You never really know when it can hit you. One day you’re by yourself, just having the time of your life, and then boom, out of nowhere, you’re not yourself anymore.
Every little thing feels like too much and nothing at all, at the same time. It’s dark and too bright, quiet and too loud, and everything seems to stay afloat yet you’re sinking, all at the same time.
Not only are you a little overwhelmed, but you feel silly for making a big deal out of it, and you often feel foolish for not talking about it at all. But it is what it is, or is it?
I am not a professional when it comes to dealing with things like this. I clearly can’t be. But I have way too many emotions, and unfortunately, the only way I know how to deal with them is by writing about it.
I’ve never wanted to seek help. And it’s not because I’m scared of finding out that there’s something wrong with me, but it’s because I’m afraid of coming to terms with the fact there isn’t. It’s not a healthy way to deal with it, but I know that now. And whatever I feel [calling it depression or anxiety makes me feel like an imposter], has me paralyzed with hate and fear.
I hate that I let it take over everything I do. That, in my head, no matter what I touch turns to stone. Okay, maybe I’m not Medusa, but I am a dramatic individual, so let’s move on.
What I’m trying to say is that, apart from being extremely dramatic, I have been the worst version of myself in the past few days. And while I don’t like being that way, that was all I wanted to do. So that’s what I did, I slept, all day. It didn’t fare well when I finally woke up, because I haven’t been so tired ever. But I’m glad I did.
It’s not odd for me or anyone else to have a bad day. Everyone has those. But it’s strange for it to happen as frequently as it has lately. It’s been more like a series of unfortunate events rather than a gloomy cloud following me around.
Am I alone at a time like this? No. But reaching out to my friends or family feels more like a chore than a cry for help. I’ve been struggling to battle my inner demons because as the days pass by me, I feel like I’m freefalling into some type of warped reality.
I’m not saying that I don’t enjoy the bad days. Yes, at the moment, feeling this way isn’t fun. But it also pushes me to do more – reading more, writing more, watching something instead of spending all day in bed. But on days it’s terrible, not only do I end up doing absolutely nothing, but I also find a way to project my insecurities, doubt, and pain onto others. Or so I’ve believed.
And on most days, I usually wouldn’t let any of that affect me. Because I’m the victim here, right? That’s where I was so so wrong. Not only was that behaviour disgusting, but I also let it consume and define me to the point where I’ve lost a bit of myself now. I’ve put up an act of being this angsty, edgy, lover of dark humour. But not only has that made people look at me differently, but it’s also almost made me second-guess myself. How?
A much younger Simone was probably the happiest person you’d come across, and now, it’s almost like that light has dimmed so so much, nothing can seem to make it shine bright. Keeping all of the drama and extra aside, I know that people can change, and while I do enjoy being a mysterious, brooding stranger, I’ve come to realise that it isn’t the personality I’d want to keep up for too long. It’s depressing, emotionally draining[oddly enough], and often makes many assume that I don’t look at the glass half full.
It hasn’t been easy, falling in love with myself. The opposite, however, has been effortless. It’s been a collective of long nights of staring into nothing. But it’s in this silence that I’ve realised that putting this enormous amount of pressure on myself has been incredibly unfair.
I’ve often heard about people projecting their insecurities and their pain on people they love the most. And in that deafening silence, I decided that I was doing the same. Of course, I did have help from some very poisonous people I’d come across and befriended in my life. But at that moment, every venomous word they spewed seemed to make sense.
It’s odd, isn’t it? This race we seem to be running in this chaotic existence we choose to call life?
You’re old enough now. You should settle down.
You should’ve been comfortable running the rat race by now, smothered by the overbearing affection life throws at you.
Don’t you think it’s time you fly the coop?
Shouldn’t you have comfortably been living thriving in this effortless environment you’ve created for yourself?
The lifelong discussion of boomers, GenX, Millennials, and GenZ will always cease to amaze me, seeing how the former are happy in this safe bubble they’ve created, while they push the latter to succumb to it as well. Don’t get me wrong, because I’m not saying that they haven’t lived, they have. But it is also this exact way of living that is almost suffocating for the latter.
I don’t mean to speak for everyone from my generation and younger, but there’s something else that has pushed us down this path of uncertainty. I’d hate talking shit about social media, because that has been a small, yet exciting part of my life. Which is sad now that I think of it, because I’ve done so much outside it, but it’s only valid if a post talking about it exists.
It has taken me an incredibly long time to understand that even though it did bring me some joy, the validation social media gets is just momentary. And yes, I have talked about in my previous posts, but despite the anxiety, and the emptiness it makes me feel, I keep going back. It’s the equivalent of giving that one toxic ex multiple chances because you’re afraid of being left alone with your demons.
But here’s what I’ve realised.
The Rest Is Confetti
I recently came across a quote by Jay Shetty, and it made me think. It made me think of all those lonely nights I stayed up late in bed, talking down to myself. It made me think of all those days I woke with dread, not wanting to get out and tackle what the day had for me. It made me think of all those deadlines that not only broke my spirit but hurt me at my very core.
It’s dramatic, sure. But all of this is what I’ve been going through for a very long time. I was never good enough, I wasn’t smart enough, I wasn’t pretty enough, and for most, I wasn’t happy enough. And on some days, I still feel that way. But on most days, I realise that I’m enough, not for everyone else, but myself. And that is all that matters.
We’ve had this odd misconception in our heads that the life we live is a race, and until you don’t come out the top, it’s meaningless. But here’s the thing.
“Once we come to terms with being content with whatever we have, with living our lives for ourselves, and finding happiness within ourselves. It is only then that we’ve truly won.”
Because there is a difference between feeling good and feeling alive, the two aren’t always the same. And I have spent a substantial amount dwelling in the past, but we can’t count the past. It fades, and with that, we do too.
We spend so much time trying to find love and put that effort into that particular individual, I know I did too. But at some point, I’ve come to understand that I need to forgive and learn to love myself, because forgiveness is warm, like a tear on a cheek.
The rest is…
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