The only time I keep things to myself is when it involves someone else; I’ll always respect the privacy of others. But other than that, I’m an open book. Some may say I’m too open; I don’t consider this a fault. Since this concerns only me, let’s rap:
Social anxiety & depression are very real things that affect so many people in your life. I’m not ashamed of it; I’ve had to live with it for a long time. When or how did it start? I don’t know exactly when but it’s steadily become worse the older I get. It really doesn’t take a doctor to sit me down for weeks, ask me the same questions over and over to determine that something wasn’t, and currently isn’t, quite right. Seriously. I can barely remember a time when the scales weren’t stacked so high on the wrong side of my imaginary world problems. Living a life I can only describe as “coping” is not a life, especially when THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH MY LIFE.
History lesson: I was hard of hearing as a child; my parents thought I was being stubborn until my doctor told them. I’d attribute how late in life I began speaking to this. I’ve always been extremely shy and read A LOT of books. I still find comfort betwixt the pages of a novel. When I finally began speaking, I had a lisp and my father would relentlessly point it out.
He thought it was cute, I was horrified by it.
I practiced speaking by myself, locked away in my room, so it would just go away. My parents and brother are probably the only ones who can still see/hear it because they’ve known me my whole life but I don’t think many other people were the wiser. This was very important to me.
I’ve never liked a spotlight on me (I, somehow, worked my way out of most speeches & class presentations so I wouldn’t have to stand in front of a room of my peers). It almost goes against everything I present to the world. I’ve always loved clothes as an expression of who I am, the things I like, my personal interests. I started doing this so no one would ask me questions – they could look at me and know what they needed to know and I wouldn’t have to talk to strangers. A well-put together outfit is my suit of armour; I’m protected. The double-edged sword is when you look relatively stylish (which are terms I wouldn’t use about myself until much later in life), people comment. People want to chat about it in-real life; bright colours, interesting patterns and texture attract eyes and there are so many times I wish the ground would swallow me whole so I can just be by myself forever with my beautiful clothes. This is one of the many everyday fights I have with myself before I leave my home: should I wear this so nothing can hurt me or should I change because people will look at me?
These everyday fights are exhausting & unyielding. Eventually m’mindgrapes collapse and I fall into the space I’m in now at this exact moment. This vicious cycle causes bouts of spontaneous crying over the course of the day because everything seems overwhelming. My emotions revolve around the same life fears every single time; things I have zero control over.The thought of ALL OF THIS throws me deeper into my personal blackhole. These intense feelings are bullies; they trip me when I’m not looking and continue to unleash while I’m writhing on the ground. With each blow to my head and heart, I feel more of myself shatter into pieces so small I can’t find them all to put back into the vacant spaces of my battered shell. These feelings are mine; I created this monster so I must destroy it.
I’ll need courage and strength so when I’m knocked down again, I’ll bruise but I will not break.
Still coping and always trying,