I’m a liar.
How I’m coping with life’s adversity. Spoiler Alert: I’m not.
I’m not as kind as I pretend to be. I’m not as loving as I pretend to be. Not as happy as I pretend to be. Not as pretty as I pretend be. Filters make me look better, and the Internet is a cool place to hide behind layers of insecurities and be who you wish you were.
I’m honestly just another creative kid who’s been forced into living and working in this catch-all word for “mainstream normalcy” — aka society. I’ve been severely depressed for the majority of the past six years, with really bad anxiety that keeps me up at night. I can’t seem to create and sustain healthy relationships with anyone. Not even myself. My hair is literally never combed. My heart is always broken. And never perfectly in half, so that it’s easy to fix; more like Humpty Dumpty, never to be put back together again. I cry often. Not silently. Real loud and dramatic-like; perks of living alone. Money always burns a hole in my pocket. I have attachment issues, and I always feel like people will leave me. And they usually do, but I guess that’s not a good enough reason to treat them like they will.
For some reason, people think I can help them. And sometimes I think the same. Other times, I’m afraid they’ll find out I’m a fraud. I’m just like them. I suck at absolutely everything. I have way more bad days than good days. The only redeeming quality I have is that I try really hard to love on people, because secretly all I really want is to be loved in return. Ultimately, that makes me selfish.
So there it is. That’s the truth. I’m absolutely no one important. I just wish to be loved for all of the reasons I wouldn’t be. I’m a failure at life by my own standards. With every person I meet, I somehow screw it up. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve cried because I just want to meet someone who understands, and then I turn around and push everyone and anyone that could away. I’m really not sure if life ever gets better. I pretend like I know, but I don’t.
I wake up every morning and want to quit. I go to sleep every night and want to quit, but I don’t. I hope that there’s a plan for me, and suffering isn’t the only thing I’m allowed to feel. I’m not writing for anyone’s pity, I have enough of that for myself. I’m writing in hopes that someone can relate. (That’s why all writers write, huh?) Life is a really crazy roller coaster that doesn’t stop. As much as I want to get off this ride sometimes, I have faith that the good part is just around the other corner. (Maybe a few corners from now, but you get it.) I hope that anyone else struggling to cope as much as I am knows that they’re not alone. And eventually it gets better. Happiness is my only goal right now. I believe everything else and anything else is just a by-product of it.
Love and light (and other positive shit),