“Are You Even Present?”

My therapist asked me this yesterday.

It took me a long time to realize that I am, in fact, not present in my life.

I’m grateful.
I’m grateful.
I swear to fucking god, I’m grateful for what I have.

The darkness in me is telling me otherwise, though.

I keep closing my eyes and shaking my head, thinking maybe if I reboot my mind that way, that it’ll jumpstart the part of my brain that is SUPPOSED to be present. It’s not working right now… oh, my god. Why isn’t it working?

I guess I’ve been living in this masquerade where I do all I can to not be present. I avoid being in my body, in this moment, to what’s inside of me, what’s INSIDE OF ME. Because who would want to fall into that? Nobody. Not even myself. It’s dark and scary. It’s unsafe.

I’ve abandoned myself. My greatest fear, and I’m the one who pulled the trigger.

Even writing this is a distraction from myself. I’m writing from third person. I’m staring at myself in front of my laptop. Hunched over in tears, the clacking of the keys in the screaming silence that fills my ears. I can’t sit with it. I’ve turned on my white noise machine. My fan is on. The silence is too loud.

I was just sitting here earlier. Minding my own business… my own business… just watching Netflix and painting my nails. Oblivious to what was going to happen next. Within an instant, everything just changed. And for some reason, it surprised me at first. Because I haven’t cried in awhile. It was out of the blue, unwarned. I didn’t warn myself. How could I warn myself if I wasn’t even aware of what was about to happen?

It all just hit me. Everything that had been building up, everything that I’ve done my best to sweep away under my dusty bed finally rolled out. Like a tumbleweed of misery. I can’t push it back under the bed; it’s broken into a hundred little pieces.

Everything feels heavy. So fucking heavy.

And suddenly, I realized, I’m present. I’m here. The overflow of emotions punched me and shoved me down until I cried. What was it? What triggered it? What yanked me back into reality? I was fine living as if I’m not really here. I was just getting by. Just doing what I needed to do to survive. Wake up, wash face, get ready, go to doctor appointments and therapy sessions, and my new job. That’s my life. That’s it. Oh, and of course the dark, unforgiving sky that is barely being held back by a thin layer of fog.

Something just snapped me awake into the present. And I don’t like it. I suddenly felt everything I’ve been trying to push away. I don’t want to feel hurt, or alone, or worthless, or burdensome. I’ve wanted to feel good and happy. Fake it until you make it, right?

Wrong. That is 100% bullshit and fuck anyone who tells you otherwise. You can only fake shit for so long before reality strangles you into waking up.

All the sorrow I’ve felt for so long came crashing back in. I thought I was getting better at defeating it. I guess not. I thought relapsing wouldn’t happen, but of course it does. And here I am, back in this treacherous ocean in my mind. There’s no sight of land in my vision.

The emptiness choked me. The realization that I’m alone and unwanted surged into my mind. The stress that constantly eats away at me finally impaled the part of me I’ve been trying to protect for as long as possible.

The tears came out of nowhere. Rolling from my eyes, down my cheeks, and drenching my pillow case. After a bit, I sat up and wiped my eyes. I took some breaths. I got hit again with another wave of despair. The tears fell down again. This time, they fell onto my arms and legs as I crumpled up into a hunched-over ball.

I stared at the scars on my thighs. Cutting would help. Cutting would ground me. That always brings me back to the present. It wakes me up. It never makes me feel good though. It’s more of a distraction from the emotional turmoil. There’s always a distraction… I can’t live without a distraction. I try to embrace myself and sometimes I think I succeed but maybe I’m just fooling myself.

My mind is clouding up more and more as I write this. Nothing makes sense. I can feel myself fading away again. The words slowly subsiding and the tears are welling up now.

All I can do is cry. I can’t hold them back anymore.

There’s no escaping it, and I don’t even want to bother fighting my tears.

This time… maybe I don’t want to win.









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These are the musings of a 32 y/o dreamer, wisher and doer. All my posts are authentic; I write what's in my heart.

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