Not quite sure where to begin, but Iām just going to vent and write whatever comes to mind.
As I write this, Im feeling a lot of distress. My heart is beating a bit faster. Iām feeling that chill of anxiety welling in my chest and running up my throat and scalp. Thereās a slight, imperceptible tremble in my hands and arms.
I havenāt felt this in a very long time. Iām on quite a few medications that block this rush of adrenaline that has threatened to consume me.
Iām always hesitant - or rather - scared to write out my thoughts and feelings. Thereās this part of me, the frail part of me, that is terrified these thoughts and feelings will materialize ā as if they havenāt already.
There are a lot of heavy emotions weighing on me tonight. For the last few days or so, actually.
I notice, as I merely acknowledge these emotions, that the pit becomes larger in my stomach. Iām shaking more. I feel weak.
Itās nights like these I wonder why the world is so cruel. Why therapy, psychiatry, stability, and help canāt be easily accessible for people like me.
As I lie in bed writing this, I have so many thoughts and ideas circulating. They shift from one to another so rapidly I have a hard time keeping track and I become overwhelmed. I feel suffocated and trapped by my mind. For some, itās freeing. For me, it is a prison.
Why can I not see through your eyes? Why can you not see through my eyes? Why can you not empathize? Why can I not speak so eloquently in person? Why do I have to be so misunderstood.
This idea is depressing for some people. Saddening. For me, it is horrifying.
Why can I not see myself? Why can I not see me the way you do? Why can I not see the colors, shapes, and numbers you do?
I spiral into this unforgiving world of existential dread.
People, places, things, they all look so strange. Iām viewing the trees and the grass through a wall of glass. Iām feeling the wind, but Iām so numb. I can hear birds, but thereās cotton in my ears. Iām standing here, but Iām not.
Family, friends, home, they look so unfamiliar. I question whether Iāve known these things my whole life or not.
I question where the sky is, where God is. If my only purpose is to live to die, then what is Godās purpose? And if it is greater than my comprehension, why can I not comprehend it?
Why am I forced to be conscious, when self-awareness is killing me?
Life is beautiful, and maybe heaven exists. But why hope for heaven when you can live the one life you are guaranteed?
I try to remind myself.
My life is good. My life is good. My life is good. I can eat, I can walk, I can breathe, I can sleep.
I can dance, I can sing, I can write.
So why am I so stuck? Iām so stuck. I canāt move. I want to curl up. The little girl inside of me is begging for help, to be held. But to held is to be touched, and to be touched is so, so scary.
Because how can I be sure you understand? How can I be sure your touches are real?
How can I be sure youāre real?
Is the world in my head? Is this my life flashing before my eyes? Am I already dead?
But life is good, God its so good! Because lavender, and baths, and cake, and cats.
Please tell me itās good. Please tell me I matter. Tell me Iām here for a reason.
But why do I need a reason to live? To eat chocolate cake? Empty calories. Pasta and tacos and sauce and steak.
Life is so good.
My life is so, so good. Iām so privileged to have these pretty problems.
And while I am thriving, dying, and trying to stay calm, there are other people more focused and consumed with surviving.
I feel guilty. How could I? How dare I neglect these people whom I do not knowā How dare I neglect the needy that are out of my reach? That are out of my capability?
And now, for a moment I wonder⦠Why?
Why am I so hellbent on finding an answer to all these inconclusive questions⦠when I could just not?
Oh, the weight that would be off my shoulders If I could just not.
Iām tired. Iām scared. Iām depressed. I ruin everything I love with my technicalities and fuel my dreadful fear of unimportance. I only want a purpose.