Stronger

I wish I was stronger.

I’ve told others that I need someone. I need another to sustain me. Not physically, no. But for the sake of emotional and mental stability? Yes. And you know, science says people are made to interact. Were designed to coexist with others. And yet, cliques and clubs and racism and misogyny and whatever else has developed to separate us and to leave me where I am now.

I have anxiety. I don’t like interacting with strangers further than a hello. I even struggle with that. I can have whole conversations with a person and feel empty. It’s empty. The words are empty. How are you? Oh if I could tell you. You don’t want to know. Really. You think you’re being polite but really, you give me a fake of the real thing. Compassion. Connectedness. Something deeper than these stereotypical questions that just kill time. No, I wish I could openly say I have anxiety. That no, I’m not fine. It’s not okay. You tempt me to release the floodgates and tell you every excruciating detail of what I feel and think. But you don’t want that. But I wish you did.

It should be okay for me to say I want connectedness. That people would want to hear every excruciating detail. And not give me a pity party. I miss my old therapist. She was serious. She didn’t smile when I was on the verge of tears. She didn’t tell me I could fix myself because she knew that’s not what I needed to hear. She may not have helped me long term, but she helped when she was there. She made it easy to be that person I could trust with my inner anxieties and thoughts. Do you know how hard it is to reveal your heart to someone? It’s funny. It’s easier for people to release their outer bodies, but not their inner hearts. I have revealed my heart before and it’s terrifying. I don’t think there’s really a person who would be willing to always hear what I have to say and make me a huge priority in their lives other than someone who’s made it their profession to. I feel like a lost cause.

I know I can never, ever ask that of someone. And you know, it may have been possible once. Before everything built itself to the way it is now, maybe my load was manageable enough for someone to carry. But not anymore. And it’s not going to stop. I constantly process everything that’s happening and happened and going to happen and my mood and anxiety levels shift with every thought. I hate that the longer I go without talking about it to someone or using this outlet to help, I lose more control. My thoughts build, the worries build, there’s no comfort. I guess normal people survive because they reach a point when they know to stop thinking about it or they know to put their focus elsewhere. They can take a deep breath and move on. The most I do is put myself into stasis mode. I stop the flow but don’t drain the tub. And then the water starts to leak again.

I dread the evenings, the nights, the mornings. School and work sucks but it distracts me. It puts me in stasis. I don’t think when I’m busy and maybe something happens that puts me in a good mood. It’s all light and fluffy…until I come back to this empty room. Homework? Practice? Projects? If it’s on my own, I can’t do it. I can’t. I really can’t. I feel a block. A wall. If I was in class and there was work, I could do it then. Because I’m in stasis. But once I’m alone, it all comes back and realization sets in. A deep breath and the anxiety and sadness seeps in. I don’t feel good. I don’t feel strong.

But I wish I could be.

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