My mind… Works in mysterious ways. It controls whether I am happy, sad, or mad. It manipulates my body into thinking that there’s danger around me when there’s not… Or is there.
Am I having a panic attack? Do I have depression? Am I having suicidal thoughts? What’s the point of living? Would anyone care if I’m gone? Those, along with many others, are the questions that constantly run through my mind.
My life may seem perfect to people who feel as if their own personal life is miserable. But truth of the matter is… It’s not. I’m not. Honestly, none of our lives are perfect in each of an individual’s point of view. You could be an a bad relationship, but to others you may seem like the cutest, inseparable couple. You could have everything you want (money, a job, education), but not want you really need (love, support, family, friends). As the saying goes, you can’t judge a book by its cover.
I’ll admit it, I’m naive. I’m only going by Google searches, so I’m not sure what I’ve been going through for all these years. Is it really depression? Panic attacks? Or am I just a moody, emotional person? I have no clue, but whatever it is… It sure as hell been messing up my life.
Lying here alone on my bed. Typing along as if this were my own personal diary. Lots of gibberish, but at the same time a relief. My chest keeps tightening up at random times. Why is that?
Earlier today, I found out how my mom really thought of me. Stupid and pathetic. That’s probably what everyone thinks of me. She says that all she’s done is good in this world, but why is she stuck with such misfortune to have me as her child. That hurt me more than anything hearing that. Everyday I force a smile on my face and pretend to be happy to make her feel good. I help her around the house by cleaning, doing yard work, giving her massages, etc. Things that my brothers should also be helping out with, but instead I’m doing it. For what reason though? All I get is trash dumped on me after all of that.
I listen to her problems. I listen to my brothers problems. I listen to my dads problems. I listen to my aunts problems. I listen to my friends problems. But who’s there to listen to mine whenever I have a problem? Nobody. When I do try, I get laughter on the other end and ridicule. “You’re to young to be stressed!” “Do you even know what depression/panic attacks are?” … I do.
When things get too much for me, the locked bathroom is my safe haven. There I can freely cry and hyperventilate. I don’t do self harm, but the pain inside my chest is enough… Many times I’ve asked myself how to make this pain stop. Is it possible?
Many ideas have run through my mind, but the risk of not being successful is holding me back from attempting any of it. I’m tired of this pain, but I don’t want extra pain being put upon me if anything does go wrong. There’s one method that I’m willing to try, and the success rate for me is fairly high… I hope. But as always, I only think… Never do. Which is a real shame.
Nothing is enjoyable for me anymore. I used to love playing outside, drawing, playing video games, hanging out with my family, singing… But one by one, they’re starting to fade from my life. What once used to be my way to escape the stress in my life are now gone. Singing was my recent newfound escape, but now that I’m not interested anymore, I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to cope.
Where was I going with this draft… I have no idea. Blabber, blabber.
2 comments
> But who’s there to listen to mine whenever I have a problem?
No one unless you tell them. I can count on two fingers people who know about my aliments. One finger if I don’t overlap them. Only because I told them. I can relate to a subjectively good life, however I don’t think that is the sole measure for existence.
For what it’s worth, I enjoyed reading your well written words.
I agree with cephalus. Very few people will just, with no prompting, ask if you have a problem, and then proceed to listen and give support. More often than not, you have to reach out to people for that.
Also, it’s all too common that the things we enjoyed in our younger years fade away. It’s one of the shitty aspects of “growing up”. However, it’s not impossible to go back to those things and try to capture the previous enjoyment we experienced from them.
O and thank you for sharing your thoughts.