I never really get a chance to express my vulnerability to anyone I know since I mostly interact with my friends through social media and etiquette dictates that broadcasting your poor mental state for the world to see is a big no-no. In the rare opportunities I do get to see people in-person, unloaded emotional baggage is the last thing people want to deal with, so that’s not an option either. It’s getting harder to deal with the malicious inner monologues I have when I’m driving or the intrusive ideas that creep in as I’m trying to fall asleep. Letting my mind wander in a moment of daydreaming always leads into the same self-destructive script that reassures me that I’m, in fact, alone, and there is no solution to my problem.
I want to believe that things will get better or converting that energy into something productive might make the days go by easier, but my issue was never the severity of the self-doubt - it’s always been the frequency. With enough effort, I usually pick myself out of the depressive slump, but knowing that I’ll have to suffer again in just a few week’s time doesn’t give me any faith for the future. I can temporarily numb the overwhelming feeling of isolation with working out, dance, or creative pursuits as I have done in the past, but these are treatments for the symptoms, not a cure for the disease. There has to be something fundamentally troubling me that I can’t address because between the alcohol, laughter, and company, nothing is working anymore. I just want to be better.
titsay
germansingergirl
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
baratheonpilled
gummygunk
romaincrisis
