i'm trying my best to be strong
i really am
i'm trying my best to be strong
i really am
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i've been muted. laconic. inarticulate, zipped up, taciturn.
my life has been a blur since i last made a sound. i've been trying to write, i really have, but my mind will not function. my fingers will not move to write anything other than school related content.
content. i am not content. or perhaps i am. i don't know, really. i'm happy, but at the same time, not. i'm floating in a sub-space between happy and sad, moving in a stable but boring pace, neither going up nor down.
i've been gaining weight again. since the last time i wrote, i tried my hardest to lose weight. i couldn't go through with it. i was too weak. and now, i've gained. i can feel it. i can feel the ground shaking beneath me with every step i take, i can see the person i sit beside on the bus moving slightly away from me with a disgusted guise. i am disgusting.
still, i feel quite well.
i can't complain.
i won't complain.
If I were to give a name to 2015, it'd be relapse, because that's what my life has come to.
It begun quite alright. I was feeling comfortable in my new class, new school, new education. I knew what I wanted to become; a teacher. I was playing football and I was feeling quite content with myself. It didn't last long enough, sadly.
My first relapse came in the form of a panic attack during a Math test. My old test anxiety returned, and I collapsed. This was a secret, though. I didn't tell anyone. How could I? I had finally been declared healthy, how could I possibly say that everything was crumbling - again?
By the way, I didn't know the extent of my crumbling back then. I thought that a momentary relapse was a part of the recovery, because that's what everyone was saying. Right?
It wasn't momentary, not at all. School ended and I went to a convention. I brought a friend with me, and I went there with the hope of having a couple of days without anxiety, without worrying about food or size or anything. I hoped in vain. Nothing had changed, I was feeling like jumping out in front of the train on our way home. Obviously - I didn't.
During those days, something else happened. My friend whom I had brought confessed that they were in love with me. I was torn, and conflicted. I was in love with them too - still am - but my anxiety was eating me inside out. I knew that the oncoming autumn would be hell in real life, and how could I possibly engage in a relationship when I barely knew if I was going to survive the months to come? I neglected them, told them on the train home that I couldn't, not right then, at least.
I came home, I hated myself, and I flew to Amsterdam. More anxiety ensued, together with fights with my mother, my brother and myself. I was in a miserable place, but I still wouldn't tell anyone.
Back at school, and nothing was working for me. I felt isolated and I knew that it was my own fault. I understood that if I were to get through the rest of the year, I couldn't be alone. So I told them, and our relationship begun. It is rough at parts, since we're both very stubborn and angry at the world, but I love my partner above all, and I do not regret my decision to give our relationship a try.
I relapsed, again. This time, I told someone. I told my partner, I told my teacher and I told my mother. And I got help. I'm getting help in managing school and my stress, I'm back on medication and tomorrow I'm going to see a therapist again. I don't know how that journey will end, but I'm hoping for a positive ending. I think I've deserved one by now?
2015 have been hellish, but it have had some good parts. I reconnected with my big little brother, visited him during autumn holidays. I've begun writing again, even though I have a major writer's block right now. And I've come more to terms with life around me, even though my depression is acting up.
I'm not a person with high hopes, as I don't like to get let down. So, for 2016 I have but one hope; please treat me better than 2015.
And looking at how 2015 turned out, it shouldn't be that hard, right?
I'm trying to write something. I really am. I force myself to sit down, put my hand on my keyboard, but I can't bare myself to actually push something. I don't know anything anymore, I am empty.
I am on medications again, the pills are a bit more colourful this time, which is nice. Not much else is nice, though. My mind is blank, my grades are failing, my friends are turning against me and the food is not willing to cooperate with me.
I am empty, I hurt and I want nothing more than to express myself again, to feel whole again. I don't know how long it's been since I've felt whole, or needed, or important.
I just feel
I'm more of a thinker than a writer, I think. When I'm at home, or at school, I can sit and stare into a wall and think for hours at a time. I can come up with loads of ideas, or rhymes, or storylines, or just a quote to start something of with, but as soon as I sit down in front of a keyboard... nothing. Everything just goes blank. I'll try my best, though. After all, I need something to regain stability in my head. I need to map my thoughts, almost like mapping the craters of the moon.
My life is a blur. I'm trying my very best to stick it through, to be social and polite and happy, but I already know that faking it doesn't work. Faking it means that I'm creating a facade, shielding myself from the surroundings, trying my very best not to get hurt. The thing with building a wall around myself, though, is that a wall always bursts, even the psychological ones. No, I have to admit to myself and to the people around me that I'm not feeling my best, I have to admit that my life is crumbling to pieces while all I can bring myself to do is to wait it out. I don't have the will or the ability to cope with it, to sort things out.
I'm freezing. I don't know why, but I'm freezing, I get goosebumps and I shiver so much that I can't keep my hands still. I don't know what's behind it, and neither does my doctor. They took some blood samples a while ago, maybe they'll give a straighter answer.
Honestly, I don't know