On the outside:
On the inside:
I care about myself.
My body and my mind are important to me.
I will make better, healthier decisions on my own behalf.
I will practice mindfulness and gratitude each day.
I deserve my own self-care. If I don’t take care of myself, how can anyone else rely on me to help take care of them?
My life to me seems like one of the sad indie movies only I would appreciate. Filled with melancholy, a person confused and just messing everything up. I find myself thinking of my artist days when I was younger. I loved being a part of an artistic community and attending weekly poetry readings. We were just a bunch of reckless freaks trying to express ourselves. We might fuck everything up, but at least we were free to make our own mistakes and write about them later.
I miss expressing myself more often. I used to draw and write and journal a lot. I miss that part of myself. I just don’t have the quiet in my mind to accomplish it half of the time. I feel so weird and misunderstood. Sometimes Jake gets angry at me, offended at my sadness for no apparent reason. He thinks there’s something wrong with him, that I’m somehow not satisfied, and I have to tell him over and over again it’s not about him.
I’ll be 26 in little under two days. That was always my scary age as a young 20 something. I used to always figure- I should be established in my career by that point in my life. I should have found the man I want to be with the rest of my life, be getting married. I should be able to take care of myself and function as an adult, be independent.
It seems like everything is on track. To the naked eye, looking at me, it would seem I have those things I have wished for. Latta my boss is almost one foot out the door at my current job and I am devoted to Jacob and will become his wife in less than two months (!!!)
But still yet, when I am alone or at my home, I am a failure in my own skin. I am filled with angst and woe. I worry that I don’t show enough caring for my ailing mother, that my Grandma would be ashamed to see my lack of involvement in her life. Simple things overwhelm me, and I find it difficult to get dressed and leave the house. I don’t talk to any of my would-be friends.
Lately, I’ve been feeling a dampening in my spirits. Everyday I don’t write or meditate, my mind is a jumbled mess and more and more gets piled on. I yearn for a therapist almost as much as I long for a friend. Lately, I stuff my face every night and eat way past the full point, and I don’t see any sign of stopping. My body is cumbersome to me, I get ashamed and don’t want to have sex. I intrinsically feel that I do not want to feel pleasure, do not deserve pleasure. I get embarrassed of myself. I see myself expanding, and I just start wearing looser clothing and trying to ignore how my wardrobe keeps dwindling smaller and smaller. I don’t feel comfortable in most of my clothes, the skin in which I reside makes me restless. I have too much anxiety, and I don’t take my meds regularly. I never sleep in the night, and I can’t drag myself out of bed in the afternoon before work. I barely take care of myself, and it feels like I’m falling apart and all the pieces spilling through my hands faster than I can repair myself.
I’ve felt far away from myself, a thinness of presence. I barely listen to Jake sometimes and have no idea what he’s just said. I feel like there’s a bottomless pit of despair inside me being barely concealed by a smile. How do I fool all of you?
Or Am I?