Hello, I’m still trying

hopeful
hopeful
Sep 5, 2018 · 3 min read

I’m a fighter. I fight back this constant fear of being alone, yet not wanting anyone around me. I fight the feeling of tears for no reason because my heart never stops being heavy. I fight being constantly afraid of the world outside my door. I’m fighting. Everyday. And if I’m being honest, it’s exhausting. I always wonder, is this just life? Does everyone else feel this way, but I’m the only one not strong enough to ignore it?

I hate who I am. I go out of my way to put this bubbly, carefree facade up. I try to front this ‘life is hard but god it’s fun’ attitude. I like to think I’m funny. I try to show off what wit I inherited from my dad, because if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry. It’s kind of my best escape, making other people feel overwhelmingly happy. Because if I can’t feel that, I think the people around me should. I have a great fear of bringing people down. I don’t want to be that person that walks into a room, and everyone can feel the cloud. Why should anyone else suffer but me?

Do you think there are people like me? People who suffer from such intense anxiety and sadness, that it overwhelms their entire being? I love to write. I love to put everything down in comprehensible words in hopes that someone like me will read this and feel slightly less alone. I used to call my mom. Because that’s what anyone would instinctively do, right? Call their mom? My mom and I never had a physically close relationship. But mentally, god we couldn’t be closer. I think she understands, in deeper ways than she’ll ever admit to me. I think something inside of her is relieved to know she’s not alone too. As my mom, you can imagine her best advice, being that it will be okay. And I always truly believed it, until I hung up the phone. But no matter how many times it failed to aid my thoughts, I still needed to hear it every time, just to hear it.

The scary thing is, I have a good life. I have good people surrounding me. So what in the hell am I doing making everyone else suffer on account of my twisted feelings? But then it adds. Now, without having even expressed myself, I feel like a burden. It’s like this self destructive way I’m carrying my own life. A self destructive way that makes everything worse, but just for me. I simply don’t have the money or the time to seek professional help, it’s just not as easy to obtain as I think it should be. But seeking help elsewhere makes me cringe. Because in the midst of expressing my feelings to anyone, I feel this ‘look’ behind their eyes. A look saying “This is silly and you’re dramatic.”

I know this is true. Because when my attitude is not up to par, not lighting up the room, I’m crucified. I’m moody, I’m ungrateful, I’m negative, I’m a bitch. So do I have a real choice? I fear tucking it away for too long. I fear that one day, coming out of the darkness won’t be an option. I’ll drown in it, once and for all. And maybe it’s inevitable.

I want to heal. I want to be better. I want to be the person my daughter sees when she asks for those squeezey hugs and that goodnight kiss. I want to be the me I remember from before life got so cruel.

Maybe this is meant to be my personal battle, something I face alone, within my own head. I think writing pieces me together, so I plan to continue. I plan to trace my mental journey and attempt to rebuild. If not for me, than for the few that still love me. I will try, I will fight.