Skip to main content

My F**k moment !

 

F**k...sht...f*k!!!


Photo by Camila Quintero Franco on Unsplash



I said it all. Like what the f*k!!! I can’t stop cussing. Everything was going to sh*t...am literally living from another's’ pocket, a dollar a day...why the f*k did l quit my job!

 

F**k! I can’t sleep! I either study late in the night or worry myself out of sleep. Dark eyed circled monster walking....give way...or don’t..l won’t make it outside in daylight. The night is my day!

 

F**k! The sun hasn’t touched my face in weeks, as l only leave my room with the sunset to buy food. No one to see this dark eyed circle monster walking!

 

F**k! What am doing here! This sh*t is so fucking hard! I want to quit but l can’t. I promised myself never to quit again!

 

F**k! I do have a problem! Let me call my friend Jolly l talk it out! Plus l need sleep medication...this fking meditation ain’t helping. Them sport shoes are arriving tomorrow...so am f*king gonna start jogging with sunrise from tomorrow. He missed me and l did too!

 

F*k! Let me f**king post this and go study my f*king exams!

 

Fkkkkkkkkk!!!!!

 

“Hope is important because it can make the present moment less difficult to bear. If we believe that tomorrow will be better, we can bear a hardship today.” – Thich Nhat Hanh
It is okay to have a f**k moment...l did have mine today! It felt good! Have yours whenever you want and remember to reach out to anyone when it is too much to handle. This can be a friend/ family/ Mental Health Specialist or even me by writing to me to my email here: 
lucyjilly.a@gmail.com

Cheers! To taking care of our mental health!

Labels

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Five Scars and a Breath

 Some stories find you and change you. This one did. In today’s post, I’m honoured to share a deeply moving account of pain, survival, and unexpected grace. It's a story of resilience, recovery, and what it means to return from the edge with five scars and a breath. Shared with permission and written in her own words: Five Scars and a Breath " At the beginning of last year, I became fluent in the language of pain. I knew the routine by heart - walk into the hospital, wince through registration, and recite my prescription like a nurse: Start with 40 milligrams of Nexium, top up with another 40 if the pain doesn’t retreat. I wasn’t a doctor, but I played one with practiced confidence. Until one day, the pain didn’t follow the script. They gave me 80 milligrams of Nexium, then paracetamol. The pain remained, stubborn and screaming. Then came the opium. Relief arrived cloaked in a darkness so absolute it stole my sight. The pain retreated but not without a warning. I finally surre...
Post a Comment
Read more

Seal the Sand on Me, but Don’t Seal Me

 Part 1 "Peter! Peter! Light the bonfire and open the gates. It is time." Mama Lushana called out to the farm boy, her voice carrying the weight of tradition and loss. The title Mama —a sign of respect in her community—had been given to her by the church. It meant "Mother" and was used by everyone to address her, though not all knew the trials that earned her the name. Flashback Lushana was born in the 1940s, one of only two children her mother bore before tragedy struck. Her mother died in childbirth, leaving Lushana and her younger sister to navigate a harsh world under the care of their stepfamily. Determined to provide for her sister, 13-year-old Lushana agreed to marry into a well-off family. Her dowry would allow her younger sister and step-siblings to afford an education. Her husband, Habbu, was an evangelist, often away on preaching missions. While he spread the Gospel, Lushana stayed behind, carrying the weight of countless household and farm ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Hey Mr. Mood!

It is Saturday evening and I have a feeling that I recognize all too well. It comes suddenly even after I have had a lovely time earlier in the day, I call him Mr. Mood. I am writing this article while seated beside Mr.Mood so as to easily describe him because once he is gone, all I am left with is a sigh of relief to not think of him. Writing this post with Mr. Mood is not easy, he keeps pulling me and I keep trying to push myself away from him, and when we reach a stalemate, we tango till one gets tired.  Mr.Mood sometimes likes to make me feel sick giving me a headache, forces me to crawl in my bed and not to leave unless answering nature calls, to lose my appetite, or to be nonchalant when forced to interact with people. And when our fight for control begins, he holds power over me when he causes me to be stuck in a never ending negative thought process pattern: ‘I HATE MYSELF! PEOPLE DON’T LIKE ME! I CAN’T DO THIS! GIVING UP SEEMS EASY!’ But then I take the power back when I m...
Post a Comment
Read more