A few people once told me I looked, and acted, confident. When I’ve heard this, I had to wonder – what the fuck is it they think they are seeing? It can’t possibly be me, because that’s an incredible leap from the truth.
This is going to end up being overly personal, so abandon thread if you don’t want that.
I sit awake most nights going through the same routine. Not the usual “remember that awful thing you did 20 years ago?” Instead, they are thoughts of death. Horrors. Tragedy. What if someone breaks in with intent to kill? What if the car crashes and I’m left mangled? What if …? And on and on it goes, for hours, until I realize I’ve got maybe 3 hours of sleep ahead of me. On and on.
There’s no confidence here. Just jokes and a facade of immature humor. It’s easier to get by if people are laughing, right? Smiles keep people from asking questions you never want to answer.
“How are you?” … “Alive!”
Walk though a store and imagine every single person there is dangerous. They’re all itching to do harm, cause chaos, set the world on fire. That’s how my mind wants to view it. Like you’re perpetually stuck in those microseconds before a car crash – the rush of panic mixed with slowing time. Everything drags on, and everything is terrifying.
Yeah, big time confidence.
It’s often considered too much to speak about your own demons. Nobody wants to hear that shit, the crazy people should just keep their ways to themselves. Too bad, here it is. Just a bit of it, but here it is.
It shouldn’t be such a taboo subject. Plenty of your friends and relatives are going through something. Anything. And a fair number say nothing out of fear of looking insane, or pathetic, or useless.
I’ve been slapped with an array of diagnoses that have left my mental health specialist certain I’m incapable of functioning in any sort of normal setting. And I’ve always been this way. (Note: No, I’m not a psychopath. Give me time.)
Every day I walk around in a state of neutral absence. I’ve never quite existed fully, being too lost in my head to be present for anyone. Never call back. Never reach out. Never keep connections. I’m a pretty shit friend, with that.
I’m not special. Everyone has layers upon layers inside that nobody ever experiences. Everyone is somehow a special snowflake, or so they think.
The only point to this is pretty simple: remember that everyone around you is a little fucked up, and that’s okay. They might need you to just sit back and listen sometimes.
Mental illness shouldn’t be shameful, period. It can happen to anyone, anytime, no matter how good life is.