Growing up, on New Year's Eve, my family would sit down around the dinner table, and everyone would fill out a sheet with their goals for the new year.  Goals for health, finances, school (if applicable), work, things of that nature.  I remember being quite a bit younger and being gung-ho about filling it out.  Mine was usually filled to the brim in each category.  But then the satisfaction of writing down my goals, and reading them aloud for all to hear was enough for me, and I didn't really try after that to stick to them.

Then, as I got older, I stopped filling out that sheet.  I knew I wasn't going to try to meet anything I wrote down as a goal, so why try?  It was a waste of my time.

Here's the thing I've learned over the past 5+ years:
Having a goal (or goals) is good.  It's easy to get lost in life when you aren't working towards anything, and you feel like you're just uselessly meandering along, because you aren't trying to achieve something, some kind of small point in the future.  Goals help motivate, help you move forward, help you keep hope alive.
On the flip side, though, while having a goal (or goals) is exceedingly beneficial, what's not beneficial is shouting to the world what your goals are.  I once heard someone put it into words what I already knew but couldn't articulate.  But basically, it something like the satisfaction or even praise you get from merely stating your goal, tends to be enough for people, and they stop after they say what they intend to do.  And since this is the case for, I think, everybody, I have found it's better to make goals, but keep them to myself, knowing that I'm working on achieving them.  And once I'm there, that is when I can tell the world what my goal was...and even better, that I met it.

I haven't written down goals in years.
And it's still not something I'm inclined to do, to be honest.
But.
I do think that this year I will try to make goals for myself throughout the year.  Goals that I sincerely want to accomplish and achieve and will quietly work towards with all my effort.  I think it's better that way.  To have goals throughout the year, throughout your life, rather than to sit down right as the old year ends, filling out a paper you know damn well will be eventually tossed, with nothing crossed out.

Goals are good.
What good is life if we aren't working to grow and mature and explore and seek out?
It's not much of a life.

This year has been better (and worse) than I expected.
And I have no expectations for this coming year.
Regardless, all I know is that I want to continue to improve, to learn, to work on myself, to mature...and so much more.

Here's to another year of learning new things, of understanding myself better, of working on loving those around me.

 I've been thinking about control lately.

And how much I feel like I need it.  In order to function.  In order to have some semblance of, well, control, in a world and a life where control very much can not exist.

But that gets me in trouble.

Because really, how much of my life can I actually control?  How much of my life is up to me for me to determine and decide and demand?

It's not.

And my need for control has gotten me in trouble.  It's demanded things that are unfair of those around me.  Demanded they do things my way and my way only.  Because that's what I need.  

Or is it?

Really, how much do I add to my life by worrying about the things I cannot control?  Unknown health issues, finances, decisions other people make...the list goes on.  But worrying about those things does nothing for me.  It's not helpful.  If anything, it's unhelpful, because the unnecessary worry and stress only have the potential to add to my health issues.

I realised quite a while ago that my need for control is linked to why I worry constantly.  And I worry constantly, because I feel like I have to be productive about things I can't control.  And sure, maybe I can't control things, but worrying is making me proactive about it, right?  At least it makes me feel like I'm doing something about the things I have no control over.

It's all an illusion.

I'm sure the need for extreme control comes from my childhood and the lack of control I had.  And how controlled my life was.  And how I had no control over it.  Obviously, things to further process, and talk about in therapy.

But realising that is a start.
Knowing I have a need for control, and where it stems from, and then from there, learning how to let things go.

To know that I don't have to always be in control.  That most of my life I actually won't be in control, and that's okay.

It's a process.  It's not easy.  But instead of acknowledging I have no control and just letting everything go to shit, I can acknowledge that while I don't have control, I can learn to trust One who does.  And I'm learning.  It's slow.  It's hard to relinquish control.  It's hard to trust.

But I am finding it's worth it.
Especially when I give control to One who loves me unconditionally, and only has my best in mind.
He has proven Himself so much already.  And continues to do so through His goodness.

I am learning.
And I am learning to trust.

Believe Me

 Believe me when I tell you who I am.
(Believe anyone when they tell you who they are.)

I was once involved with someone who told me something along the lines of "People can tell me who they are, but I'm not going to believe them.  I'm going to decide for myself who they are."

And...I get that.  I really do.
Because I get that people can tell you who they are, but then their actions, their words, shit, even their entire LIFE will speak very very differently on the subject.
So, in a sense, maybe you should decide for yourself.

But at the same time...

Well, I guess it depends on the relationship you have with the person.  If I met someone, and didn't know them very well, nor have an established relationship of some sort with them, I would be more inclined to not so much listen to who they tell me they are, but rather wait and see who they show me they are.
But if someone I have known for a while tells me who they are, I'm inclined to listen.  First off, you will forever be getting to know the people in your life; that doesn't ever stop.  People are complex, but they are (or should be, at least) constantly evolving.  Which means that you can know someone for a lifetime, but still be learning new things about them.  As it should be.  But also, if I have known you for a while, I have seen who you are through your words, through my interactions with you, through who you are as an individual.  So.  That means that I know who you tell me you are will be authentic, and it will be real.

But this is so complex!
Because you meet people, and they think one way, they have viewpoints about some things, and for whatever reason, the way they think, and the outlook they have is cemented in your brain.  And then they may grow over time, they may change, and mature, and their ways of thinking and their viewpoints may change.  But then you feel inclined to think of them as a liar, or a hypocrite, because how could they switch from one side to the other?
But...oh.  If you aren't giving them the room, and grace, and courage to grow, you are forcing them into a box you made.  A box which doesn't allow them to evolve, or change their mind, or shift their perspective.

1. Give people the space and grace to grow and mature.

2. Believe people when they tell you who they are.

I have done this.
I have told someone close to me who I am.
And you know what classic mistake they make?
They think they know me better than I know myself, so they decide that who I am telling them I am, is not, in fact, who I really am.  No.  It must not be, because they know me more than I do, and they don't see it, so therefore, it must not be true.

And all I can tell you about this approach, is that it is hurtful, and it will damage the relationship you have with that person.
Instead of them feeling like you're safe, and they can be vulnerable with you, and they can reveal who they are on the deepest and most intimate levels, they will instead build up walls, they will not share themselves, they will become distant.

And is that really worth your insistence that they aren't who they told you they are?

Give people the benefit of the doubt.
Of course, it depends on the situation, and the length of time you've known them, and other factors.  But for the most part? 
Believe them.

 I haven't ever been a person to classify myself as "anxious."

...But in the past couple of years, I've realised that yeah, I get anxious a lot.

I don't know why it is.
I'm not actively seeking reasons in my mind to worry, to fuss, to be anxious.
But it's still a thing, whether I ignore it or not.

And it makes sense.
The small things that people don't worry about...sometimes, I feel sick to my stomach thinking about them.
Feeling my heart racing out of nowhere (and definitely not caffeine-induced).
Feeling a TON of nervous energy inside me, but not showing it on the outside, but feeling like I'm a lit firecracker about to go off at any moment.

And a new (but not new) thing, that's apparently a sign of anxiety: tossing and turning at night.
Which I've been doing for who-knows-how-many-years now.
I just always thought it was another way my body was fucked up.
Waking up every time I switch sides, always making sure the blankets are still in their place (which explains why I never understood how people wake up with the sheets twisted around them, or on the floor...I adjust them every. single. time. I wake up to switch positions).
But nope.  Apparently, a sign of anxiety.

I saw my doctor the other day, and she prescribed a second antidepressant for me.
This one to help me sleep at night, and to help with the anxiety.
And I have to say, since I've started taking it, I'm not waking up NEARLY as much at night as I used to.
And dear God, I am grateful.

The past few weeks have been filled with way more anxiety than I'd like.
And I hate it.
I hate thinking about things and feeling sick to my stomach.
I hate thinking (involuntarily) about things in the past, and having deep wounds reopen, and the anxiety to pour over them, making things all the worse.

And my focus has been SHIT.
I sit, and I know I have to work on school.
That I have things due.
But the guilt, and the pressure to get things done isn't enough.
It's paralyzing, but even that in and of itself doesn't help me to get started on things.
I sit and I sit and I sit, and I TRY.
I KNOW I have to focus.  I have to!!  But I can't.
I'm just an anxious ball of internal energy, heart racing, hands sweating, unable to focus or concentrate...

Or feel.
In the past few days I've noticed myself shutting down.
I just feel drained and tired and after so so many months of actually being happy and being okay with myself and with life, I'm back to feeling like I want to die every day when I wake up.
(Not ever getting enough sleep probably isn't helping with that...)

I just...
I don't know.
There is a lot out of my control.
There always is, because that's life.
But what I feel like can and should be in my control, isn't, and that doesn't help anything.
I hate not knowing.
I hate not being able to have guarantees of things getting better.
I hate having to continually only be able to rely on myself, and face life alone, because there's no one that I can fully trust or depend on.
I mean, my life has been that way for a long time now, but it should have changed a couple years ago...and hasn't.
But honestly...that's not too surprising, once I stop and think about it.

I don't know where I'm going with this.
Even now I have a ton of nervous energy, and I feel so incredibly anxious, and I can't focus, even though I'm sitting very still while writing this, and feel completely and utterly exhausted.

I am so sick and tired of my body and of my life and of so many things.

Sometimes people get married.

And generally, when this ceremony, this commitment, this covenant, takes place, it's usually implied that you are vowing to love this person for the rest of your life.

The rest of your lives.

After all, you become forever linked with them.  They are an extension of you.  Everything you do and say affects them, now, too.

You may not be promising to be "in love" with them for forever, but to love them.

(There is a huge difference.)

(This is not the point of this post.)

Part of these vows - whether you say them or not - include loving and cherishing the person.

For better or worse.

Whether richer, or poorer.

In health...and in sickness.

But let's back up.

When someone tells you they sincerely care about you, that they want to help you get better (both with physical health and mental health), do they mean it for forever?

Or do they mean it when it's easy, when it's not an inconvenience for them, when they think that you'll get better within the assumed timeline in their head?

What if someone tells you those things?

What if someone promises to spend a lifetime loving you and cherishing you, regardless of the circumstances?

You want to believe them...right?

But it turns out, maybe they only meant that within certain parameters.

When things are easy.

When it's convenient.

When you make them happy.

Otherwise, they really don't care.

And by default, they don't really love you.

After all, how can you believe someone who swears they love you, that they want you, that you matter, when the same person who tells you these things, also tells you that they don't like being around you when you're depressed?

Or how they don't like being around you if you can't make them happy, or feel good about themselves?

(We are definitely not going to get into how THAT'S a toxic mindset, or how it's wrong, or any of the other number of issues that come with basing your happiness on someone else.)

Turns out, they don't truly love you.

They only love you when you have good days, when you make them happy, when it's convenient.

They don't love you through the hard days.

They don't love you unconditionally, with the understanding that maybe you'll never conquer your demons, that bad days will happen, but they'll stand with you regardless.

Nope.

On the bad days, they're sure to remind you that they don't like being around you.

So what does that mean for you?

Especially when you're depressed all the time?

I'm starting to think that maybe it means that someone like me would be better off not being married.

Because chances are, you won't find someone to love you no matter what.

To weather the storms of life with you.

To sit with you in your sadness.

To be there with you.

In health.

Or in sickness. 

I've been thinking about respect.  And boundaries.  And how sometimes we pass off a lack of respect as a "mom" trait.

Do you know what I mean?  Like, if your mom asks if you if you want this or that, you say "no, thanks" but she gives it to you anyway?  Or you have friends or people you know that are seen as the "mom friend" because apart from the obvious role they play in being the responsible one, they also push things on you even if you say no.


I get, on one hand, that a person doing this is trying to take care of you.  To ensure that you're eating enough, staying hydrated, taking care of your body (in whatever way that looks like).  But at the same time, I also know that when someone doesn't acknowledge your "yes" or "no," that it's kind of a subtle form of disrespect.  Of saying "I know you said no, but I know what's best for you, even though I'm not you, so I'm going to push this on you anyway, because I really do know better than you."


I remember being younger and having dreams of people not respecting me when I told them "yes" or "no" and how incredibly furious I would get in my dreams.  But I would keep that anger in, because I wasn't ever taught how to deal with anger when I felt it.  Not much of a difference from when I was awake, to be honest.  Any anger I felt was kept inside.

But that's a moot point.


What are we telling people when they tell us "no" but we insist anyway?
I mean, that's usually the case.  I can't ever think of a situation where someone actually answers "yes" and then doesn't get what they asked for.

Frankly, I think seeing it as a "mom" trait is a good bullshit cover for what it really is: a lack of respect.

I can recall in a relationship I had where I would tell the person "no" on things, and even though it wasn't something physical that was presented (food, water, etc.), they still kept pushing and pushing and honestly?  Their actions cut deep.  It hurt me, because they were showing me they didn't respect me.  At all.  Because they wouldn't just let my no be "no."


And maybe yeah, society has trained us all to realise that people play mind games.  That girls actually mean "yes" when they say "no."  That people generally just say "no" out of politeness, maybe, but really, their true answer is "yes."  Etc. etc.


But as someone who tries to say what I mean, and mean what I say, when I say "no?"  I really mean "no."
And I know about 99.9% of the population does, in fact, not at all mean what they say, nor do they rarely say what they mean, but I am going to take you at your word.
If you tell me "no," I'm not going to push.  You said no, I am going to take it that you meant that "no," and I am going to respect you and honour that "no."


"Mom trait" or not, I think changes need to be made on both sides.  For the person saying "no": make sure you mean it.  Don't expect the person asking to be able to read your mind, because news flash: mind reading isn't possible.  If you really mean yes, say yes.  And for the person who is asking: if the other person tell you "no," leave it at that.  Acknowledge that they said no, and give them the respect they deserve by honouring their "no."


Anyway.
Respect people, whether they say yes or no.
Don't push things on them.
Don't think you know better, or even know what's best for them.
(Spoiler: the person who usually knows what's best for them, is that person themselves.)

Just...let people say no.

(But also give people the space to change their mind, too.)

My chest feels so tight, and I feel like I'm suffocating.

Next month will be eight years.
Eight. Years.

And how is it, that I just finished reading a book that reminded me so much of the confusion and loss and hurt and grief and anger and I still cry so easily over it?

And WHY do I feel guilt for how much this hurts?
Like I don't deserve to feel all the pain and hurt this brings up.
Like the way I'm reacting is that I was closer to her than I really was.

I can't think about it.
I never even really cried over it until my husband and I started dating.

That first year we were together...
One time I was at his place, and we were drinking hard cider together.
We started talking about things, about life.
At one point he said "Life is what we make of it.  It's what we choose for it to be."
And I said "I didn't choose for my grandma to die."

...and I broke down.

I started sobbing and he held me and he said "I know, baby.  I know."


That was the first time (apart from therapy) where I broke down in front of someone.
Because I trusted him.
And I knew he cared.


But every year it's the same.
July rolls around, and the month before, it's already on my mind, like a repetitive chant.
"Next month.  Next month.  Next month."
A reminder not asked for, an automatic alarm clock, counting down until the day of her death.

Replays in my head.
Of the last time I saw her.
Of getting the news at the camp I was a counsellor at.
Of breaking down into sobs before I make it to my cabin.
Of not being as ready for it as I thought I was.
Of sinking into this heavy grief.
Of purposefully missing her funeral, because I couldn't bring myself to be there.
Of my sister and I not being able to cry in front of each other, because we've never been open with each other like that.
Of the dreams I occasionally have, where I see her and she's still alive, and then I wake up and the hole in my heart is gaping.


I don't drink much anymore, but there's always this exception.
Because the grief is too much, and still raw and unprocessed and no one truly understands.
(Of course they understand.  They loved her, too.  She was a mother, a grandmother, she was the glue that held the family together.)


It is too much.
It is too much.

Life has been...difficult...lately.

Not in the normal (normal for me, that is) sense.
But just, different challenges that I perhaps might otherwise not normally face.
Or at least, face alone.

(But really, I'm alone even when I'm not, so who's to actually say?)

First I started with unknown body issues that I still don't have an answer for.  Just some temporary meds and appointment in July that will hopefully bring some answers (I'm not holding my breath, though).

Then there was new medication my neurologist had me try.
Let's just say, unintended side affects occurred, and it was like a living nightmare, and I hope to never experience that again.

And then there was a simple medical procedure done that took all of 10 or so minutes, but my body apparently wasn't having it, so after taking up a room for hours at the medical office, they sent me to the ER, because I couldn't drive myself home, and I had no one at home to go to, and it would have been a liability and blah blah blah...so ER it was, for a few hours, until they gave me some meds that helped me enough to where I could drive home.

And now it's wondering if I've fucked up the part of my body this aforementioned procedure was done on, and not wanting to call the office to be a bother YET AGAIN, but also not wanting to fuck my body even more, but also just not having any fucks to give, so in all likelihood, I'm not going to call them.

Also this tooth pain I've been feeling for months now, unable to get it looked at because it's not an "emergency" and it's getting worse.  So bad to where I can't fall asleep easily at night because it hurts enough to keep me awake.  And I have a pretty fucking high pain tolerance, so if something is keeping me up, you KNOW it's bad.


And the icing on the cake is dealing with this all on my own.
Not having anyone to ask for help, for grounding me and making me see if I'm overreacting or if I'm not giving myself enough attention as I should (I usually fall into that latter category, because why on earth would I matter enough to pay attention to myself?), if I should actually call the office, etc. etc. etc.

It's one thing to be single and be alone and dealing with shit with no one else.  That, while I've had to do to some extent in my life (I had people around, at least, but not people who would offer up help or guidance), I have not experienced it to the extent I am now.

It's an entirely different matter to be joined in a union, in a commitment, with someone, and to be completely and utterly alone.
To face life and the unknowns and the unwanted complications all by yourself.
Having no one to help.  Having no one to go home to.  Having no one to comfort you when you cry over heartbreaking news, because they're either not around, or they simply just don't understand.

This is a loneliness I wouldn't wish on anyone.


But it's out of my control.
Having someone or not, I would still be facing these things on my own, without the support I wish I had.
And I don't feel bad for myself.  I'm not holding a pity party.  I don't like dealing with this shit on my own, having no one near, but I'd be dealing with it on my own either way, so I'm just sucking it up.
Besides, there are who knows how many people out there who are completely alone, having to live through things like this as well, and if they have to deal with it, then I have to deal with it, too.


But it's tiring, at times.
I'm not worth anything.
So it takes a lot of effort and energy to think about whether or not I truly need to bother someone by picking up the phone and asking a question. 
Or do I just ignore myself, let things get possibly infected and not pretty, and then finally make the call?

A few weeks ago something happened where I was wondering if I actually needed to go to the ER or not (spoiler: I didn't need to).  But in questioning if I really needed to, I realised that if I was told "you need to take yourself to the ER" I absolutely would not have done it.  I even sat on the couch, trying to imagine myself getting up, getting in my car, driving myself, and...nope.

I'm not worth it.

That's not being said to gain pity or have people try to affirm to me "you are worth it!" (I wouldn't believe them, anyway).
That's being said because it's absolutely what I believe.

It's why back in November of 2019, when I legitimately thought I was having a stroke, I drove home from the gym, rather than go to the hospital.  I called my husband and left him a voicemail (he was at work) and when he finally called me back, I failed at keeping my tears in while letting him know what was happening to me, and he told me he was coming home right then to take me to the ER.
But if he wouldn't have been around to take me, I would not have taken myself.


I realised over a year ago I hate myself.
Legitimately.
I have no fondness for myself.  It's why I can't comprehend why people like me (much less love me), or why people want to be friends with me.
Who knows how I came to feel this way.  What happened in my childhood environment that made me have this opinion of myself.  But here we are, anyway.

I am suffering the consequences for things I could not control.

So apart from feeling like the mere question of "should I contact the doctor's office?" is overreacting and asking for attention, I do not think I'm worth the bother.


All of this is tiring and I don't like being in pain because it's distracting but I will sit here in silence and suffer anyway, because it's what I've trained myself to do.
I will not be a burden to anyone.
And I will most definitely not be accused of "seeking attention."

So fuck you all.

I get so caught up in the books I read,
in the traits of the characters they portray,
that I tend to take on some of those traits myself.

Not for forever.
But usually lasting for a few weeks,
sometimes even up to a few months,
after I read a book.


When I was little,
I devoured books like I was a starving child on the streets.

As I became an adult,
I thought this was because I just loved to read.

Which, I guess,
is partially true.

But I've begun to realise,
that it was also because
I was lonely.

I never thought
I was lonely.

After all,
how could a child
who grew up
in a large family
be lonely?

I had no reason to be...
right?

But it makes sense.

My temperament didn't match the others.
I was always sent to grandma's house
and everyone else got to stay together
when my parents had to travel for work.

"Family" means together?
Family means they love you?
Family means that they'll
work hard to help you
fight whatever demons
you face,
help you fight the
darkness that threatens
to swallow you
whole,
help you to not feel
lonely...

...family doesn't mean anything.

Family means giving up.

Family means telling me
to shape up
or to pick going
into foster care.
Family means being
sent to grandma's house
because you're too
much for all your siblings
combined
to handle.
Family means talking about
my issues to extended family
whom you would otherwise
never even give the light of day
instead of trying to help me
figure out what's wrong.


Even to this day,
I get lost in the books I read.

My imagination runs wild.

And I still take on character traits.

Am I still running from something?
Am I still lonely?
Am I still trying to figure out who I am?


The one thing
that I can say for sure
is that I know
that I hate myself.

And that's not said
to seek pity.

It's said as a
matter of fact.

It's my reality.
And it's something
I live with.

It's neither here
nor there.

It just...is.

Just like me.

Focus On the Task At Hand

Just focus on the task at hand.
Just focus on the task at hand.

This is what I keep repeating to myself.

My brain is nonstop.  All the time.  It never shuts up.  Sometimes I can ignore it long enough to do things like, I dunno, FOCUS on things I have to get done.  Things like schoolwork, fulfilling obligatory adult-related responsibilities like paying bills, cleaning the house, etc.

But some days?
Some days my brain is just too loud and I want to literally stab myself in the head with an ice pick.  Repeatedly.  Until it finally shuts up.

Today is one of those days.
I woke up - albeit tired - but ready to face the day and tackle school straightaway.  But then I moved from the bedroom to the kitchen, and in that short amount of time period, my brain decided to take me on a little detour from feeling ready to face the (virtual) world, to feeling like I just want to die.  Suicidal ideation aside, when my brain gets overwhelmed and it is working 273% against me, I just want to shut down.  Turn all the noise off.  Die.

Why did I have to start thinking about my childhood?
Why did I have to start thinking about all the things my parents did wrong, even though they thought they were doing what was best for me at the time?
Why did I have to start thinking about the way that I was raised and the way my parents treated me now plays into who I am as an individual, and how I perceive God, and how generally fucked up I am because of it?
Why did I have to start - yet again - composing a letter in my head, one that I will most likely not write, much less send to my parents, explaining to them the complex relationship (or lack thereof) I have with them and why it's this way?

And then I responded to someone on a social media platform, giving them a link that may have contradicted something they posted, hoping to shed a little light on the topic, only to have someone else who definitely was not a part of the conversation, decide to chime in.  And while yes, it's free world, dude, I did not ask you to join this conversation, nor did I ask you about your opinion, and that just led me to feel everything ranging from irritation to feeling betrayed to pissed off.

And that was all in the time span of, oh, probably about a half hour.

Now I am feeling exhausted.
Despite my schedule having only changed in the fact that I now cannot go to the gym to work out (otherwise, my life is completely unaffected by this mass chaos), I am not getting enough sleep.  I am in bed by 5 am and awake around 1 or 2 pm these days.  You'd think if I just went to bed at a normal time like the old person that I am, I'd be able to sleep in until I felt rested, not having to set some dumbass alarm to wake me so I don't waste the day away.

But, as I so happily realised the other day, I will never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever feel rested until I'm...well, let's be real, until I'm dead.
Even if I don't have school to make me wake up - not rested - in order to get that done, I have other things to do.  Like organise our place.  Clean it up.  Maintain it.  There will forever be obligations and responsibilities and other things to do and get done because that's what comes with life and being an adult or just even being a living, breathing human.  Even if I retire someday, there will still be things that will need to be done, and with the weight of all that responsibility weighing me down, there are forever small filing cabinets in the back of my mind, filled and organised of things that need to get done, when they need to get done, when I need to do them AGAIN, and so on and so forth. 

It's exhausting just thinking about it.


But see?  Look, I didn't even maintain the focus of why I started writing this.

My brain is on 24/7.  It never stops.  Sometimes I start to think about ALL THE THINGS I have to do and get done, even things far into the future, but the pressure of needing to get them done (eventually) feels very much like they have to get done RIGHT NOW and then I start to sink under all this invisible pressure and my brain feels like it's going to burst.

So I have to remind myself to take care of things one at a time.

Just focus on the task at hand.

What should I get done first?
What's most pressing?
What has top priority?
If I think this one thing absolutely has to get done, does it really?  Or can I give myself a little grace and let it slide, so that I can get something else done, something that may have more precedence?

Just focus on the task at hand.

Right now I am exhausted and just want to sleep forever.
I am exhausted from not getting enough sleep; but also because my overactive brain has made me extraordinarily tired.
I am tired because I'm sad.  My best friend and the love of my life has only been gone for a few weeks, which feels like years.  But we haven't even made a dent in how long he'll be gone.
I am tired because I'm constantly concerned for his safety and well-being.  Not hearing from him regularly adds to my worry and the anxiety I feel over wanting him safe.
I am tired because I have school work, and one class that I've had to take over again, because the teacher the first time around was trash, but turns out the material in general is just trash, but that trash teacher didn't help at all.  Now I have a better teacher, but am essentially still learning nothing because of awful material resources, and I'm really just recycling my work from the previous class.
I am tired because of the wide range of emotions I've felt today, and how they still are going, and how I can't just not feel, because going numb takes even more energy, which makes absolutely no sense.

Just focus on the task at hand.

It's easy to forget this.
It's such a helpful piece of advice that I discovered for myself, but I forget it so easily.
And then days like today happen and my brain is ping-ponging all over the place and I have to keep telling myself over and over and over again, hoping it'll stick long enough for me to...

just focus on the task at hand.


I'm trying.
Hopefully typing all this word vomit will help me have a little more focus.  Enough to at least complete a little schoolwork.
I still want to die.  Much more today than usual.  But I need to push through it.  Why?  Mainly...because I honestly don't know anything else.  (But we won't go into that right now.)


Remember.
Just focus on the task at hand.

I wear a mask.

That is to say, when I'm not alone, I wear a mask.
In the 12+ years that I've struggled with depression, I learned early on that people are not okay with you being real with them.
When someone asks "how are you?" they don't really want to know.  Really, they're just asking because it's just "something you say" when greeting someone.
In high school I used to answer that question honestly, and people usually responded with horror or surface-concern or they just looked at me like I was growing another arm out of my neck.

I learned early on that most people want to continue to deceive themselves in their happy little bubble where life is fine and dandy and people don't struggle with issues like depression or suicidal ideation. 
I learned this because for a while there, I didn't put on a brave (in a manner of speaking) face.  I let myself just...be.  I didn't smile or laugh or joke.  I merely existed, because that's all that I was capable of at the time.
But people didn't like that.  They were uncomfortable with being around someone who wasn't happy or joking around, and besides, nobody likes being around a "debby downer."

So I learned.
I learned to put on a face.
I learned to smile and laugh and act happy and like everything was right in my world, even though inside, my mind was a nightmare I could not wake up from.


And that mask still goes on flawlessly when I'm with people.

To a certain extent, humour is my defense mechanism.  Yes, I am actually a hilarious person.  But also when I'm uncomfortable and my defenses are up, I resort to cracking jokes like no other.

Another part of that, though, is merely playing along.  Playing the game of acting like people want me to act, expect me to act, because people don't want to face the reality that perhaps there are others out there who struggle with uncomfortable thing.  Thinks like depression and anxiety and trauma.


There is only one person in my life where I have allowed myself to completely let my guard down.  Where I don't feel like I have to put on an act or joke around all the time.  Where I can be silent.  Where I can just sit and struggle to exist, and not have to put on a show on top of that.

That person struggles with it, sometimes.  I would be lying if I said they didn't.  After all, how hard is it to see someone you love struggle with a darkness you cannot dispel?  Sometimes it can get tiring.  You want them to be happy.  You want them to smile and be lighthearted.  To not struggle anymore.  It can, without a doubt, be a test of patience.
And a test of love.


It's funny, how easily I slide into my mask without realising it.  Only to be aware of what I did as soon as it's not required anymore, and by how drained I feel out of seemingly nowhere.


We all have masks.
We all feel they're necessary at one point or another.
I just hope we also all have people where we can sit with, bare-faced, and still be loved.

Time.
It's a limited thing.
We only have so many days, weeks, years to live before our time is up.
It's not a guarantee.
We are not promised tomorrow.

I have been hyper aware of my mortality since I was 14.  I know that I'm going to die someday.  And so by this knowledge, I know that my time on this earth is limited.

Which makes me look to the future.  To look to the end goal.  What am I doing now, in my everyday life, that will bear fruit and goodness in my future?

Certainly not wasting time.  Not spending minute after minute glued to my phone screen, my computer screen, ignoring the beauty around me, and the loved ones who are present with me.


On one hand, knowing that time is so precious, it makes me think I should let everything go.  Because at the end of the day, knowing that the people I love are safe, knowing that I get to be with them, should be enough.  And if that's enough, I shouldn't worry about issues that arise or ongoing problems that need to be solved...right?

But on the other hand, those problems don't go away.  They will never be magically fixed.  The only way to improve and make things better and be rid of problems is to work to solve them.  Which is why I find myself fighting so often and so hard to try to fix fucking everything, because I don't want these issues to continue, thus wasting the limited time that I have!


Years ago I decided that when I was out with friends, intentionally spending time with people I love, that I would not give attention to my phone.  Yes, if an important check in text was needed, that was one thing, but I would not keep whipping out my phone while with my friend(s).  What message does that send?  "Hey, I tell you you're important to me, but see my action here?  Yeah, this one where I keep pulling out my phone to mindlessly check it, practically unaware that I'm doing it?  Yeah, this is me wordlessly screaming at you that you are, in fact, not that important to me."

Fuck that.

But what happens when you're in a relationship with someone?  Yes, you are intentionally spending time with them, but eventually it becomes a routine thing, spending time with them.  So maybe that rule doesn't apply as much.  But to get so comfortable with someone to where you end up being on your phone 90% of the time when you're with them?  Well.  That begins to send a pretty clear message.


Technology can be our downfall.  I know I'm guilty of it.  Routinely checking my phone, my apps, my social media platforms, seeing if anyone is paying attention to me (ironic, as I hate attention).  Every so often I am re-awakened to the fact that I'm on my phone too much, so I make it a point to consciously set it aside.  I refuse to let myself be attached to it.  I will leave it in other rooms as I go someplace else in my house, because it doesn't need to be with me all the time.

At the end of the day, yes.  Knowing the people I love are safe?  That's what's important.  But what's also important is that the limited time I have is not wasted.  So instead of repeated fights about the same things over and over again, I will push to solve the problem(s), to find solutions, so that my time is not wasted on what's wrong and what needs to be fixed, but rather focused on what matters and what's important: the people I love.

I feel as though the wind has been knocked out of me, and I can't breathe.
I feel sick to my stomach.

How many more times do I have to lie to myself?
How many more times do I have to fool myself into trusting people?
Over and over and over you give someone a chance, you tell yourself that they're telling the truth, and yet, you find out here and there the lies they've told you.

No more.
I'm done being blind, I'm done being a fucking idiot.
I'm done trusting.


Get back to me when you decide to tell the truth 24/7.

Sometimes...I try to make myself sit in the sadness.
Not to give in to it, only to make it worse.  But rather, to process.  To understand that I'm feeling what I'm feeling, and to try to figure out why I feel that way.  If there's a reason.  And if not, to just...let it be.

But I can't do that this time.
I feel it so deeply inside of me.  Like it's a disease clawing its way from my insides towards the outside.  Depraving the earth inside of me of life, causing my very being to become like the parched desert ground.  Dry and cracked and screaming for relief from the rains.

There is a lump in my throat that won't go away.  My heart feels like it's located in my stomach, and the cavity of my chest is filled with worry and heartache and terror.  I can't cry, because I am done being so weak all the time.  And if I let that dam loose, it won't ever stop.


I am restless.
I can't focus.
I can't sleep.
Even if my body hurts, I cannot seem to be able to rest.


(I am terrified.)


I guess this is a side affect of love.
To be sick with worry.  To not be able to sleep when the one who holds your heart isn't beside you at night.  To feel restless from the heavy sadness that sets over you from being apart.


Who knew loving someone so fiercely and so deeply would cause so much pain and heartache and worry over the grief of their absence and terror that they won't return to you?





I want to die.

If I ever question if I love my husband, I just have to look at the evidence.  How things he does or says frustrate me.  How hurt I get over the smallest of things (well, small to him, anyhow).  How terrified I am of losing him, or feel like I'm going to lose my mind if I am apart from him.

Because the evidence is all there.  It points to the fact that I love him.  Fiercely.  If I didn't love him, all the stupid fights we have, the frustration and hurt that I feel, well...it simply wouldn't be there.  If I didn't love him, those things wouldn't matter, they wouldn't bother me, and I would simply ignore it and continue on with my life.


Perhaps that's how you know you love someone.  You know that they are capable of so much more than they think or realize.  You see all their potential.  And you want to spur them towards being the best they can be.  So when they do things that you know are beneath them, things you know they're better than, it frustrates you.  You know...you KNOW...they can do better.  Be better.

If only.
If only.
If only.


For the past three-ish years, I have acknowledged that I do not know how to receive love.  I do not know how to accept it.  On the flip side, I also know that I do not know how to love.

And it has made me constantly question "do I love this person?  Am I capable of love?  Is this what love is?  Perhaps it's all just made up in my head, and I'm pretending to know something about something I know nothing about."

It feels like it's made up in my head.
It feels like I have no idea how to love, how to show love, how to give it, how to live it.


It didn't always used to be that way.  I remember when I was younger the aching I felt to just want to be known.  To be seen.  And I remember realising that even if I didn't feel that way, I wasn't about to let the people in my life feel that way.
I remember seeing myself as overflowing with love.  Having so much of it within me, but not being able to pour it out on people around me, for one reason or another.  Either from rejection, or preemptively not wanting to be rejected, from not wanting to come on as too strong or crazy, and whatever else there may have been.

So over the years, it became more difficult to give away.  It was still there - that love - wanting to just find sources to receive it.  But there were none.  And so, I think, it slowly dried up.  To have this big, overflowing well of love within me, and having no one to come drink from it, having people reject the source of the well...I guess it was only natural for it to dry up and cease to exist.

And now I'm here.  Constantly questioning if I'm tricking myself and those around me that I am capable of love.  That I know what love looks like.  That I know how to accept it.  That I know how to give it.


As stated at the beginning of this post, I guess I know it's there, to some extent, due to the constant hurt and frustration I feel.  Because that's evidence that I care.  But it still feels very...fake, I guess, to me.  Like I'm pretending to know what I'm doing when I actually don't.  I'm just some robot in disguise as a human, miming everything I see all the other humans do, in order to fit in and not stand out.  But really having no emotion attached to anything I'm doing.


I don't know.
I don't really know anything these days.
That is to say, I know my fuck-ups and my failures and how greatly I contribute to the misery of those around me, but apart from that, I don't know anything.

Such is life, I guess.

How do you live with the knowledge that you aren't wanted? That you aren't desired?

I don't know.
I don't think you can.

If I figure it out, I'll let you know.

There is so much turmoil within my heart.

For the holidays, my husband and I went to his hometown to be with his family.  As we were travelling back home, we stopped by my sister's house so that we could see my nephew and niece, and spend a little time with them before getting back.  While we were there, I ended up explaining a situation that happened within the weeks before Thanksgiving, which resulted in my husband bringing me to the ER room.

My sister asked me why I didn't call an ambulance instead.  I rambled off something about not wanting to cause a scene (I was at the gym in the early morning when this scenario began), and the cost of an ambulance is outrageous, etc.  She, in her ever-so-typical way said something to the effect of "Yeah, because having people stare at you while you're having a potential medical emergency is so much more important than actually seeing if something was wrong."  (Or something similar to that.  In her sarcastic tone, too, of course.)

I didn't really refute her, because I didn't have anything to say.  I didn't have any way to explain myself.  And it wasn't really worth the effort, in my mind.

It wasn't until my husband and I were back home, and I was thinking about that moment, that it hit me.  I rambled off reasons - although completely valid - for not calling an emergency number, but those weren't the real underlying reasons.  In fact, the number one reason I didn't call anyone for help (except my husband, who didn't answer at the time because he was busy at work and he couldn't), was because I'm not worth it.

That's it.

It's only been within the past year or so that I've realised that I spent most of my childhood being ignored by people around me, that I learned to ignore myself, too.  Which means, I hardly ever take myself into consideration when it comes to, well, anything.  I try my absolute best to be as little as a burden or annoyance as possible.  I need help with something?  Never mind, I'll figure out how to get it done all alone.  I'm hurting and should speak up and explain that, but you know what?  That's okay, how I feel isn't valid anyway, so I'll ignore how I feel and try to carry on.  I think something is majorly wrong with my body and should call emergency medical services?  No, I'm sure it's nothing, it's all in my head, and besides, I'm absolutely not worth the cost of an ambulance, much less an ER room visit.

...But how could I explain that to my sister?

Perspective determine reality.
My siblings have a different view of our childhood and upbringing than mine, or even each other's.  They all perceived it, took it in, in their own way.  My childhood was significantly different than theirs, simply because of the things I did/went through, that they did not.  No one was around to see what happened in those in-between moments when I was home and it was just my parents.  My parents who were trying to do what they thought was best, but it ended up being very, very damaging to me.  And I can't explain this to my siblings, because if I try to, they'll say things like "it wasn't that bad," or "you're making it sound worse than it actually was."  But they have no right to tell me these things.  Because they're taking my experiences, and how I felt, and applying it to their perspective, their childhood, and completely ignoring the fact that I lived things out differently than they did. 

I hate this.  I hate that I go over and over in my head about how I can't talk to my family members about anything even remotely personal - for a lot of reasons - but mainly for the fact that they have yet to consciously realise "Oh.  Maybe her experience was different than mine.  Maybe what was okay for me, was actually bad for her."  Et cetera, et cetera.  It's forever the curse of being younger, of them not acknowledging that I may actually not be exaggerating things, that what I say may hold some truth to it, that maybe my childhood wasn't as fine and dandy as theirs was.

But still, I keep to myself.  I stay quiet, I don't share, I let them live their lives.  It's not worth trying, because the likely outcome is they will ignore the words I say, continue to think what they want, and still think me childish and unrealistic.

But, after all, we've already established that I'm not worth the effort, not worth believing, not worth much of anything.  I'll just continue to try to be as minimal as possible, to not be a burden, to keep things to myself.  It's just easier for everybody that way.