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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/action/view/entry_id/996670
Rated: 13+ · Book · Personal · #2217241
My blog, welcome.
#996670 added October 24, 2020 at 9:49pm
Restrictions: None
What Is Hell?


I don’t know what the f*** I’m doing here. I’m used to feeling apathetic during the day and incredibly sad at night. I’m used to regretting things and hating my younger self or the actions of the previous day. None of that is new. I know what my bad days feel like and I can take a guess at what my good days feel like. But this...this is new.

The week before my mom came home from the hospital, I went on walks a lot and didn’t want to do anything but sleep. The walking cleared my head and made me feel a little better. I’d spend an hour or two lost in my thoughts and then clear them when I went back inside; it worked for me. Sometimes I worked through the problems and other times I just pretended whatever was bothering me disappeared by the time I was back in my room and that was okay. I told myself didn’t need to work out whatever it was anyway, it wasn’t like I would tell anyone. They were stupid. My mom would be okay, and it was proven when she came home, perfectly healthy except for her breathing.

Still, a part of me wanted to blog about it. Writing helps me get everything out, or at least, this does. It feels safe. I’ve discovered that it’s become less of a hobby and more a way to cope. Is my life bad? No. Is my mind a museum to all the s***ty things I’ve done throughout my 15 years on this planet regardless of that? Yes. I replay things over and over until I want to scream or pace or punch something, because god, I will settle for anything just as long as the guilt will go away. But it doesn’t. It never has.

My anxiety is something that quietly stalks me until I feel a sliver of sadness or doubt and then it sinks every claw it has into me. But this is not anxiety. This is me getting upset in a f***ing zoom meeting about something as stupid as sexuality and then talking to much about myself half the meeting. I’m pretty sure I also upset some people. I want to apologize. And while I feel safe there, that doesn’t give me the right to be rude. This is me having a mini freak out and scratching myself until I’m bleeding while simultaneously not knowing how to deal with the emotions. This is me pushing away the people I love and snapping at them for no reason. This is me wanting to sleep all day, every day.

This is me scared I might be depressed.


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/action/view/entry_id/996670