After being diagnosed with derealization my life has changed drastically. My mind constantly questions everything and everyone around me and seldom rarely does anything ever feel real. I’m still waiting for that day where I wake up, get out of bed, and everything is back to normal. I’m still waiting for that day where I come home, lay in bed, and I feel normal. However, It’s been about 6-7 months since I was diagnosed and although the episodes have decreased in severity my symptoms are still reoccurring and since I opted to face this thing with sole willpower and skip all medications I doubt that day will ever come. I wish I could be more open about the situation and let people in to whats wrong, but I’m aware that this isn’t an easy pill for the average person to swallow so I’m constantly bottling up all this distress inside. As I mentioned before my episodes have improved though and that has allowed me to live a seemingly normal life; but my biggest fear is that one day when shit hits the fan I’ll fall so back into this thing that I’ll never be able to recover and that means leaving the life I know with no explanation, no evidence, and no history of the entire notion. I walk around faking smiles in public to hide the underlying fear that I have for myself. That’s all I can do really, attempt to smile, search and hope that one I’ll find something, or maybe even someone, that makes me feel real.
The problem with being sad is that I’m letting all these moments keep passing me by. The problem with being sad is that I’m not valuing the most precious people in my life. The problem with being sad is that I rather spend my time in front of the TV instead of doing anything productive. The problem with being so unhappy is that I’m destroying everything in my path. The problem with being sad is that I’ve learned to hate myself. The problem with being sad is that I carry around all this guilt. The problem with being sad is that I can’t look in the mirror. The problem with not being able to smile is that heavy feeling in my chest. The problem with being sad is that my life is falling apart. The problem with being sad is that all hope is gone. The problem with being sad is that I have nothing left. The problem with happiness is I don’t where the fuck it went.
My brain is fried. You might as well serve it on a breakfast platter alongside some honey pancakes and wheat toast at your local diner because lately, that’s all it’s been good for. Who would’ve thought that all those lectures in grade and middle school about the importance of reading and “exercising” your brain weren’t just theory’s made up by cute little old english, and your occasional strange bookworm (who probably still lives with their mom) literature teacher, but all that mumbo jumbo you let go in through one ear and out the other is actually… well factual. Take me for example; I am
(or was) one of the brightest people I know. I hold the potential within me to accomplish unimaginable and fascinating things. I was one of those kids who was IS supposed to go far in life. Now I know what you’re thinking, “Gee, her ego is through the roof” but hear me out on this I honestly believe that we’re all comprised of the same abilities but the dividing border between accomplished people and people who lie on or quite below the average belt is defined by a persons willingness to exert that muscle in our head in which we were all blessed with. What I have learned, and came to the conclusion of after a about a year long writers block and the inability to exceed in anything academic related, is that the brain along with intelligence is malleable and it is extremely important to keep those waves surging through. Had I not become so distracted with the ongoings of adolescence and actually worked myself to my greatest potential who knows where I could have been now. Maybe, instead of preparing to attend William Paterson, I would have been preparing to dorm at Florida State or NYU; Maybe I could’ve received an academic scholarship, and maybe I would have stuck to one actual hobby and had finally mastered the guitar by the now! Who knows really, I could go on and on with all the maybe’s and what if’s of the world but what is important now is to say, and promise, that from now on I will work to my fullest potential and never and I mean NEVER turn off that big ol’ noggin in my head again.
I haven’t been sleeping, again. I haven’t been hungry, yet the bingeing is back. The constant feeling of fear is back. My head is always is spinning. My anxiety is through the fucking roof and I’ve been real fucking lonely. Everyone is gone but I did that to myself. My heart hurts now more than ever. I’m walking around with the heaviest feeling of regret and disgust. I’m so fucking miserable. I’ve never been as destroyed as I am right now, and I’ve been to some pretty dark places within myself. I don’t look like me. I don’t feel like me. I don’t know who I am. This is definitely my shittiest writing but I just needed to let this out somewhere. I’m so fucking tired, all I wanna do is sleep but like I said… I haven’t been sleeping, again.
I live in a complex world of misery. My life very rarely ever gives me shots of happiness, but when it does the dosage is small, so minuscule that its not even enough to give me a false sense of hope. There is no build up, no letdown, just an everlasting feeling of hopelessness.
I think the hardest part of it all is realising that I’m not as indestructible as I thought I was. I thought I was was wonder woman, I thought I had super strength. I’ve been so numb to it all I didn’t think anything or anyone could ever break me down again. I was wrong.
The biggest problem I have with myself is that I feel. I’m so sick of feeling. In a perfect world I’d be emotionless, Incapable of feeling pain or misery. Willing to sacrifice joy and love. It infuriates me that I’m still not immune to my emotions, but then anger is a feeling. Which leads to my frustrations, and as we all know it frustration is a feeling as well.
I hope to have a daughter one day so that she can feel beautiful. I want her to shine on the inside and out. I want her light up a room and light up your heart. I want her to cherish her life and value herself. I want her to be confident and intelligent. I want her to be hard working and determined. I want her to make mistakes and learn from them, I want her to laugh and to smile. I want her to experience and be free. I want her to be charismatic and wild. I want her to love and love fully. I don’t want her to be anything like me.
I hate when people shit on my writing. Who is anyone to tell me that the words I put on paper aren’t of value? I write what I know, what I see, what I can. I write what I feel. I cannot change what hurts as an attempt to stimulate anyone’s mind. The way I feel it, I write it. I refuse to muffle the voice of my emotions.
I wonder what it’s like to feel so fucking beautiful with yourself even your ugliest moments are justifiable, to breathe easy, to laugh, to be loved.
He’s suffocating me. I’m not sure what it is he’s doing or what it is about him that plunges so deep into my emotions but there’s something about him that shuts off the air circulation in my body and makes me weak. He’s seeping under my skin, into my soul, he’s twisting my heart, and rearranging my head but I’m enjoying every wrenching second of it. He’s hurting me, in a good way. He’s bringing back the pain I forgot I could feel. I should stay away, all the signs are there, but I can’t give it up, him. I want it, I want him bad. He makes me feel dead again, he makes me sick. I’m not an addict. I just need a few more doses.