Tukayote Helianthus: Unkillable
RECOVERY, EMOTION, DANCE, PHOTOS, AND TUNES.
NO ANESTHESIA. NO BULLSHIT.
Author: Tukayote
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Took a 2400 mile solo road trip to Northern California. Worked my way up the Pacific Coast from San Francisco to the Oregon border. Cried a lot. Walked 150 miles. Went to the psych ward for two days. Kissed a beautiful stranger at midnight on New Year’s Eve. Took a couple selfies. A challenging and…
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A lot happened this month, to say the least. Didn’t take many pictures.
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For years, I thought my relentless dopamine chasing was a personal failure. Weak willpower. Poor discipline. Another addiction story. It turns out it was biology. Genetic testing confirmed what I’d long suspected: my brain is wired with significantly fewer dopamine receptors, making “normal” life feel chronically underpowered. That truth changed everything. Recovery stopped being a…
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I didn’t fix myself—I learned how to drive my bus again. Internal Family Systems gave me a language for what was already happening inside: a system of parts, each trying to protect me the only way it knew how. Addiction, anger, fear, and chaos weren’t personal failures; they were passengers fighting for control because they…
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This week, I finally stopped arguing with permanence. Not the things I can change—I know that dance well—but the things I can’t. Chronic conditions. Lifelong diagnoses. Bodies and brains that don’t magically “turn around” if I just try harder. In IFS terms, I hit a trailhead where perfection, fear, shame, and denial were all standing…
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One of the cruelest parts of bipolar disorder is never fully trusting good feelings. Is this joy—or the start of hypomania? Is it real, or is it a glitter-bomb that’s about to explode into consequences? Right now, I can see that some recent “good” feelings were actually mild destabilization during a medication change. Not a…
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On paper, I’m “stable.” My mood is steady. No swings. No spirals. But underneath that stability is a brutal reality: crushed energy, flat dopamine, and relentless akathisia. For years, one side effect quietly dictated my life and drove me to self-medicate with alcohol and kratom just to function. I finally named it for what it…
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Today, I hit a trailhead I couldn’t ignore: my fear of uncertainty. In IFS, it showed up as a very young part—quiet, tense, always bracing—using denial as protection. I’ve spent years fighting diagnoses, circumstances, and history, thinking resistance was strength. It isn’t. Acceptance doesn’t mean approval or giving up; it means stopping the exhausting war…
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Jessica isn’t a bully. She’s a protector with a sharp tongue and outdated intel. For years, she roasted me in the mirror, commented on everything, and called it “help.” Ignoring her only made her louder. What changed wasn’t silencing the voice—it was listening to it. Jessica was frozen in time, using criticism as armor. Once…
