Flowing Thoughts

Do you ever feel like there’s something wrong?

You feel something’s about to happen. Something horrible. Something that will destroy your body and mind. But you’re not quite sure what will cause that catastrophe you feel approaching. It’s just… there. The feeling of imminent threat. Disaster. The fear of pain.

I’ve always been like this. There was a time I used to deal with it by thinking “I’m not afraid of pain. Bring it on”.

Bullshit.

I’m terrified.

And to be perfectly honest, what I’m even more afraid of is the hard shell that used to be my defense. I was protected. I was fearless. I was reckless. I didn’t care what happened, the world sucked anyways. I felt powerful. It was amazing.
Too bad if I actually tried doing something cool I would have failed miserably. The only way I was able to do something kinda worthy was if I stopped thinking, let the adrenaline take over, lost any contact with my emotions and successfully ignored physical pain. If I wore my shell. All of that was easy, except my thoughts would never leave me alone, cracking my shell in various places, in various angles. Some cracks were longer and deeper, some resembled just a scratch. And not just thoughts. My mind kept observing and analysing every single facet of the world. That was truly numbing, exhausting.

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Fast forward to better days. I’m fit, got a six pack, I’m better at school (finally started studying to achieve a goal, woop!), I have friends who like me, my situation at home gets better. I don’t have to analyse everything around me. I can stop being overly careful. I don’t care about the bullies or the idiotic guys who call me ugly, thinking a pretty girl is worth everything. I am superior because I am down to earth, unlike the stuck ups I’m surrounded by. And now I can finally enjoy the last of my teenage years, before I leave the country I lived in for 18 years to move on with my life in a new land.
That’s what my mind was before I started my life anew. What happened once I got there is a story for another time.
Because I didn’t need to hard steel shell to protect myself anymore I could finally be open, be strong in my vulnerability. One of the things I used to say was “What’s wrong with talking about my problem with obesity? I might have been obese but look at me now. I’m fit. I’m proud”. Oh, it felt so good. It felt so fucking good. Specially when the girls looked at me with eyes that clearly said “She’s awesome”. Yes, yes you can rely on me, I’ll take care of you, I’ll guide you because of course I know how to play life. I’m awesome, I’m perfect. I know exactly what to do in any given scenario and how to do it. Unless, of course, I’m lost. Lost and in denial. Grasping for any tiny little bit of attention I could get. Don’t get me wrong now. At that point I didn’t want the kind of attention where people said “She’s cool”. I wanted the one where people finally acknowledged that yes, that girl can have problems as well. Just because she’s not acting out doesn’t mean she’s not dealing with panic attacks any time she has to go out in public. Buy food. Meet people. Be friends with childhood friends. That girl has Depression as well. And many times she spent entire nights imagining her own death.

But I was cool. I could deal with it. I was used to it.

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The decisive point in my life when everything started going downhill was when I decided to feel pain. To accept it and stop pretending. To let myself drown in pain, acknowledge it before anyone else came to “save” me. I didn’t want a saviour. That’s stupid. Even now I want to “save” myself. God, even now the word “save” sounds dumb as fuck.
And so I let myself get hit. Hard. It was as if someone had cut my brain and many little pieces and was in the process of marinating them in salt. Stabbing it continuously, just turning the pink mass into… something resembling porridge.
And then, I was truly vulnerable.
My housemate hanged herself.
It was all my fault.
Fast forward to the nearer future. No one realized how it must have felt holding her body, not being able to process what was happening. Heck, no one even thought “Mmm, I think she might have seen her housemate dying”. But I need to stop blaming others. It’s no one’s fault. And that’s the worst part of all this: It’s no one’s fault. Not even your own.

So, going back to what I said in the beginning. Do you ever feel like there’s something wrong?
Even if now everything is fine, you never know what might happen. There’s a constant feeling of dread, even when you’re happy. I was invited to go out to the beach today and gosh I was feeling awful and happy the whole time. The seawater was warm, my friend’s mother offered my drinks, crisps and corn. But I was so scared… scared of meeting my friend from 9 years ago, her nice mother and cool sister. And I know, I know I will keep thinking about all the little things I did that might have looked dumb or rude. Just like last night’s party with, again, my group of friends from 9 years ago ’till this day. I keep thinking of everything I said that might have looked stupid or rude or… any bad adjective, really. I can’t stop thinking of what other might have thought in my bad moments. Almost as if I don’t deserve to be friends with such nice people.
See? It’s not even as if something horrific that might change the planet is about to happen. No. It’s just my Anxiety made worse by my Depression. And it would be so damn easy if only I had my shell back. I would be so “fine”. I could get over anything and not give a fuck. But I’m scared of my shell too. Because there was a period of time I was great without it. I didn’t have any reason to be scared that someone would start hitting my shell, hurting me while breaking it open.

Thank you for reading,

Khaoleido

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