I bought a journal. I know I have literally a hundred notebooks (and I am using literally correctly… I actually have about 100 notebooks… and a shopping addiction apparently). This one feels special. It’s a leather bound, I don’t even know how many pages, impulse Walmart purchase. It looks like something in which I’ll find fantastical beasts, and come to think of it, that may be true. It looks like a book. Not a notebook, but a book. My book. The book of my brain. The book of my thoughts, my discoveries, my creativity. My depression and the fight. This blog is very much the same, but this is more of a “hey friends, I’m still alive and here’s why” medium. The physical book in my hands, with my cursive and scribbles and ramblings. It’s for me.
I think it’s going to help me. I sat and wrote for a solid hour the other day, and it felt like a weight had been lifted from me. I poured a lot into that one coffee and panic attack fueled, surprisingly neat cursive session. Yes, I still write in cursive. It ain’t as fancy as it was when I was in grade 3, but it flows. And boy does it flow.
There are already tear stains on one of the pages. I’m 3 pages in. There’s been a lot of angst and panic and general feeling of worthlessness as of late. I put too much pressure on myself to get it right the first time, and that builds on me until I can’t seem to do anything without panicking about something else I need to be doing. I feel the need to catch up to everyone else in my life, I had to stop. Not everyone is at the same place in their lives. Some people are older and have a lot more ground under their feet. Some are younger and have it all figured out. Not everyone is going to meet the same obstacles, and therefore, can’t be expected to be in the same spot in the race as everyone else. Or handling that race. I don’t deal with hurdles very well, it seems. I feel like each one is more of a challenge and I fear I can’t measure up. And then as I struggle, my physical health goes by the wayside too. I stop taking care of my needs. I don’t exercise. I eat healthy, but I eat too much. Everything hurts. I get sick more often. And then process continues until I feel like I’m crawling in the mud.
Fuck, I hate feeling like that. I am stuck in such a rut, everytime I try to climb out, life seems to throw more shit on me and I slide back down. And then there I am, still wallowing, and covered in shit. I need to take a shower. Mentally. In. The. Worst. Way.
After coming home from a torrential downpour filled camping weekend to see the Perseid meteor shower (which couldn’t be seen because of the rain that was supposed to be long fucking gone by the time we set up camp but carried on straight fucking through until after we packed up camp on motherfucking Sunday… *inhales*
*serenity now* ……yeah, no, I’m still kinda pissed) I came home to some jarring news from my family. I won’t go into details, for their sake, but suffice it to say, it was the cherry on the fucking Sunday… I mean sundae. Actually… the cherry on the sunday was that I somehow got either a stomach bug or a mild case of food poisoning (either way, I was spewing from nearly every orifice… there’s your mental picture of the day!). I felt like I was going through the day encased in cement blocks. I felt drained. I was tired. I have a strong family though, we came together to take steps to fix everything. It will be a long road, but it took a long time for things to break, a quick fix won’t stand. It’s going to take a long time to heal, as with any wounds. So, now I am back, thankfully, the flu or whatever has subsided, and I am having time to focus. My recharge period didn’t go as planned. In fact, it was crushed with the weight of a thousand suns, but that’s in the past. Right?
I have a couple more days to focus and set plans for my own healing in motion. There are a lot of things I haven’t dealt with, and they keep recurring like a nightmare. A nightmare I’m ready to put to bed. God, my puns are on point today. I have hit another lull and it’s not working for me anymore. I am tired of being tired. I am tired of being sick. I am tired of comparing myself to everyone else and trying to keep up with other people’s expectations of me (expectations that likely don’t exist, but they do in my brain). I need to get out of this, before I slip further backwards and it’s more and more difficult to climb out. I can’t go back to that dark place. I feel myself slipping back there, and I need to cry out for help this time. I can’t fight it by myself.
By bottling up all my fears, I make it harder for myself to open up to myself, let alone other people. That sure as hell can’t be healthy for me. So, I need to do something out it. I feel like I’m starting all over again, back at square one. I have to keep reminding myself that I’ve come a long way, and hey, I ain’t dead yet. That’s gotta count for something. More of my life needs to count for something. I feel like a robot just moving along to keep everything going smoothly in the world. Automatic. That can’t be a healthy feeling either. I constantly feel like I’m not good enough, and I’ve just about had enough of that feeling. Like, seriously. I don’t let up for a second. I’d never treat another human being like this, why do I keep treating myself like this? This is why I feel unbalanced. I argue with myself. And I lose.
Time to start treating myself like I matter. My friends and family have been doing it for years.
First up. Take a shower while singing along with Adele. Time to do some healing.