The Truth.
This will be one of the more honest posts I've probably written, and what I'm about to write I genuinely believe in a 100%; and I hope you will too.
I hope no one will read this, actually, because I am rather fragile after the breakdowns. I want a safe space to confess all my weaknesses and my sadness and my hopes and my dreams.
There will... there will be no pictures, no catchy headlines, no interesting tag-lines, no witty stories, no creative writing, no plays, no commentaries, no social critiques. It is not the author's work you will see here, dear reader who hopefully does not exist, but just the author who does, very much exist.
The first thoughts were the worst, dark and threatening, literally, to push me off the edge. I couldn't move, I was so, so, sad, depressed and angry. The stress ate me alive. I couldn't keep up with the high expectations. All my life I'd set myself goals I wished to achieve, higher and higher they reached until I could not reach anymore. I didn't stretch, I snapped.
Teetering precariously, pretending to live vicariously through snippets of smart commentary on the inter web, my mental state swirled in and around itself until I suppose I could take it no more. This pressure, this internal stress, this state of unrest, was disfiguring. It stuffed my arms, pumped my legs, outwards. I ate myself out of the sadness, at least for a while.
And then, I stopped. I was unhappy but suddenly, small rays of light began to shine through. Little, hopeful rays. I saw a way out, to break the expectations. I realised I did this, partly to myself. Putting up standards I had to reach, meet and set.
I never really let myself breathe. Until now.
Inhale. Exhale. I can focus on that, and finally, with God's grace, be happy.
I hope no one will read this, actually, because I am rather fragile after the breakdowns. I want a safe space to confess all my weaknesses and my sadness and my hopes and my dreams.
There will... there will be no pictures, no catchy headlines, no interesting tag-lines, no witty stories, no creative writing, no plays, no commentaries, no social critiques. It is not the author's work you will see here, dear reader who hopefully does not exist, but just the author who does, very much exist.
The first thoughts were the worst, dark and threatening, literally, to push me off the edge. I couldn't move, I was so, so, sad, depressed and angry. The stress ate me alive. I couldn't keep up with the high expectations. All my life I'd set myself goals I wished to achieve, higher and higher they reached until I could not reach anymore. I didn't stretch, I snapped.
Teetering precariously, pretending to live vicariously through snippets of smart commentary on the inter web, my mental state swirled in and around itself until I suppose I could take it no more. This pressure, this internal stress, this state of unrest, was disfiguring. It stuffed my arms, pumped my legs, outwards. I ate myself out of the sadness, at least for a while.
And then, I stopped. I was unhappy but suddenly, small rays of light began to shine through. Little, hopeful rays. I saw a way out, to break the expectations. I realised I did this, partly to myself. Putting up standards I had to reach, meet and set.
I never really let myself breathe. Until now.
Inhale. Exhale. I can focus on that, and finally, with God's grace, be happy.
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