Monday, November 2, 2015

You're Not the Only One Who Matters

At approximately 1:30am this morning, I was woken up with sobs so strong, it shook my body down to my last nerve. I had to stay awake for some time before I could face whatever lurked behind my eyelids.

I wrote it out. 

Today I have an overwhelming sense of anger. It's not because of my father. It's about how I've lived my life.

I think I've always tried to keep everyone else tucked under the blanket; all warm and safe as much as possible while I stood by with such strong emotions just blowing in the breeze. I've always felt like I don't matter as much as those who exist around me.

I keep to myself, mostly. (I write because it's how I express myself to the best of my ability and to encourage others in knowing they're not alone.) I hold in so much anxiety and heavy thoughts to the point of explosion and that's when others feel my wrath. I don't apologize for that. They shouldn't get off so easy. They shouldn't have to be told when to come around and when to back off.

I've been walking through a giant pile of shit for about seven years. I've been told that I've been on the edge of living this life and why haven't you just done away with yourself already? I've gotten help. I've taken medication. I went medication free. I chose to support my family the best I could when I couldn't afford insurance to keep myself well. And if these were wrong choices, in your opinion, it doesn't make them the wrong choices for me.

I've done a hell of a lot to keep going. Does that part even matter? Does anyone ever point that part out? Not really. Most hold onto the negative. The times I was hospitalized. The time I may have gone psychotic brought on by the wrong medications. The time I was admitted to the hospital for shock therapy. The time I was Baker Acted. All of this? I did to recover.

When are people going to notice that instead of dwelling on the why of it all? Just because I have a mental illness doesn't mean I can't function in society. Have you ever read the actual statistics of the prevalence of mental illness in the United States?  Fuck you if you have an opinion without knowing the facts, asshole.

I feel so stuck. So fucking empty. So goddamn alone.

I've had plans for myself but have been told that I need to rearrange those plans because it effects others too greatly.

When do I get to start living the life I deserve?

When can I learn to let go?

When is time going to stop standing still for me and free me from the inside?

When is going through the motions of everyday life going to make me happy instead of feeling full of dread and remorse?


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