My fingers effortless tap the necessary keys, bringing my thoughts to life. But somehow, they all feel wrong…so, I continuously hit the backspace button, erasing them all so not a trace remains. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I’ve done it about six times already and I’ve only been writing for less than 3 minutes.
My limbs feel heavy. I feel weighed down with them, and my chest feels compressed too. Today was really not a good day. I won’t get into details, but it just wasn’t a good day. To top it all off, I’m having tons of MHE related pain issues. My bones all ache at once, and moving is causing me pain. All I want to do is curl up in a ball in my bed and sleep. Instead, I’m searching for some kind of release and I always turn to writing because…well, what else is there? I don’t drink. I don’t “smoke”. I write away my pain, my frustration.
And yet…I feel like there is this heavy curtain drawn over what I can and cannot say. Out of respect, out of fear, out of everything really. So many factors…blogging is tricky. Sure, you can share your stories and your experiences, but then you face judgement and I don’t know if I can face that right now. Plus, I could hurt someone. You have to be very careful how you word things, how you paint the pictures of the stories you want to tell. I’ve hurt people before with my words, and I’ve never met to. When I write, I write for me…my thoughts, my views and opinions…things how I see or saw them. That doesn’t make them right, or wrong, or fair. Which is why I tend to avoid writing about certain aspects, or I omit details just because it’s not 100% my story.
So, instead of writing about the reasons, I’ll just focus on other things that are contributing to my current [emotional] hurt. The pain I’m inflicting on myself. Life is a struggle, but I – more often than not – make it harder than it needs to be. I’m quite the optimistic pessimist, blind with hope for things, full of expectations and yet somehow expecting the worse and being entirely negative at the same time. What can I say, it’s a talent.
There’s been so many struggles in the past several years, things have gone from okay to bad to better to worse than ever and back to better. They’ve all been worth it, every struggle…every tear, it’s all worth it. At the end of the day, there will be something better for us, for me, and that’s what keeps me going…even when things feel dire.
A lot of the time, it’s in my head. I have these…expectations, for how things should be and how they should go and when it doesn’t happen, I can be pretty pissy about it. I know this, and yet I don’t really dedicate a lot of time to fixing it. I’m trying, I am. I’m trying to let go of the obsessive need to control things, to have things go my way but it isn’t always easy and I struggle daily with it.
It’s hard to pinpoint all of my issues, I have so many. I’m definitely not blind to them….I’m painfully aware of them. They whisper to me, in icy tones. They creep up unexpectedly. I’m trying, I am. It’s a struggle, I wish I could be one of those perfect people that handles everything so gracefully and never seems phased by anything. I wish I didn’t pick fights with my husband. I wish I could go with the flow and just re-fucking-lax every once in a while without my mind taunting me. I wish that I didn’t feel so alone when I was alone, because I’m not alone. I am loved. And yet, there’s this voice that taunts me. You’re alone, it’s Saturday night and you’re alone.
There’s a part of me that is actually terrified that I will end up like her, she was alone a lot and she went crazy. Maybe she was crazy before, or maybe she had the same voice that taunts her. You’re alone. Wait a minute, isn’t hearing voices a sign of craziness?
But I can, for the most part, tell when I’m being unreasonable. Sometimes, that doesn’t stop me but still I can tell. That kind of makes it a little maddening…knowing that you’re being unreasonable, that you’re wrong and being unable to speak how you’re thinking or fight off the demons…the depression, if you can call it that. I’ve never been clinically diagnosed, mainly because I’m afraid of that label. I’m afraid of all labels, really. I shrink away from them and try to tell myself that it’s “just a bad day”…but today’s events have forced me to realize that maybe, it’s not “just a bad day”…maybe it is depression, or maybe I just really need to figure out a better way of coping with stress. The way I’m “handling” things now just isn’t working.
I’m kind of afraid to publish it…afraid for people to read these thoughts. They sound crazy and they make no sense. But that’s because I’m trying to write while not over-sharing, which I hate doing because sometimes over-sharing is disrespectful. In this case, over-sharing would certainly be disrespectful.
I promise, I am okay. I’m just…trying to find a release for all the not so awesome stuff that triggered the [extremely intense] emotional reaction in me. Since I started writing this post, I’ve been able to find that release and resolve [some of] the issues that provoked it by talking, and by writing.
Writing this post helped me figure out a way to voice my feelings properly, in a healthy way, instead of becoming the screaming banshee that I so easily become these days. When I become that banshee, I’m reminded of her. She didn’t exactly set the perfect example for how to get your negative feelings across…but I’m working on that, because I am determined to not end up that way.