A throwback

I remember talking to my doctor with me trying to figure out where all things started. It was as if all the answers to my questions were all at the tip of my tongue. Today I have decided to revisit.

Over the years I have written a number of things about how I felt inside as things were beginning to brew. Who knew that opening my old blogs would be a time capsule of well tucked memories in words.

Who am I
I was an innocent child who believed I had all the answers.
I was superficial, searching for all the wrong things that I thought would bring happiness.
Everyone wanted a piece of what I believed was really me.
All they really wanted was to benefit from the person I blindly thought myself to be.
When I realized my own delusion of myself, and who I am,
I began to change into the person I truly am, the person I want to be, the person I’ve always been, but couldn’t see through the eyes of my own unawareness.
Confused, I sought a way to make sense of my confusion, my pain.
Desperately, I clung to anything to help confirm who I am. I wanted all this pain to be just in my mind, not real.
Am I the me I think I am?
I don’t have that internal strength I need. I’m jealous of blissful ignorance. It is better to not have to deal with my demons. And this is so hard to come to terms with – who I thought I was versus who I really am.
Did I lose myself?
I can lose myself so easily.
All it takes is a crutch to ease this pain.
This pain is endless, my safety exists only when I’m alone in my safe place.
I enable my self-pity.
But can’t ignore it forever. I know that I can’t forever hide, but the temptation is so inviting to forget the pain away.
The pain always creeps back in.
It ruins everything I know isn’t, but want to believe, is true.
I try to forget, so many ways, any way to make me believe
I am masking my hurt away, using a pleasant veil so maybe they will believe. Then maybe I can, too.
Am I the me I think I am?
I don’t have the strength to fight it anymore. I’m aware, but the awareness is so painful.
But maybe I can just lose myself, one more temporarily gratifying time.
All it takes is a crutch to ease this pain.
Originally posted at agathaluise.wordpress.com (now an inactive, private blog), November 17, 2012
Words: The gift of anxiety

I love how anxiety has helped me write things down (often the gift is in-excess–a surplus of words). My anxieties in the past have helped me carve words on trunks like crumbs on a lost path to help me look back on where everything might have started. This isn’t the start but I am thankful for the words I left in the past. They serve like old friends who tell you that you’re not alone.

Continuously trying to make sense of the blur

tumblr_mys38z5qkr1sbddtxo1_500Going back to the present and what I told my doctor and mother, I have felt this since 2011. This single account in 2012 is just one of the many I have written. Trying to trace back further, I think I felt like this since I was a child. So is this just a phase? Am I using this as an excuse to act any way I can? Am I just acting up to get people’s sympathy these past few years? Am I just crowding myself with self pity? No. The thoughts have always been here. Sometimes the thoughts and feelings are too much that you can’t even make sense of things anymore. It feels like an external explosion of an atomic bomb and there is no other way to describe how it feels other than speaking about it metaphorically. That’s how anxiety feels. There are people who are able to live through it and there are some who need help just like me and countless others who don’t understand what they feel. There is no shame on needing help. We are all different and our minds react to anxieties differently. I wish there was a way for people to understand these differences and not shame it, however, I wouldn’t wish anyone to feel how bad it really feels. If I were to speak in behalf of people with anxieties, depression or any other mental illness, if there was a way to keep all the ugliness out, believe me we would have done it.

 

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