First post….. #mentalhealthawarenessweek

Hello troublesome friend.

We’ve lived together for a while now. Sometimes our evenings are quiet; I come home from work, turn on anime and escape into my own world. Other times I haven’t even made it to work. Crippled by our conversations, I’ve spent mornings crying in front of my reflection and afternoons chastising my tears. I’m a failure, wasted potential. Helpless, a hypocrite. I recycle your words and more. I know it gives you power, but I can’t help it. After all I am a hypocrite. How else would I be able to see so much value in others and so little in myself?

I must admit. I underestimated your impact on my life. You’ve been here for as long as I can remember, but your influence was limited. We mostly had pillow talks and discussions before particular events. Plus banter was a good way of fooling us all into thinking I was fine. In hindsight I should have known better. You would never just disappear. Over time as I grew, so did our relationship. You’d tell me why I can’t do this or pursue that. I’d listen. You’d wonder how people saw me, so I began to wonder as well. “Will I make things awkward? “ “Have I come across insensitive” “Look at how bad you will fail if you do this”. My visions of worst case scenarios became more frequent and vivid.

If I travel abroad my plane might crash. I might be killed because I’m a tourist, or black, or both. I tell you how lonely I would be dying on a plane full of strangers. You think it would be just my luck. Funnily enough I believe you, though my luck would probably suggest otherwise. You’ve always been good at that. Heightening my worries and self doubt to the point of risk-aversion. So often I am told that you never know until you try something. Together we always seem to know failure. Know what it means to not be good enough. Anticipate rejection. As a result I rarely ever try. Why bother, all that I’d do is reinforce what we already know.

Friend, what are you? I think I know, but sometimes you look too much like depression. The tears, the demotivation and the indifference. I can picture myself standing on the edge of a bottomless pit; sometimes peering over the edge. I’ve only briefly held hands with depression. Your hands tend to stay cold around my neck.

Anxiety you suffocate me.

I hate you but you understand me.

Somehow you befriended perfectionism and learned new tricks of the trade.

My self-esteem is your victim.