there’s no need to be, but it’s okay, perfectly okay, to be afraid of your pain//
if you could read my mind, you’d be in tears.
On days in my self-labelled ‘dysthymic dimension’, my mind becomes a non-stop boombox with echoes of a million versions of my voice bouncing off the walls of every corner of my body. One ricocheting thought hit me square in my stomach and sent me reeling more in shock than in pain when i realized how awfully lonely it was to be a container of all these thoughts and fears with no one else to hear it but me.
I don’t think I could be honest to share all my thoughts to one person, always depositing an amount of words here in one body and there in another;
torn by an inexplicable fear to open up to someone before my thoughts swallow me whole.
I collapse into what I call a foldable version of myself. I only open my true self up once in awhile to people I feel comfortable with and even then, the words i say are sprinkled with generous amounts of “i-don’t-know-but”s, “maybe-it’s-just-me”s, all the while stuttering as I speak.
but they can’t hear me stammer if i write.
And writing here, for awhile it was a relatively safe haven.
Safe for awhile until you know adults print out your writings here to share with other predators to satisfy their pleasure of finger-pointing, to judge you, criticize you.
So i was thrown into a worrying frenzy once again and I can’t remember when ‘safe for awhile’ was anymore.
Beginning to wonder why people wants to know about you, wonder why would people even want to know about you.
Wondering why people stupidly make countless plans so they can feel stable without actually being stable, why folks only celebrate for those that follow behind them and tell the rest that don’t they’re on their own, when they tell you they want to support you then turn around to say you’re not independent enough, when even family doesn’t feel familiar anymore.
And I know I’ve always been different, have been seeing things so differently from everyone else ever since I can remember.. don’t know if that makes me crazy but i think i know now why I feel the way i do.
Certain days I think I would go to a psychologist and beg to be diagnosed with some kind of unidentified form of anxiety or depression, classified as some sick person, just to give myself an explanation on why yesterday my head swam with intrusive thoughts, just to assure myself that the reason why I didn’t mind wildly walking across whole roads with traffic of big construction trucks without looking left or right last week isn’t my fault.
It would be easy, not easy for those who bagged the best scholarships, but easy for someone crazy like me,
so i think when the weather is right, when it fits me just right, I might whisper a contented goodbye somewhere high up as close as can be to my favorite sky, with no one by my side.
It is a fact that this doesn’t bother me every single day. and I don’t stretch my down times.
There are days when I am really fine and I don’t even think of these things and I’m really happy and bursting with hope and eagerness for all the future holds for me. It doesn’t bother me every day, but sometimes that’s what scares me more, the unpredictability of when my insecurities, my anxieties, will catch up with me and then I’m not sure i’ll make it through the whole process of struggling again.
Psalm 27:1 KJV The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
Maybe He makes me weak to teach me that He is strong.
So I will hold on to Him for as long as He holds on to me.