The Difficult Perplexity that caused Distress

I would like to make a disclaimer for this post to say that I do not condone compromising your happiness to stay with someone that is toxic to your health. But I will say this: you do not choose to be mentally ill, it is out of your control sometimes. Disagree if you do, that’s ok I respect that, however I am an individual who at times does succumb to the struggles I have. I feel shame for this, and you must understand that your loved ones may feel ashamed as well for not being 100% ok all the time. While I understand you can only be patient for sometime I encourage you all to try and continue to love individuals and encourage them even on their worst days. Thank you for taking the time to read this. And to the person this post is for, I am sorry for disappointing you; you may say that I didn’t. But I know I did because I disappointed myself. I love you.

If you can’t love yourself how can you love someone else?

The very notion of this phrase stares me down and laughs at me; it tells me everyday that maybe I don’t deserve love, and I find that unfair.

Because everyday I wish, I pray my brain didn’t work the way it does. That I could read as many self help books, I could exercise and feel endorphins coursing through my veins, and somehow I would feel better.

I wish I could choose to be better, I wish that when I do choose it would stick. That it wouldn’t be a struggle some mornings to get out of bed and smile at a stranger. That it wouldn’t feel exhausting to eat or give myself basic care.

It’s easy for some. It’s so easy that you feel lazy. You feel like a bother, you feel like you don’t deserve to cry—to ask for a little more help. You feel disgusting, so unworthy. Pathetic.

I want to be better. I need to feel better. I feel like I’m screaming inside my head, screeching at the sky for some deity to rewire everything and make me new.

Sometimes I truly believe everyone would be better if I wasn’t me. If I was born with a completely healthy mind; one without baseless fears and paranoia, without the need for sensitivity, no gentle care needed the minute my fragility shows through.

Someone that didn’t need anyone. Someone that didn’t pretend that they were independent because the minute she would feel herself falter she could brush it away and smile.

But I can’t be her. I fucking wish I could, I wish more than anything in this entire world I could be that for everyone.

I wish it more than life itself.

So to answer the question, I can love others.

But I want so desperately to love myself, because that’s easier said than done.

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