I just want to not be anxious and depressed. Iām tired of feeling tired and stressed. It makes me just want to stay in bed, but I canāt sleep because all I want to do is just scream and yell and let out this bundle of nerves in my gut. Itās easy to forget how not good I am, but alone, and trying to sleep, itās almost impossible. When I talked to my psychiatrist, he asked me if I ever had thoughts of suicide. I lied and I told him no. I didnāt realize it until my girlfriend mentioned it. When Iām out and about, itās easy to forget how often I do. But trying to sleep, it becomes too easy. Sometimes itās not even about killing myself. Itās often just about who would even care if I died. I know people would care, but itās hard sometimes. Iām so passive, itās easy for me to think that my existence is easily ignored. I found my old drama teacherās letter of recommendation for me. I canāt even recognize sheās talking about me in it. The person itās about seems full of life and curiosity. Someone looking for new experiences and who can do anything he sets his mind to. That someone isnāt me. Not anymore at least. Maybe in high school. Admittedly, high school is sometimes a blur, and sometimes I can remember it crystal clear. Now I am someone who has no idea what heās good at or good for. The things I like to do, Iām not good at. The things Iām kind of good at, I donāt like to do. If this seems random and jumbled, Iām sorry but I never really expected somebody to read this other than myself. Or maybe I do want someone to read it? I donāt know. Maybe itās a little of both. Either way, itās stream of consciousness and itās streaming out of my usual jumbled flurry of thoughts mixed in with a lack of sleep. Honestly, Iām not even rereading what I write because itās probably cliche or corny. I donāt particularly care. I just want the depression gone. I lied today. I said I have low grade asthma so I couldnāt smoke weed. It wasnāt so I was above the influence. It was partially because Iām afraid that being high will be my only release. I felt like if I just didnāt want to, they would think Iām lame or something. I remember my girlfriend saying something to the point ofĀ āI might smoke. Iām cool I think,ā when we were sitting together. I know she would never mean it that way, but I felt like that means me not doing would mean I am lame. My friends have a habit of poking fun of me when I donāt know something about drugs or something, or when I say marijuana instead of weed or pot. I know they donāt mean to to bother me, and I never really think too much about it until I try to sleep. Iām thinking about trying it though. If anything, Iāll at least have made a choice of my own, and maybe that pathological part of me wonāt think of myself as a loser. I hope they donāt read this. Theyāll either be mad or maybe go overboard trying to fix. I donāt want that. Iām not a fragile flower. Or maybe I am. A lot of things get to me. Like the thought that maybe Iām not good enough a friend to always be kept around. I have trouble keeping in with the chat, and to be fair everyone has known each other far longer. Plus, sometimes, I just donāt fit in. A reference I make that is outdated, or maybe one that someone else makes that I donāt understand. The way I sometimes carry a joke or a conversation point after others have already had their fill of it. I feel that way with everyone really. This was longer than I intended it to be. I pretty much have resigned myself to no sleep for now.Mental illness wins for now. It feels good to let a little off. The bright side to not sleeping is that I can remember how I feel and am lucid enough to let them out. Who knows. Maybe I will get high and have the best nap Iāve ever had so far. or not. I donāt know. I donāt know a lot about myself. What Iām good at, or even what I am. I try to be an artist, a youtuber, a writer, a singer, and a few other things. I try calling myself those things sometimes. I usually bring them down a peg. Iām a wannabee artist, a not so good singer, a passable actor, an okay writer, a sufferer of PTSD, a molestation (and depending on whose definition youāre using, possibly rape) survivor who who tries so hard to forget those years ever happened, an introvert who is very good at hiding things, hopefully a good boyfriend, and a few other things. I try to have at least a little pride at how Iāve managed, but itās hard, you know.
kianamaiart
2087
gummygunk
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
