HER
I acknowledge, as a person diagnosed with depression and anxiety, that some days will be bluer than others. Some days will be murky. Some days I will feel like I am hopelessly trying to stay afloat when I feel the metaphorical waves crashing down on me.
The days I run to the bathroom to cry, just because. The days I wonder my purpose, and why I am working hard to get to a place where I am unable to see the outcome. These are scary days. I lack less control on these days, smile less, speak less, isolate myself more, and choose numbness.
This feeling is familiar, kind of like an old habit. One that I can sit within silence. One where I sit with loneliness- crippling loneliness. I guess I learned a long time ago the beauty of sitting with myself, which is the very reason why I travel alone once a year to challenge boredom, challenge non-social pressures, and challenge the feeling of interaction. Every one of these trips that I take, my mind speaks louder, sometimes screams and it is the quieting of my mind that I find most challenging.
I am an avid thinker. I question my intentions always. I question my thoughts. I question my feelings. I question these things so that I can be ever aware of the person I am and the person I have become. Eighteen years of having others thinking for me, feeling for me, igniting pain for me, left me at a very empty and confusing place when I graduated high school and moved to Atlanta.
I get frustrated that my past brings me pain and I know that I can't run away from my past. I can't click a button that puts it away in a box that I can tuck away underneath some of the other skeletons of my life. But I have come to the understanding that this is simply what it is.
The days I run to the bathroom to cry, just because. The days I wonder my purpose, and why I am working hard to get to a place where I am unable to see the outcome. These are scary days. I lack less control on these days, smile less, speak less, isolate myself more, and choose numbness.
This feeling is familiar, kind of like an old habit. One that I can sit within silence. One where I sit with loneliness- crippling loneliness. I guess I learned a long time ago the beauty of sitting with myself, which is the very reason why I travel alone once a year to challenge boredom, challenge non-social pressures, and challenge the feeling of interaction. Every one of these trips that I take, my mind speaks louder, sometimes screams and it is the quieting of my mind that I find most challenging.
I am an avid thinker. I question my intentions always. I question my thoughts. I question my feelings. I question these things so that I can be ever aware of the person I am and the person I have become. Eighteen years of having others thinking for me, feeling for me, igniting pain for me, left me at a very empty and confusing place when I graduated high school and moved to Atlanta.
I get frustrated that my past brings me pain and I know that I can't run away from my past. I can't click a button that puts it away in a box that I can tuck away underneath some of the other skeletons of my life. But I have come to the understanding that this is simply what it is.
I've learned that moving from place to place challenges me to accept the present tense of who I am and sometimes that is a rude awakening. Sometimes this awakening is not welcome, but I know that at the end of every day and the beginning of everyday she is here. I acknowledge her. I am learning to know her. She uses the pronoun of she, her, hers. She can tend to shrink herself, but as time goes by, the truth has set her free. She protects me. She is in flight or flight. I hope that soon enough, I can give her some relief.
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