You still tell me I am a follower, not a leader. That I copy others. You still tell me that I don’t know what/ who I want, yet you are bewildered as why I am not forward with relationships, etc. But I am not going to complain anymore. I’m just tired.
Got some anons, and I will now clarify.
I said I hated that sexuality comic, and I apologize. I do not hate it. It just makes me stress out, a lot. Because I wish, I wish so much, that I could just be confident in what I like, who I like, what I am, and who I am. So when people glorify the “freedom” of what not having a solid idea of sexuality… I just don’t feel the same. I get really really scared about it.
I wish I could just be one thing… but I’m not. And it hurts. It scares me.
I’m having late night thoughts again, and as usual, they fall into the more or less disheartening recollections of the months I spent alone in my own head. Now I know that there are a couple people on here that are my past high school friends, and before I start off into a tangent of strange memories, ideas, and the like, I would like to acknowledge you. For even reaching out to me, and talking to me; texting me when you didn’t hear from me… etc. I thank you guys. It’s hard to explain what exactly went on, but in short I can say I am a different person than I was. And rightfully so. I would like to think I have grown since those years, in both wisdom and experience. But again. You guys deserve medals, or… something lovely. Yes.
Alright. Late night, or perhaps, as I glance to the clock, early early morning thoughts…
I have seen the saying, “I like sleep, it’s like dying but without the commitment.”, plastered all around the more depressing tags on tumblr. But I do wonder how many people have really genuinely welcomed sleep for that implied reason. You shut down. Finally, your mind stops racing, the knots in your chest and the pain you swear you can feel there, just stops. For that fleeting moment, as it seems to you; you are “safe”. Safe from all the anxiety, the panic, the suicidal thoughts, and everything that preys on your mind. You are taken to another state, of which you half wish you could stay in. I remember many, many occasions on which I cried because I couldn’t fall asleep fast enough, and the panic was just too much. I remember pacing my room, waiting for exhaustion; replaying scenario after scenario of mistakes I had made, wrongdoings, and… things I still blame myself for. It was hell.
It was pure hell. Each day I woke up, the thoughts rushed back, and my chest knotted up. It felt like I was buried, trying to breath; pressure building at each inhale. It hurt. I still don’t really know if it was an emotional, psychological, or physical hurt… but I do know it often brought me to tears. I remember trying to hide from people, as much as possible, because the sheer thought of interacting, horrified me.
You can take that how you like, but know that in those few months of summer, I have never been closer to genuinely ending my life, than I have in other attempts. Thankfully, perhaps, I had a psych at that time. Of course, the guilt I felt when my parents kept asking “Why” was enormous, and I really don’t think I ever got over that. Perhaps I’m weak? I don’t have an answer for that.
That saying, that commitment… I was ready for that. I had made plan after plan, in case one didn’t work, etc. I remember scrawling them on pieces of looseleaf, on my drawing pads, etc… At one moment, I remember going to the library and reading a few books about the morality of the whole ordeal.
Death. More precise, suicide. Interesting topic really. The definite ending of life, through your own hands. It is really sound to say “taking your own life”. It’s almost as if you steal your existence from the world. All that is left is the memories.
Alas.
I held on.
There were a couple months where I did nothing but think to myself, “Just get through this day.” I would count down the hours until I could sleep, until I could “escape” again. I broke down crying often. I lost 40 pounds. I couldn’t sleep. I was still scared of contact. I didn’t want to pour salt into wounds, but in retrospect, I don’t really know how much more it would hurt. I already was still half set on dying.
But now.
I am so happy to have survived that. I have so many friends. I have improved my art so much, and I believe that I have grown in experience and gained wisdom; not just from the times, but from those I’ve been with. I’ve found a bit of a more grounded understanding of who I am… an understanding of what other beings may call themselves, may desire to be, or what they change themselves to be…
I still have anxiety. I still panic over sometimes simple things, and sometimes big things. I still get that knotted up feeling, but not nearly as intense as it was. I have my bad days. I have my good days. Usually, I am able to function normally. I’ve changed.
For the better in some ways, for the worse in others. But, as everyone, my being is constantly in flux. I will always be changing. And I can find hope in that.
I hate those times you pause and think… ”I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, I don’t know who I am, and I’ve already screwed up so much…”
Or is that just me…
What happened?
I wonder, if our past selves as a child were given a chance to have a glimpse of what they’d be in 10 years time, would they want to be an adult after all?
Children, don’t grow up too fast.
Even if you may or may not have a lot, or come from different walks of life: Enjoy all the time you have, embrace, laugh, love, before all of that is taken away from you.
I guess if I met my younger self, she would be very disappointed.(I don’t know how to draw anything happy anymore)I’m sad that other people feel this way, that they haven’t been able to live up to their childhood dreams. I know I haven’t, but I don’t regret it, either. My childhood “dream career” kept changing. I wanted to be Spider-man (and I mean man, not woman), a doctor, an artist, a writer, a firefighter, a power ranger, a dancer, a conquering queen, and so much more. However, the main thing I wanted as a child was to be happy and continue being happy, and I am. There are a few rough patches, but there were rough patches as a child, too. I keep that in mind when it feels like everything is made of a sandpaper and needles and get to the next moment, no matter how long it takes to get me there.
Keep on dreaming.
I’m sorry, my past self, for the transgressions I have done. You would surely fall apart, if you knew what I’ve done to myself… to you. I will say this though; the bullying and abuse stops, so stay strong. Gone will be the days of pleading not to go to school, for fear of what will happen to you. You will gain friends who love you for who you are, not for just your material possessions. Your illness will fade, and you’ll feel better… but…
I’m sorry for the scars; there’s too many. I’m sorry for not being the pretty girl you wanted me to be. Slim, attractive… smart. I’m sorry for the confusion of yourself, your gender, and your sexuality. I’m sorry that you’ll have to suffer through more tests, pills, and doctors. I know you wished it could be over. I’m sorry I almost cut my life short… I know you wanted to be a successful artist, or scientist…
I’m sorry I took for all the hurt I’ve caused you. I wish I was more like what you dreamed me to be…
(via prophet-0f-fluff)
Source: silentmight