I came across something I wrote a few months ago that I think at this point is worth sharing. There are some aspects of what I wrote that I have found healing in the past couple months but much of what was written is a clear insight into a brain plagued by the unexplainable. Some days don’t always start off as bad days. Some bad days start with a misplaced thought of worry.
Back in September I set out to do a month of ME. It was to be a month of self-discovery and of celebrating who I am. It was fucking hard. And I didn’t always stick to the goal, but I guess even in shying away from the purpose, I still discovered something about myself. This entry from that month was one of those days and with much of the world faced with so many isolated days at home right now, I thought it was worth digging into the past for:
I feel guilty.
I feel like I brought this day on myself.
I feel like I made a mountain out of a mole hill.
Did I manifest this day into being what it was simply by having the thought that maybe I’ll just stay in bed? Did I create my own bad day because I had the thought that it might be one? Some days start off immediately with nothing I can do about the way I feel, but today wasn’t that type of morning, it was a slow burn rather than an explosion.
Does that make it any less real?
Why have I been analyzing it all day and feeling guilty that maybe I’m making it up in my head? Maybe it’s like car sickness, it doesn’t matter if I’m making it up in my head, I still feel sick in my stomach. Why is that so easy to accept but this isn’t? I think I’m guilty of projecting the same stigma onto depression as I accuse others of. Saying in my head the same things I criticize others for saying: “it’s not that bad.” “just snap out of it.” “you’re fine. Get over it.” All that talk about patience and gentleness I’ve been spouting off, I fail to actually put into practice. Like I can only see the benefit of that once the dark cloud has left and I’m back under the rainbow and sunshine.
I’m just so tired today. What is that about? I’ve been tired my whole life, and until now it’s just kind of been a running joke in the back of my mind. But today I slept in until 11:30 but dozed off and on until 2:15. Came home at 4 and slept until 6:30 and other than making dinner and showering, I still stayed in bed all day watching tv. I’ve been taught that’s laziness. But I don’t think it actually is anymore.
I’ve been accusing myself of being lazy for a long time. But when it comes down to it, I’m a hard worker, I don’t slack on the things I need to do, I just take extra days every so often where I don’t do anything because I can’t really. Today I had one responsibility and I did it, I didn’t cop out. But the rest of the day I had the freedom to not do anything so I didn’t. And as much as I’ve beat myself up about it, I’m glad I spent today doing pretty much nothing. I would have been worthless doing much else.
I don’t even know where I’m going with this anymore. Truth is, I didn’t know where I was going with it when I first sat down to write. I just knew I needed to. The guilt was eating at me. But I have to remember the difference between false guilt and substantiated guilt, and this is false guilt. Even now I’m sitting here and I want to cry. But in the back of my head I’m thinking do I actually want to cry or do I think it’s appropriate to cry right now to prove that today was actually a rough day? Who has these kinds of thoughts? It’s exhausting.
I just want to be. I just want to be me. In all the good, bad, ugly, dark, light, rough, smooth, crying, laughing, sleeping, living, waking bit that is me. But I worry that I’m putting on some show for someone. I’m here alone, no one’s here to witness any of it. But I’m so desperate to be known that this might end up being something I tell someone or write publicly somewhere and then it could become a spectacle. Is that what I’m doing? Creating bad days where there doesn’t need to be any to ….what? I can’t even finish the fucking sentence because it doesn’t make sense when I try to explain it and yet in my head somehow it makes perfect sense to analyze and feel bad about.
How is it possible to simultaneously want to hide this part of myself from people and yet also want to tell anyone who will listen in the hope they will love me anyway. The stupid part is that I have people who love me anyway. I know I do. And yet, just because I don’t have a special someone that does, I feel unloved and unwanted.
September me project is a sham.
The truth is I can love me all I want and focus on great women in my life, but I don’t know how to feel wanted unless I have a guy that wants me. How do I fucking change that? If anything, not talking to guys has only showed me in blazing colors that I desperately want to be loved by someone. It’s why I’ve settled for less than I deserve so often. But I want to feel loved and wanted without any male influence so that if the right man ever does come along, I’ll recognize the real thing. And if he doesn’t exist, I won’t just settle for someone who doesn’t treat me right. This entry became something I wasn’t expecting. That happens to me more than I realize I think.