When someone asks me what I’ve done all day…
Well, on the outside, it looks like I’ve done jack shit. And really, I guess that is one way to look at it. I may spend more time at home than the average person, and sometimes I don’t even mean to. I sort of go through phases depending on how I feel like I can handle the world.
I don’t like that I am so emotional. I wish I were a calculated person, who acted upon logic, who relished in the company of others, and who never ever acted stupidly because some invisible monster called “feelings” came and made me shit my metaphorical pants every other day.
…But I don’t seem to be able to go through life without these feelings, and thus, it means a lot of shit. And if you’re shitting yourself, are you going to leave the house? I don’t think so.
Not often, but sometimes I spend my day just trying to combat my sadness. It’s weird because it’s a strange concept to feel at war with yourself and your own emotions. Sadness is my hardest emotion. Love is so easy and alluring. Anger is motivating and forces me to make big changes. But sadness is debilitating. It not only doesn’t feel good, but it is paralyzing so i am unable to make changes or propel myself out of my own self inflicted rut. It is so easy to feel that the only way I can get through sadness is by crying it out, laying in bed, and feeling sorry for myself. It’s so pathetic, but it’s just a hard emotion to overcome.
I find that the only real therapy for my sadness is writing. I guess that’s why I’m here, and in the moment right now, I feel ten times stronger. I’m coherent, aware, and I just want to stay on this path of good emotions. Besides love, writing for me is something that is able to carry me through hard times. Thank God for that.