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2022-11-01 04:04:28 (UTC)

Test Anxiety

A kind of pseudo-paralysis born from the realization that the conscious mind does not control bodily functionality.

To think that ‘I’—who thinks and thinks and thinks and thinks and thinks and thinks and thinks and concludes and worries and thinks and thinks and thinks and feels—don’t have control of my limbs. Or the hands that write the thoughts that are thought. Or the feet that carry this body carrying my consciousness to school. Is to lose another sense of control in my life where I have none.

Am I thinking too deeply? Am I correct? Am I as unreal and isolated from the world of interaction as I believe I am? Or am I in my head? How am I in my own head? How do I get out? How do I convey this when I can’t even use my own mouth to will the words out? Has anyone ever heard an original thought out of my own head? Have I ever been truly heard? So ‘I’ even exist, do any of the thoughts I’ve had exist? If they don’t then what are those journals full of? Nothing? Nothing? If I am not my thoughts then what am I? This body that I did not make and feel disgust for so often? This voice that sounds foreign, painfully wrong? These little trinkets that I value only because of who they came from? The memories that only I see, only I know I remember? The memories of me that other people have that I can’t recall at all? The grades and grades and grades that have no longer bring me pride?

Lately I’ve been wondering if I’m ever ‘here,’ in the present. But. What am I?

Only real when I recognize the most urgent identifying parts of my existence? My geographic location race color age schooling goals family. Am I even here? Who would care? No one but yourself. Everyone has their own things to deal with. No one has enough time to deal with existential issues or stress in the face of taxes and war and family and money.

Or at least that’s what I think. I wouldn’t know. I don’t know anyone. That’s all I know from social media, the internet, the people around me that don’t share much with me anyway.
I don’t know people. I don’t know myself. I don’t know how to live. I don’t know how to move. How to work. How to operate. How to breathe steady. How to look ahead. How to put up a front. How to feel okay for a long time. How to forget. How to live carefree while I can.

Why can’t I do it too? Why do I always end up in this position. Why do I waste time. Why do I even try anymore. Why do I care so much. Why don’t I care enough. Why can’t I control myself better. Why don’t I have self control Beuh do I ask so many questions. Why don’t I just do instead of think and talk and write.
Time inefficient. My neck hurts. I’m uncomfortable. Even in my own bed. It hurts. My body is uncomfortable. I wish I didn’t have one. I wish I didn’t feel weird. I wish I didn’t feel disgusting. I wish I didn’t feel ugly or masculine or feminine or real or fake or wrong or right or justified or not.
I wish I didn’t want nor wish. I wish none of this were here. I wish I didn’t live like this.

I wish I could see things differently. I wish I couldn’t see at all. I wish I couldn’t hear. J wish I never had access to the internet. I wish I wasn’t born.

Overthinking is a spiral. I feel sick, surface level. I wish I weren’t afraid of throwing up.

I wish I didn’t care about how they thought of me. Rather than what I’ve done. That would be normal. I shouldn’t have doubt. I feel sad. I wish I never gave room for doubt. But I was small. And it grew. I’m still small. And I can’t stop the growth of something so heavy.

I wish I didn’t feel like an idiot for speaking how I speak. Or feeling how I feel. I wish I didn’t feel vulnerability. I wish I were honest.
I wish I could think. Everything would be fine if I never had thoughts so distracting.

I wish I could not think.
I would be happy.
I would not cry.
I would speak.
I would laugh.
I would smile.
I would talk and join the rest.

But I think.
And I think.
And I think.
And I continue to think.
And then everyone is gone.
And I am alone.
With my thoughts.
That are me. But not me at all.

I want to go back. Because there was a time. Where I could be me. No matter the place. There was a time where I didn’t have to ‘lost kyself’ or ‘forget myself’ to feel okay. And happy. And free of insecurity or that social barrier that feels so solid everyday I leave my home. But it was so long ago that I can’t even remember anymore. How that felt. And I miss it, even so.
Do I just not deserve to feel that simple happiness. What did I did that was so bad. I don’t believe in past lives. But I don’t think I’ve done anything to warrant what I’m feeling. So much. So very much. So very often. Everyday. Every week.

I don’t know. I really just don’t know. But I’m sorry for whatever I sowed to reap this.

I don’t have much long suffering in me.

I know it’s a day. I know it’s today. I know that THIS is today. But it is also yesterday. And last Friday. And thurday. And Wednesday. And Tuesday. And Monday. And Sunday night. And the week before. And the year before.

I know I should be thankful. But I don’t even like myself. How can I like all these things that pain me?
Im sure my mom is tired of hearing me complain. Im sure they all are. Im sure they’re sad at the fact that I don’t fix it myself. I know I am. I feel so useless.

It’s so simple. And yet. Here I am. Again. Again. And again. Every single time.
So fearful. Yet desperate. So wishful. And gloomy. So lonely. And silent. Just a bunch of useless traits. I want to go home. Home where there is no mind to torment me as there is now. Home when i sleep peacefully. Home where my body is my own and I’m still wishing for new things to come. When it is easy to want and easy to keep going thoughtlessly.

Time. Is a curse.

In the end, I believe I will relive these days until I reach the end of these years. Until I reach the end of the next sequence of years. And maybe the next after that. Because I am fearful. So scared so so so scared I don’t think I’ll make it at all. I’m too scared to kill myself. I don’t wanna go to hell. And live forever. Again. In a worse place.

But I am scared here. So so scared somehow. Scared to be. Scared to life. Scared to breathe. Scared to think to talk to look around. I’m too scared to live. I wish I could just end it all. But it wont end no matter how much I want it to. And there’s a due date on salvation too.

I don’t want to live forever. I just want to be done. So I don’t have to censor myself. I don’t want to do it anymore.

I’m all alone. No matter how close I get to anyone. They’ll never be me. They’ll never have the same circumstances. They’ll never have the same thoughts. I’ll always be alone. And so terrible at conveying. At talking.

I’m so negative sometimes.
But I just can’t. Feel better. Off the positives sometimes. And even trying. Just makes going back to that place even worse of a process.

Highs and lows.

I wish I couldn’t think.

I wanna die.

I don’t usually write about the present anymore. Because I consider it boring and it’s something I’m usually trying to escape from, only to end up in a moment like this where my past actions catch up to me.

I think I’ve cried a total of 3 times in the past 6 hours that I’ve been awake for. I have two tests today for my two most difficult classes. The others are simpler or literally don’t have a test. They’re on a Tuesday too so they’ll be gone later today. I haven’t studied. I should’ve been studying while I was distracting myself from how stressed I was. But I didn’t. And I’m not. I’m probably doing exact thing you shouldn’t do on test days. Spiral.

I just want to die right now. I wish I didn’t make any promises about cutting. She took everything.