this is pretty much a spur-of-the-moment kind of post; I’ve had a really crappy day in terms of my emotions and mental state, starting with my misophonia acting up again through the night which resulted in lack of sleep and anxiousness and anger, and then it all continued as the day went on. It’s around 11 pm now, and I was propelled into writing this a little over an hour ago, because of something hurtful someone said to me. And so I just thought I’d write this to get it out of my system; writing is my therapy and it did manage to pull me back from that really black state now. As always, I’m sharing this in hopes that anyone out there who’s going through similar struggles can get at least that tiny piece of comfort in knowing they are not alone in this. And also, in hopes that people who cannot relate to this will be able to learn something and take things into consideration, and simply learn to show more compassion and kindness and care for the people around them, because so many are hurting in silence and are in dire need of human interaction and any silver lining that anyone can offer.
Once upon a time lived a girl, by no means a princess, her story by no means a fairytale. Her house wasn’t a castle, and her window wasn’t high above the clouds, isolating her from the rest of the kingdom.
This girl had a home, surrounded by trees and flowers, under a vast bright blue sky dotted with cotton candy clouds. The girl had a family, all of its members intertwining throughout her memories in a blur of happy moments. The girl had the world under her feet and the sunrise before her and her companions right by her side.
And yet, the girl was broken in a way that she had not been able to name for a very long time.
Amid her sunlit days, she started feeling cold and dark and full of shadows.
It was strange to her at first, how the tears never seemed to cease pooling at the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t understand why she was feeling so lonely, even among her friends and family.
There were many things she disliked about herself; whenever someone tried taking her picture, she would turn away. Whenever she looked into a mirror, she felt pathetic. Ugly. Strange.
One day, the girl’s world suffered an earthquake unlike any before. It would haunt her often, in the darkest and loneliest of hours of night, making her so sad and so confused. There were so many emotions she was feeling, and yet she could hardly ever let them show. I don’t want to be a burden, she would think as she cried into her pillow. I don’t want to be a burden, she would whisper as marked one life after the other onto her skin. I don’t want to be a burden, she would think whenever someone asked her how she was. She did not want to be a burden, so the answer to that question was almost always the same:
Just a little tired.
As the girl slowly entered womanhood, she made herself a home among books and stories, fictional people and the friendship they offered. They helped her feel better; helped her imagine a world in which she could do anything, go anywhere and be anyone. A world in which sadness and loneliness were not her most trusted companions.
It was a great comfort, that world, yet reality kept trying to kick down its gates.
There were good times in there, too. Times of friendships and happiness and the feeling of belonging and freedom. Times of joy and gratefulness.
But, as her teenage years bade her goodbye, the girl’s world changed once again. Friendships fell apart (We just somehow grew apart, I guess), others’ expectations kept smothering her from the inside, along with her own desire to find purpose. Her mind, along with her heart, grew tumultuous; her thoughts became unclear and unfocused, her smile cold and practiced, her voice hoarse from being quiet for long periods of time. Little things made her viciously mad; little things made her deeply unhappy.
But worst of all was the emptiness.
The feeling of just moving mindlessly through each day, yet not really going anywhere. She would lose interest as quickly as gaining new passions; she would withdraw from others, rejected and hurt and wondering what was it about her that made her so unlovable and awful.
She was a failure.
She was a wreck.
She was nothing special, at the end of the day.
And that’s how she felt almost daily.
She carried all those feelings inside – I don’t want to be a burden – where they slowly festered and grew and mixed together to form a combination that could be dangerous at best and deadly at worst.
Once upon a time lived a girl, at war with her own mind.
And no one knew who would end up the winner.
/ / /
If you are struggling or know anyone who’s going through a tough time, you can find a list of international helplines here
If you need to talk/vent, you can leave a comment here or contact me at tammy_28_10(at)yahoo(dot)com or through my Instagram page here
It will get better. Keep fighting.