I know, my blog started out somewhat uplifting, didn’t it? I think at the time I wrote my first blog post, my soul was crying out for some way to cope with the stresses and the slow downfall of my spirits. My brain needed to write down its innermost thoughts and successes. A cry for help to organize its chaos. Writing is a way for me to discover who I am. It’s a way for me to realize the feelings I have inside me.
It’s like this: One moment, I will feel somewhat alright, content. I will be happy for just a little while, and that is when I feel the beauty of the world. I will breathe the air and enjoy the moment…for just a little while. The next moment, the smallest of things will hit me in the chest and leave me breathless and weak. Always have I been a sensitive person, but even more now than ever. It’s like I can’t even handle constructive criticism like I was once becoming accustomed to in my maturity. The loudest of noises feels personal to me. Life’s little disadvantages makes me feel like a complete failure, and that I should just accept it. I feel like sleeping for most of the day, and in the mornings, I feel there is no reason for me to even get up. For the most part, I feel sadness and anger more than I feel joyful and full of life. Laziness has taken over me completely, and the effortless of tasks leave me so exhausted. The things I once loved to do or felt excited about leave me thinking, “What’s the point?” or, “Why should I even try?” It’s the most horrible thing to feel. I push loved ones and friends away, and I feel that they are doing the same thing to me. I hate being hugged because as silly as this sounds, it takes me away from my thoughts. I sadly feel so distant from everyone, but yet…I want to be distant from everyone. It just doesn’t make any sense.
Frustrated. Angry. Sad. Unaccomplished. Lazy. Irrational. Uninspired. Exhausted. Stressed. Conflicted.
Also, I have always had high levels of anxiety. Never have I been able to manage it, and once, I even went to the emergency room thinking that I was having some sort of heart problem (I had heart surgery when I was four) only to find that I was probably having an anxiety attack. Well, why don’t you try to get help? Why don’t you talk to a therapist? The conflict is this: I really want to speak to someone who can help me understand why I feel the way I do. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s just a silly chemical imbalance. However, not only can I not afford to go see a therapist, I also feel weak. I feel like I should be able to handle my moods, anxiety, and depression myself. I have always been that way, it’s not just a societal issue. When I was having urges to do terrible things a couple of years ago (although I never wanted to do them, mind you), I tried my hardest to think of other things or do tasks in order to preoccupy my mind. That was a scary time for me. Sometimes I still have those urges, but they tend to go away after some of my “training.” Even then I didn’t really want to see a therapist. I felt I could handle it on my own.
I don’t want to create a pity-party because that is the last thing I want you, my dear reader, to take from this post. My blog is like my diary, but I also want my readers to have something to relate to. It’s always uplifting to me to read that someone else understands. It makes me feel as if I’m not absolutely crazy and that I have their words to hold on to for inspiration. I don’t expect you to comment or to make me feel any better. I just need someone to listen… I know I should pray…but I don’t believe I deserve His mercy.
Thank you for reading,