Here I am. Sitting in bed. With my cat and some music in the background. I should be writing a paper for college, but my mind is racing, so I instead find myself here… Trying to decipher my thoughts.
I feel like I am naturally a self-sabotaging person. Naturally, my normal temperament is more anxious and sad. I don’t believe I am a naturally happy person. I really never have been. It’s not natural for me to go around smiling and spreading joy. It’s not a natural thing that just COMES to me, but something I have worked on for years and years on end. A continuous journey.
I am filled with contradictions in my head, because I feel like I am naturally very prone to pessimism, but I so very much don’t want to be that. I feel like it’s a constant struggle to combat those negative thoughts… Because there is the other side of me, the perfectionist, the people pleaser, the neutral, easy going person. I have learned from a young age how to act well. How to plaster a smile to my face. How to say, “yeah, everything is okay, I promise… I’m just really tired.” And I’m not saying every day I had to pretend, or that every single day was a struggle, but a good amount of days growing up definitely were (and there are still plenty of hard days). BUT I learned how to put on a smile so well, I could even trick myself into believing I was actually happy sometimes, or at least until I found myself alone in a room… and to this day that is still a thing I don’t quite understand. It was like if the people around me thought I was okay, then somehow I must be.
I’ve always told myself I’m very grateful for the little rational voice in my head that can help balance out the devilish side. It tells me to stay sane, or at least prevent me from doing actions that would create a real problem outside of my head.
I had plenty of friends growing up, but have always felt lonely. I would smile, but that didn’t mean I was happy. The pure fact was that I didn’t want to bother people with my emotions. I still don’t want to bother people with my emotions. I know at the end of the day life will continue and I will keep moving on, and I don’t want to take people’s energy away from them by making them worry. I know the sun will always rise the next morning and I know that I will be okay.
It’s been a constant struggle all my life. Remembering having these feelings as young as 11 years old. The countless nights of insomnia, never being able to escape the thoughts circling in my head. A thing which still continues to haunt me today. But now I find some weird comfort in this haunting solitude. It’s a comfortable place. A place I’ve grown to know and live in very well. Probably too well.
So here I am in. In the same insomniac, solitude I know like the back of my hand. Some days are better, some weeks are better, but honestly this last week was hard.
I don’t know if I have 1) learned how to mentally cope with the anxiety better, or 2) learned how to mentally suppress the anxiety better. But either way, it still physically manifests in my body. An angry gut, a tight chest, a racing heart. I find myself lost in meditation, messaging my tight chest, googling the correct pressure points I can work on to release the tension.
Writing this post was very therapeutic. While it’s only one small post, it’s a big step in me living a more honest, raw life. A step in admitting my troubles so that I can hopefully move on. This is me and this is all part of the process. The process of me living a better, healthier life.
We all have flaws. And I’m tried of pretending like I don’t.