July 26 2010
It’s been so hard to write. I feel bad coming here to write only to complain and cry… but I probably shouldn't feel that way. I shouldn't, because I try to be strong the whole f***ing time, all while thinking I’m not supposed to complain, that I’m supposed to take all the air and survive. Well, let this be that tiny corner of the world where I don’t HAVE TO.
I feel like I constantly need to justify myself, not to anyone but to my own mind. Reminding myself that I’m lucky, that I have things going on for me, that my family is taking care of me and who understands me completely, fights along with me, gives me a reason to be alive everyday and I have the most awesome brother(my SARAVANAN anna) in the universe. My physical health is fine by all parameters, even though I feel horrible due to the meds withdrawal. I mean I don’t have any “serious” physical medical condition and I fear it terribly. So I keep saying in my head, I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine, and being fine means that I definitely have no right to feel this horrible.
But I do. Most of the time I’m only surviving. Trying to do my best while thinking that in reality, I’m just being spoiled and lazy and I only need to be comfort and then I’d learn the hard way to become a normal human being. But when I’m saner and can think more objectively, I realize that taking away my only support would only kill me faster, and maybe unconsciously I just want it all to be over by destroying myself.
2 comments:
I know all too well what you mean about feeling like you have to justify your illness to your own mind all the time. Like you have to constantly prove or disprove to yourself that you’re defective, that you don’t quite work properly, or even those spells of delusion where you convince yourself nothing is really wrong. And if it’s not to yourself, then it’s to other people, but inside your own mind because obviously you could not really do this. Because you are you, and well they can only know so much of the inner turmoil. I think sometimes you get into the habit of talking to yourself like an idiot, like you’re a mental patient to be diagnosed, just crawling with neuroses, a guinea pig under the microscope. Maybe it’s the looking for it, and the identifying of it, that causes it to be worse. Sometimes I think this but then I’m not so sure. Maybe the looking for it all the while drives you to the brink more than simply riding it out, but at the same time, it’s too hard to not try to think your way out of it. Because nothing is worse than just accepting it, becoming complacent, indifferent, apathetic.
I want to tell you it’ll be alright, even though I don’t know that it will.
I know I’m like a week late commenting on this entry, but I just wanted to say that you are absolutely allowed to complain. You can take the air and survive, but you are allowed to complain too.
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