Wednesday, July 27, 2016

You Are.

More thoughts processing #SupCon16, a mental health advocacy conference put on by To Write Love on Her Arms, this past weekend. It's easy to feel the temptation just to say everything was great, especially when everything I've seen on social media has been so positive, but that wouldn't really help anyone. And the whole point of the damn conference was that we should be honest about what we go through. So the truth is that while I'm glad I went and there were some good, even joyful times, there were some pretty tough ones too.

I wrote this mid-conference (Saturday) when I was just worn down by the lack of sleep, which tends to bring back my depression, and the anxiety over all that was going on around me and in my head. It was tough to deal with the pressure of feeling like you need to network and make the most of opportunities, especially as someone with social anxiety, but I was also struggling with my own frustration with where I am in life. Hopefully I'll get the chance to write more soon. You can see part 1 here. But let us commence with the angst:

You talked to that guy.

It was a letdown. He’s human. An amazing human, but a human nonetheless. And you? You were just another human to him. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You’re restless.

You want more. You don’t want to be young. You hate being young and confused. You hate being young because it doesn’t make sense because inside you’re so old. From what you’ve seen and because of who you are.

You want to be old.

You want to be older so he’ll like you, older so they will respect you, older so you can be wiser and know what you want to do. You want fast forward to where things make sense, you have a place, and people care about what you do.

You don’t know where to go.

In life, in this moment. You feel stuck in this purgatory of not knowing and not understanding and not being sure. You are stuck in this hotel room, caught between fears of missing out if you stay and the logic of knowing that you need something more right now than what’s down there.

You don’t know who to be.

You know who you are, but not who to be. Who you are doesn’t seem good enough. People don’t applaud you. People don’t ask you onstage. People don’t ask what your story is. People don’t say that you’re worth it. People don’t show you you’re worth it. You know you are, but when other people don’t say anything, it makes you question it.

You’re confused.

Why does the process of healing have so many twists and turns? Why is it that when you’re trying to help people, things can go so wrong and backfire on you and make your efforts all seem so worthless. The little book they gave you to take notes in is coming apart at the seams: the cover came off of the inside, a little bit the first day, then the rest of it today. You feel like that book. Life keeps pushing just the right buttons to make those unresolved feelings and vulnerabilities come rushing back.

You’re scared.

Of feeling dark again. Of the knowledge that there are so many people hurting. It weighs on you. It burns into your soul. You’re scared of trying things and having them fail. You’re tired of trying things and having them fail. You’re scared your writing doesn’t matter. Your voice doesn’t matter because it’s one of so many and it’s one no one seems to listen to, so why not have it fade into the background?

You’re tired.

Tired of being a nobody. Tired of being “in recovery”. Tired of being a voice unacknowledged because if no one listens, is it a voice at all? Tired of being overlooked, undervalued. Tired of being just close enough not to touch. Tired of seeing dreams die. Tired of telling yourself it’s for a reason.
Tired of being restless, not old, young, unsure of where to go, unsure of who to be, confused, scared. Tired of being tired. Tired of wanting to meet one guy after another and being disappointed each time. Tired of knowing each guy you like doesn’t have an interest in you. Tired of knowing that unless you’re famous or attractive, people don’t want to read your story, listen to your music, or make conversation with you. Tired of being the one overlooked in favor of the men your friends want but can’t have. They say they’re feminists but they don’t care much about your friendship when there’s the possibility of being with a semi-attractive man. That hurts. Especially when you write letters, speak encouragement, answer texts, trying hard to be a good friend. You’re tired of being hurt by lackluster friendships. It’s stupid. Because at the end of the day, you deserve better.

At the end of the day, you are so much more than all of the temporary feelings that weigh you down right now. At the end of your life you will be, in the past of your life you have been, and in your current state

You are

A daughter
A sister
A fighter
A writer
A voice
A choice
A friend
A new chapter about to begin

You are going to get through this weekend. You are going to get through this life. And it is going to be good. 

(PS - As a side note, things got better, don't worry too much.)

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