Monday, 25 April 2016

The Stories We Write


I am once again starting up that oh so wonderful journey of introspection. Only this time, instead of "get out of depression", it's dealing with how gross I feel about myself inside.

It turns out I don't like myself.

Sometimes I'm Waiting by Valioza

Which is strange, because even writing this I don't believe it, but my thoughts and actions beg to differ. One clear indicator is my ceaseless need for love and validation from others.  I'll drink from the glass you spat in if it means you'll stay.

I see a lot of faults. I'm longing to see it the other way; wishing to see me how others see me. To see the good qualities. So I keep asking myself: what is so wrong with me?

But that's not the right question - it's what am I doing?

It's funny, though, the stories we tell ourselves. The type of protagonist we label ourselves. I've written myself as an outcast. I feel lonely and isolated often, desperate for attention. I just want to fit in but I feel like I am too "other".

Interestingly enough, that's not how others see me. Apparently,  I look very much like the in crowd. I look like a fashionably conservative female who seems to be at ease in social situations.

So, I'm curious.  Why do I write myself as that type of protagonist? How did I come to view myself that way and what am I doing that fulfills this narrative I've created for myself?

Tuesday, 2 February 2016

I had a dream

Last night I had a dream where I was hosting a party...  but a number of friends and family ignored me. They played the game where I didn't exist purposefully glaring at me and acting as if I wasn't there.  It brought up a number of unpleasant feelings and thoughts.  It hurt because it was exactly what happened when I was younger and as much as I try not to, those incidents still define me.

I’ve always tried my best to be an honest and open. I don’t know how to be any other way. Not being true to myself causes a significant amount of anxiety and stress that I can’t live with.

However, it’s gotten me into a lot of trouble. I have felt a lot of pushback. Have felt the shame for speaking out, speaking up. My path with authenticity is leaving me feeling isolated and ostracized. 

Thursday, 19 November 2015

You're Just Malingering.

Every now and then I'm reminded of how much shame there is surrounding having a mental illness. How much people don't understand. How much people believe what we choose to do is really our choice.

"Just choose to be on that other side. It's more fun." Trust me I know. I strive daily to be "on that other side" but when I'm  fighting my own shadow I can't make that promise. I can promise, however, to fight but it's not really a matter of fighting to be on that "fun side". It's fighting to stay alive. My fear of death is what keeps me going. 

A hard thing to admit was that I was fighting for my life last semester. No it's not the end of the world if I didn't move on in my program... but for me it might as well have been. School was what was keeping me going. Yes the world moves on but I was scared I couldn't, scared because I didn't think I'd have the will. 

It's a horrible feeling. Fighting so hard. Fighting my shadow that was overbearing and shrinking my perspective on reality. The only thing I could see was this dream I gave up so much to chase after and here I was on the verge of being kicked out because of something that felt totally out of my control. Something that some people felt I was just malingering about.

ma·lin·ger

/məˈlɪŋgər/ 
verb (used without object)
to pretend illness, especially in order to shirk one's duty, avoid work, etc.

Origin:
1810–20;  < French malingre  sickly, ailing, equivalent to mal- mal- + Old French heingre  haggard (perhaps < Gmc)


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A draft i never posted but am honoring now.