwise have no commonalities with and was a total stranger to only weeks ago. I cannot help that, as a black woman who has no choice but to find creative things to do with her hair so that her appearance is deemed workplace appropriate, I get irritated by comments like “I am so jealous that your hair can do that” and “I wish I was as brave as you to wear my hair like that” whenever I install a fresh set of braids or twists [or even put a bow on my head]. What the fuck am I supposed to say to something I’m not even sure was intended to be a compliment as much as it was an unassuming display of social ignorance!?
I often feel misunderstood.
Feeling misunderstood fuels my depression.
It is ammunition with which the voices in my head convince me I’m not good enough.

When I experience the disappointment associated with another failed attempt at “kinship” as a result of differences I cannot seem to effectively explain, I feel disheartened. Not only does this unearth an issue in my community that I tried to remain blind to, insisting I was neither part of the imposing or affected party; it also triggers the identity crisis that I, since adolescence, have grappled with regarding how I feel about being a black woman.
In the face of centuries of enslavement and oppression, at the precipice of the fight for freedom, why can’t we seem to get along and love one another more fiercely?
With confliction overcome by conviction, brokenhearted and with tears welled in my eyes, I proclaim that I love you to the black woman in the mirror staring back at me! I love you and the many sisters and brothers who look like you too.

When I think about how my life’s dream has been nothing more than to be a humanitarian, to give back to the world that I reap so much from and question whether or not I will be allowed to simply because of the way I present or the person my heart chooses to love, I feel distressed. When I think about the lack of support for black LGBT people and those trying to survive with mental illnesses, especially from our own families and communities, I ask myself if the impossible can be done.
I feel distressed because I wonder, can I be an advocate for all groups and areas of need that I believe in? Can I promote activism for equality and fair treatment of persons effected by whatever causes I feel connected to without pervasive intrusion on my personal life?

Too often I ask myself, “Why should I even bother?”

When the uttermost painful part of this spiritual molting process seems too much to bear I nearly cave in.

Nevertheless with an aching bend in my back, knees that wobble and ankles threaten to give out, I hold my head as high as it will go and press onward.

But what if my all really isn’t good enough? What shall I do then?

Die trying I suppose…

P.
-danie-

 

 

 

Uninspirational

Lately I have been uninspired.

Uninterested.

Unmotivated.

Undone.

My personal challenge regarding my blog is to post at least once a week.
I only skipped last Monday, so I won’t beat myself up about it too much. It’s just that incidents like this cause me to question if I will ever lead the functional life which they promise bipolar individuals we’re capable of achieving. The principle of the matter is, I’m concerned that I may self-sabotage my success.

Don’t get me wrong. I want the object of my heart’s desire. I want to be successful in my future endeavors. I would love to be an example to whomever may find me suitable role model material (someday). But I get weary.

I get weary OFTEN!

Many days I ask myself why I should even bother.

Sometimes I even give myself permission not to bother.

However, a leader with a large audience depending on her to carry the torch for the collective doesn’t get a chance to falter. People often times forget that leaders are human too. Is that really what I want to sign up for?

YES!

At least that’s what my soul says.

My mind on the other hand, filled with excuses, is like NOPE!

Nah! No thank you.

I have spent so much of my life in a state of melancholy that all the amenities of depression are too familiar to give up.

Do I really want to give up my unproductive days filled with listlessness and sleep?

Do I really want to give up the laziness that leaves mounds of laundry undone, a tower of dishes in my kitchen sink and a bathtub ridden with so much soap scum that it appears to have grown its own greyish floor mat?

Can I seriously commit to early mornings; meetings; writing, producing and editing content; speaking engagements and one day managing a team of people who believe in the same dream as I do?

I don’t know.

Yet here is what my heart keeps telling me about the matter.

It says we cannot go back.

It says that those bedridden days filled with sleep and listlessness were only a substitute for suicide.

It says the laziness that left the laundry undone and allowed my bathroom to grow a five o’clock shadow was the quick-sand that threatened to devour me whole.

But my mind says that’s all we know.

And to that my heart asks, “Now don’t you think it’s about time we got to know something new?”

-WELCOME-
peace

*danie*

Anxiety on Steroids

“Three months later and here I stumble upon an unfinished/unpublished draft that I had written shortly after my arrival here in South Korea.
While I am not under the distress of the anxiety that once plagued me, I do find myself experiencing something that can only be described as homesickness.
I guess I wasn’t as unfazed by culture shock as I led myself to believe.
Just the same, whatever this is called, I find that the best reward from documenting this journey is the reflection I get of my experiences.
My memory may some times betray me, but reading my own words always brings be back most accurately to the thoughts and emotions I felt while writing them…”

*I decided not to complete the draft but simply share it as is.

 

I have no idea why my heart feels like it is planning an escape from my chest cavity.
It has been a little over 3 weeks since I moved to Anyang-si Gyeonggi do, South Korea.

I am living out a 3-in-1 dream here:

I’ve always wanted to be a teacher.
Teach English in South Korea☑

I’ve always wanted to travel live abroad.
Teach English in South Korea ☑

I wanted to challenge myself to not limit my life’s prospects due to mental illness.
Teach English in South Korea☑

Hagwon Ga

class

my classroom

Day 1– Ground Zero

Today was a good day.

Monday is now down for the count!

Four days left until the weekend.

Inspiration struck me late last night.
In an aspiring writer’s world, when this happens it is advisable that you take out the little notepad in the drawer of your nightstand and start scribbling.
But I was so close to being asleep that I opted to make a silent promise to myself instead.

“If I remember this moment in the morning then it was meant to be and I will seriously devote some conscious thought to further developing the idea.”

Wouldn’t you know? The first thing on my mind when I woke up this morning was the brainstorm of inspiration I had as I fell asleep the night before.

The inspiration of what this bright idea could mean for my future was just the positivity I needed to battle the ‘Monday blues’. Nothing could bring me down with a future that looks so promising.

Granted the weather was crappy all weekend (and has now spilled over into the week). It was cold, rainy and gloomy. The atmosphere felt like a complimentary valet service for each and every contagion present during the cold/flu season. My body and head ached. And for some reason I felt especially heartbroken. I have no idea where memories of my estranged spouse decided to come from. But I guess that’s what happens when you allow depression to take its toll on you. Your mind begins to betray you to thoughts that you promised yourself you’d bury forever.

90s and early 2000s R&B and soul were the soundtrack to my stranger than fiction life. With my earbuds in, I allowed myself to retreat from the congested subway station and sulk. Hundreds of people huddled close, with their damp clothing and dripping wet umbrellas failed to interrupt my intense thoughts of mourning.

I mourned the love lost in the devastation of my failed marriage.
I mourned what I thought being normal would mean to me.
I grieved my 20s. For the years I’ve lost to the onset of bipolar depression. For the ideal my mind imagined being a young 20-something year old would look like.

I clutched my coat and struggled with my umbrella as I transferred from the subway to the city bus, and then again once I arrived at my stop and walked home.

I felt the weight of depression resting on my chest as I lay in bed late last night.
I began to panic. I feared it would get too out of hand far too soon. “I don’t think I can handle this on my own.”

I began to think that moving to Korea was a huge mistake.
Then something happened.

I flipped the light switch and crawled into bed.

Engulfed by literal and figurative darkness as I meditated on the life I was grieving and all I’d hope it would be, it happened.

The ah-ha moment!

The lightbulb came on.

In all of its brightness, it lulled me to sleep.

Dreams filled with ambitions of a life no longer ruled by depression, outlandish manic episodes, heartbreak, persistent headaches and chronic widespread joint pain overcame me. I felt encouraged to keep going. I felt reassured that this experience cannot be for naught.

The takeaway from my ah-ha moment:
Once my time here in Korea concludes, I will not return to the U.S. the same person I was when I left. I was not created to be normal. I was fashioned to be especially extraordinary. Why should living my dreams stop with a brief stint abroad?
I am going to start my own business.
No more giving my life away to mediocrity. No more sitting back as a watch my talent go to waste. No more turning a death ear to my gifts BEGGING to be acknowledged and nurtured. No more emotional, psychological masochism. I was slowly committing spiritual suicide. Not anymore!

I am going to be my own boss.

I will build my own brand!

The universe has heard my request.
Now it is only a matter of time before it all comes to fruition.

Don’t ever be too afraid or ashamed to ask the universe to help you make your dreams come true!

P.E.A.C.E                                                                              -this/is/dani’sWorld-

Day 3, Day 2

I really don’t want to move.

Thankfully I planned a few activities for my weekend that gave me reasons to get out of bed and get out of my shoebox apartment.

Although the weather perfectly compliments my mood, I still went out in the chilly wet weather to keep myself from staying in bed all weekend long.

Alcohol was involved in yesterday’s activities so unfortunately I did not get to write an entry. However, I refuse to own defeat.

I really don’t feel well. And that doesn’t make me abnormal.

If I didn’t plan to leave my apartment in advance, I am sure that I would’ve stayed in bed for 2 days straight. Ultimately feeling worse than I do now.

Which is pretty crappy.

But through it all, I am grateful to still be here.

I am thankful to have this opportunity.

To live and travel abroad.

To meditate on and manifest greatness for my future.

If only I can learn how to overcome the hurdles of depression.

Without relying on others to validate my worth.

Without relying on pharmaceuticals to get by.

But by trusting in my desire to live a full life, I know that I can overcome anything.

Even if today feels like a cold and gloomy day.

Heartbreaks and headaches suck. But one day these aches and pains will only be a memory of the mediocrity of my life presently. Because one day I will be more than victorious.

I will be a conqueror.

PEACE                                                                                -welcome-

Day 3

I give myself permission.

Not to quit…

But to succeed beyond all belief.

No daily log today. Only an inspiring word to myself (and anyone else who needs it) to continue to fight. 

I am (you are) valuable and important. My (your) life has great meaning. Fighting is important. Not for self, but instead that I (you) may live to see my (your) purpose fulfilled.

stay well and be blessed..         ¡Peace!

-dani’sWorld-

Day 4

If I don’t do this now, it will not get done.

Oh the power of positive manifestation.
Oh the power of keeping your mind fixed on thoughts of the life you wish to attain.

Here we go.

My thoughts when I woke up: here we go again. [Commence self-pep-talk here]… (I am still unsure of how I manage to get out of bed, select clothing for work and make it out of the door in time.)
Sleep: restless and interrupted, a broken up 6 hours or so.
My mood at the start of my day: highly frustrated and irritable, uninterested until I did my daily walking meditation. It’s amazing what positive manifestation and prayer can do for one’s frame of mind. My day has been trying but because I refused to consent to depression and negative self talk, I made it through the day feeling rather proud of myself for functioning like a typical adult instead of the ‘crisis case’ I have been known to be.
Appetite: I am still having trouble with my appetite. I am not sure whether to attribute this to my blue-mood or the fact that I recently started my “lady time”. (Actually I could argue that this whole experience is the fault of the female cycle, but I know this isn’t a case of prolonged PMS.)
What I ate today:  I bought another 6 in. tuna sub from Subway on the way to work. I had it made in the same manner as I did on Monday with the exception of wheat bread, they were out of it today. I had a toasted shrimp, egg and cheese sandwich during my free period (around 6:30pm). And after work I had a half-serving of spicy seafood/veggie ooddong noodles with more kimchi. The rest will be for lunch tomorrow.  Oh and of course my chocolate-chocolate chunk ice cream (now THAT I can and will blame on the lady cravings).
Exercise today: still no workout but perhaps I will bust a little sweat after this post… yeah probably not.
How I feel right now: not super enthused about anything in particular. I mostly feel relieved that I made it through the day and that tomorrow is FRIDAY! I’m not sure how I feel about what the weekend may bring. If I’m not obligated to get out of bed, I may find myself going backward instead of forward in my attempt to battle this persistent bad mood. We’ll see how it goes.

p.e.a.c.e.                                                                      -welcome to my world-

dani’sWorld