Let’s use this blog as a blog again shall we. You know me though, chances are this isn’t going to be happy. Please find the exit to happy somewhere over there near a rainbow or something, continue reading if someone else being miserable won’t disrupt your day. I don’t want that. Nope, nope, no siree. God damnit, Siri, not you!
I can’t shake this mood. It’s not even a bad mood as such, it’s just miserable. I wake up tired and go to sleep tired and spend the day tired and I feel like I’m dragging my body through human movements. I’m getting tired of it. Ha, didn’t mean the pun, but there it is.
I tried to write serial fiction and just go with it, just to be writing again and trying to have my brain work like it used to. There was no fun in that though, it wasn’t a story I wanted to tell, there wasn’t really any story to tell. I’m a discovery writer but there has to be something I want to discover for that to work and there was nothing.
I just feel miserable all the time and nothing I try to do will shake it. I know I need to be back in professional help but I don’t know how to go about that at the moment. I just feel no hope, only fear. And it is fear, anxiety is our fears (not even realized) hammering at our doors.
Sometimes I wonder whose expectations I am trying to live up to, especially when it comes to beauty. I’ve always wanted to cosplay in some amazing outfit as either Harley Quinn, or Sylvanas or more recently Widowmaker. I got it in my head I was going to stop worrying about it and just do. And then I look into cosplay and I just think I’m not made for that world. I wish I didn’t have such low self-esteem but god. I’d feel useless compared to the other women there, like my body was just some laughing stock. That could be far from the truth, I don’t know. I just don’t want to feel this way. Back to expectations, maybe I wouldn’t if I didn’t have a partner. If I wasn’t with someone who I didn’t think thought so little of my body. I probably would though, I don’t think I’ll ever see myself as anything but lesser.
This isn’t me trying to get people to comment on my appearance because I don’t think that’s where it is, it’s in my head and that can’t be talked down. I think I could walk into a room full of people cheering “You’re perfect!” and I’d just curl into a ball in the corner. Maybe that’s the issue. I want to do things that require people looking at me and I don’t want people to look at me unless I’m in control of that. Being invisible is much easier than being seen.
I haven’t cried about this in a while and it just drives me mad because then you get the people who say, body issues? There are people dying in the world! Which just makes it worse because the amount of times I have tried to draw my thoughts away from such a self-critical and inwards way of thinking and it’s amounted to me feeling even more fucking useless and stupid and vain and god… I so badly want it all to end. I’m so sick of comparing myself to the perfection that is everywhere and that I’m told is perfect and being so far from it that in 1 – 10 I feel -9000 and why are we even rated by numbers. Why do we do that to each other?
I really wanted to have something and I feel like I’ve got nothing. And now that I can’t write. I mean, I got an idea and I was excited and LitRPG seemed like such an obvious choice. I pretty much lived in games before this mental illness got to where it’s at now, I understand games. But, after having that excitement and even starting to properly world build I tried to go back to it and just exhaustion. I really wanted to write quests, too.
But, and I’m laughing at myself now, when do I ever stick to anything? The number of books I should have finished by now and nope. A cycle. Hyper – write & imagine, depressed – nothing, hyper – new story, write & imagine, depressed – nothing. And the real kicker, that thing that I hate more than anything right now, how mental illness is supposedly a gift to the creative. A gift fucking indeed. Let’s take something that drains you of mental ability and say it’s the secret behind a craft that requires mental functioning. Mental illness just gives us something to fucking rant about on our more lucid days, but my god what we could achieve if it just never existed in the fucking first place.
Self-doubt, to the point where you just think what is the point. I’ve wasted years, and every time I become aware of that, all the sleepless nights on what ifs and NEW TOMORROWS that end up just the same as yesterdays. Because it doesn’t go away just because you want it to. It doesn’t stop existing, it just stops you from existing. Especially without help, and that’s something I don’t have. And hey, maybe if I had help properly all those lost years then those years would never have been lost.
But right now, I keep wanting to make it right. I keep telling myself tomorrow is too far away start now, and I keep feeling beaten down. And you know what? Fuck all the FIGHT mentality. Education and help, like with any other illness, that is salvation. The idea you can fucking think your way out of it, like anyone can think their way out of a broken arm or a coma. And I’m laughing again here, because with a broken arm you can still have the willpower to think yourself into better days and having a positive outlook, depression strips you of your willpower.
Don’t give up. That’s something I can stand by. But don’t give up and help yourself by seeking medical help, help from family and friends, reading about the illness and beginning to learn what it does. Don’t try and just fight something you don’t even know what you’re fighting. That’s a losing battle. I hope you don’t think I’m telling people with mental illness to give up, I’m not. What I’m saying is I went with that mentality of fight! be strong! and it made me feeling pathetic and weak. Fight it when you know what you’re fighting, and if you feel like you’re losing, you’re still not weak. You’re never weak, you’re ill. And ill people need help.
Even when they feel like I do right now.
Like a burden on everyone around me and wanting to shun most of them. I don’t even want to see my own family because I’m worried they will think I’m ugly, worthless and a nobody. I feel so fucking trapped. But today is just a bad day, right?
And finally, just to finish off this rant that started somewhere and ended nowhere: When did people start believing that mental illness was a choice?