Life doesn’t stop when you’re at your highest points. It doesn’t suspend itself in time when you think everything is going perfectly–it hits a point where the function curves downward and the slope becomes negative. It hits a point where you feel like ripping your hair out at three in the morning because you’ve woken up from another bad dream and you can’t find it in yourself to go back to sleep. It travels in spirals and twists and turns, leaving your stomach in knots and your mind senseless.
I can’t say for sure how long it’s been since I’ve been feeling like I boarded a roller coaster I never really wanted to ride. A couple of years now? Maybe more? Whatever it is, I haven’t really stopped to think about why I’m feeling the way I am until now.
My best guess is that much of what has happened and will happen is out of my control. Deaths of friends and family, anxiety, the pressure to make a future for myself now, possibly even depression–all of this starts to take a mental and emotional toll on a person. Even just the process of growing up and letting people and things go as an insecure person is enough to make me feel like I’m losing it. (It’s really difficult to organize my thoughts right now so bear with me here)
I suppose what I really want right now is to break free from this constant cycle. But it’s difficult.
Being someone who is really insecure about almost everything, I feel like I can’t share how I’m feeling without being a burden on those I rely on for support. Why worry my parents when they have enough to focus on? Why bother friends who probably have a lot on their plate? It’s this constant stream of pattern thinking that’s driven me into a hole where I bottle things up until I crack like an egg under pressure.
That anxiety and insecurity paired up with my jumbled transition into adulthood, I feel like a mess. Like someone took that cracked egg and splattered it onto the wall. How am I supposed to decide the rest of my life right now? I can barely decide what to eat for breakfast if I eat anything at all.
Despite all of these negative pieces of this most complicated puzzle, I’m glad I haven’t completely drowned. I have people in my life that care about me, and I’m trying to slowly open up to them about what’s been going on. I have creative outlets for my feelings like art and writing–even if I’m at a complete loss for words sometimes. I have ways of dealing with it, and I feel grateful for the fact that I haven’t pushed myself into doing something completely dangerous and irreversible. Even nights spent crying until my eyes dry up are still a catharsis.
With the negatives I’ve learned to see the best of the positives. I’ve come to appreciate every moment that elicits a genuine smile and a laugh. I am thankful for the people who have stayed by my side no matter how bad my moods get, and how hopeless I feel. Most importantly, I’m glad that I’ve found safe places to open up–places where I can shed my armor and get the help I need.
I’m not trying to prove anything by writing this all out, and I’m not asking anyone to really care either. I just needed to get this off my chest. I want to come back to this one day and see that I’m in a better place than I am right now.
I want to get better.