I shut down. I can’t think. I forget where I’m going or what I’m doing. I just fall asleep.
I’ll never be a good enough friend, sister, daughter, girlfriend.
You close your eyes and heartlessly submit to the monsters of your past. You reach the nothingness of the abyss. You open your eyes. You’ve been here before. But you don’t feel anymore.
It’s a time to take care of yourself and be gentle with yourself.
You very slowly let yourself open up to him. Once a few months have passed, you start letting your guards down. You know deep down that he deserves to know all of you, even the flaws and imperfections. He deserves to know all of you, even if you’re petrified for him to see all of you.
As soon as my attack ends, everything I said suddenly feels so stupid. I can finally see the way I looked through the other person’s eyes. I can see how psycho I must have seemed. How pathetic.
Knowing anger allowed me to appreciate peace; knowing sadness allowed me to appreciate happiness; knowing disbelief allowed me to appreciate the present; and knowing death allowed me to appreciate life.
I couldn’t bring myself to believe it, though, to accept what was apparent and obvious. I wasn’t depressed, I didn’t have an anxiety problem; I just wasn’t doing college right. I was bad at getting my work done, bad at living up to expectations, bad at having fun, and bad at being happy.
The root of it all starts within. To be honest, I’ve never felt more alive than when focusing on my internal rather than the external.
I must remember the pain. The pain that I’ve felt, how terrifying and ever-present. The pain symbolizes a rebirth, a magnum opus for me. I forgot what it felt like to truly love myself, my body, and my heart.