Ad 2:
2017-03-23 15:26:56 (UTC)

Angstin' Even Though I'm Totally Fine

March 23, 2017 Thursday 4:27 PM

Part of me still wants someone to fight for me. And I mean fight in my place, not for my affection or my attention or anything like that. Fight in my place for... I dunno, peace. It's not like I'm struggling right now, but there's always gonna be residue from all the times I was Pathetic.

And there it is again. I called myself pathetic. Do I believe it? Part of me does, and the other part is like, damn, self, you can't be strong all the time. The part of me that believes it is begging for someone to step into the frame, a physical being to argue with these thoughts in my head. I want someone to beat down my beliefs, to tell me their truth so I don't have to keep questioning myself.

I mean, everything is a question with me. It's a "can I trust this thought, can I trust that." Cycle of self-doubt.

On one hand, the doubt is pretty much what makes me who I am. Doubt leads to questions (is this even true?) leads to thought leads to.... hesitant conclusions??

On the other hand, doubt goes too far and my minds always active, always working, not sure which threads to drop and which to keep following. Sweaty hands and an achey head and questions, questions, questions.

Am I reasonable or am I actually a know-it-all?
Am I controlling?
Am I ugly? Am I fat? Why does this matter so much to me?
Do I know anything?
Am I actually smart or do I just think I'm smart?
Will I ever live up to the potential that people think I have?
Does she hate me? Does he hate me?
Is she/he disappointed in me? Am I not what they expected? Do they wish I was different?
Do I have cancer? Is that why my head always hurts? Is that why I seem to be forgetting things?
Am I actually forgetting things or am I imagining that?
Are my medications messing with my memory? If they are, do they cause any more damage than the disorder left unchecked? Does it matter if it's not noticeable to other people?
Why can't I be more organized or more proactive?
Did I disappoint my parents?
Is everyone lying to me, telling me I'm doing a good job because they think I'm fragile?
Am I going to die soon?
Will Liv get tired of me?
Will I just go my whole life without sex? Do I mind that? What scares me so much about sex? Is it because it's a different kind of vulnerability, something simultaneously disgusting and beautiful????
Would I be good at neuroscience?
Am I even good at writing?

FUck. Sorry. Oh, god, haha. I didn't mean to write so many questions, I was only gonna do a few. But I guess I got carried away. And the more I wrote, the worse I felt because of all the I's. Me, smeared everywhere. Blinding, ugh. Kill it, kill it. Drape a dark blue velvet blanket over the creature, poke some holes in it so it can breathe. The bright'll leak out. Huh. Like a walking night sky.. something people will think is beautiful or whatever. And they won't have to suffer from the glare. Only the thing inside will have to deal with it, y'know? And that's okay because we don't care about that thing. That thing can go dissolve into nothing. Or implode. Become a singularity. Birth new universes. Psh, whatevs, we're out here watching the dots of lights and drawing lines between them.

I meant, I meant, I meant. In saying all of this, I meant: it's just kind of really exhausting to be arguing with yourself all the time. Shoving down questions and insecurities and crap. Sorry, please hold. Elevator music plays deep down in mah meat and the questions wait except I can't really reply to a lot of them except for with an unsure answer.


Like, am I dying? Probably not.

So my Self says: probably? So I COULD be dying???

Me: I said probably not, now shut up, you're fucking fine.

Self: I'm not fine, please, let's lie down. Please.
Self: I'm not gonna stop begging.

Me: ... Fuck! Okay. Just for a half hour.

Self: >:)

Annnnnd "is he/she disappointed in me?"

Me: What? What the hell makes you think that?

Self: He/she doesn't look as enthusiastic to see me today.

Me: Okay, this person has their own life, self. Not everything is about us. Maybe they got in a fight with their sister or something, I dunno.

Self: But look. It's not like they'd tell you if you disappointed them. They might not even consciously realize it. But everyone holds expectations for new people, no matter what, and it's not likely that you lived up to those expectations so... So it's quite possible they're a little disappointed. Maybe you don't like their music as much as they wished you did. Maybe you're more awkward than they're okay with. Maybe you're distant style of friendship is unsatisfying.

Self:.... Hello? Are you still there?
Self: ???

Self: Hey, hey, hey. See that look on their face? DISAPPOINTMENT. Everyone's always so disappointed with you. Your mom. Your dad. Your friends. The people who think they love you. The people who want to get to know you. The people who think you're one way only to find out you're another—and you can't say this isn't true. You've been disappointed in people too, huh? Disappointed for exactly the reasons others are disappointed in you.

Self: Like with Isaac. You expected one thing and got another, and it made you sad. Isn't that right?
Self: Heeelllooooo?


I'm not anxious or anything. I just have a lot of thoughts all the time.

Pat would probably be like, "That sounds like rumination. A hallmark of anxiety," and I'd be like, "Yyeaaaahhh...."

It makes me sad because Anxiety means I am not functioning at my best. Or maybe I am functioning at my best. Maybe I will never be free of this, so I can never do any better than I am doing now.

Ah, well. Someone take it away. Someone fight me. Tell me I'm smart and that I am doing great and that they're not disappointed in me.

The fucking terrible thing about these compliments is that they will burst into existence and then pull back into an ember, a little thing that cheers me up sometimes when I think about it — but the words almost immediately become more dreamlike, because I can't help wondering if you've changed your mind. Maybe you've become disappointed in me since you last said you weren't.

So this is what I need. Constant reassurance in lieu of actual, solid self-esteem.


Assessing my state of mind. I really do feel fine. I am far from depressed. In fact, some guy from a suicide prevention group came to speak to our class yesterday and he actually kind of scared me with my own Past Thoughts!!!

When talking about the symptoms of depression and the more severe signs indicating a risk of suicide, all I could think of was December. I mean, I joked about dying a lot and I thought about killing myself (not seriously) and I was so, so, so tired.

But I can't help feeling like it was all fake. That's it. Everything from the past becomes plastic to my mind—not quite sure if it's as real as I believed, or if I'm molding it to fit the idea of the event. Ah, whatever. Who cares. I can continue feeling guilty later if I want, but for now I kind of just feel like being happy.

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