It’s the third time I am trying to write this post.
The words just won’t come out. I can’t hear my thoughts over the screams of my soul. I can’t think over the fatigue, the nightmares. I can’t focus over the anxiety and the panic attacks. I locked my door at night, overcame by paranoia. Sounds and smells gritting my senses.
Every word I write is wrong, misplaced. I think too much, yet nothing flows out. My body aches, my soul is sore, my eyelids are heavy. Nothing appeals.
Every time I start feeling better, I think I am finally out of the fog. This dense forest that wraps my mind, from which I can’t see the future clearly. Only storms going infinite into the horizons.
I try to fake it. To appear functional. Try to be more helpful, do some chores, go to my appointments. But I can’t write. I am bored. I am sad. I am lonely. I fail.
I have been lonelier than usual. It should be a time of increased productivity. Yet between appointments and regular activities, I watch an ungodly amount of TVs and sleep.
When I go through this phase, I question my choices, my life, my goals. I try to numb my mind. Go through a bunch of unhealthy coping skills, but there is so much you can eat. There is so much you can spend. I have overspent a lot in the past week. I do not feel better.
I find myself stimming and turning. Impatient. Needy. Irritable. I want to go off the grid. Do nothing. No pressure. No expectations. But it’s always there, it comes from within.
My mind is blank, yet it’s full. I hate myself and this mind I can’t control. This mind always so sad and insecure. This mind that always looks for the worst outcome.
I want everything and I want nothing. I am out of coping strategies. I stand still and I wait. For the feelings to go away. For a magical answer that possible will never come. I loathe myself and this ugly face. This body that does not conform to society. That I can’t love, even on my best day. This image of myself that is not aligned with who I appear, who I am. This impossible self. This ethereal glamour.
This is today. Tomorrow may be different.
I may love myself a little more.
I may be a little more positive. Or not.
It seems unlikely. This sadness inhabits my mind and soul. This darkness I have yet to embrace to find the light.
Those words that line up and have yet to make some sense. Maybe they only make sense for me, but for now, it’ll have to do.
I am out of coping skills. I can’t eat anymore. I can’t spend anymore. I can’t sleep anymore.
It shall pass too. Meanwhile, I wait. And I waste time watching tv.
Until next time,