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taylaanne

\\ where there is laughter, there are deep emotions //

I like to think so myself as a sensitive and emotional person…when I’m alone. In a social situation, I tend to hide my beliefs and emotions back for a couple of reasons. One, it’s difficult to talk about hard things with others who you’re not sure care or not, and two, talking about sensitive things makes me emotional and teary eyed.

One of my defense mechanisms is to use laughter as a cover up for deeper emotions or topics. If a subject is bothering me and someone asks me about it (ie, my divorce or my past with anorexia), I will most likely smile and/or laugh it off and make up something funny to say in order to dodge the emotional stuff all together. It’s just easier sometimes.

But the truth is, I wish I could talk more openly about myself and the things I’ve gone through with others. I wish I could be more open and express my true, sensitive self. The problem is, is that I have so many emotions that if I don’t laugh, I will just start crying. 

I really started thinking about this habit during a counseling session that J and I went to. We’ve been seeing a couples counselor for the past two months or so in order to help communicate better and to literally be able to ‘fight’ better. It’s been tremendously helpful mainly because it’s not traditional counseling where we talk about our issues and the therapist takes sides and makes us feel bad. We found an Imago therapist who helps us use a three step communication technique that allows us to focus on how to solve the problems through better listening and compassion.

Anyway, we were there last week discussing how sometimes J can interrupt me while I’m talking and how that makes me feel. What I was saying was just brushing the surface of how I truly felt when he does this, so the therapist suggested I try to go deeper and tell J how, when he talks over me it makes me feel as though he’s not listening, doesn’t care about what I have to say, and isn’t giving me the attention I need. At first I just started laughing and I couldn’t keep a straight face because it was so hard for me to express my thoughts. The therapist picked up on this and told me that where there is laughter, there are deep emotions. I had to push through the barrier in order to get those emotions out even though I ended up crying.

I just find this fascinating because it’s a habit I can tell I have even while I’m doing it. Sometimes at work, the other girls will talk to me about their problems and I will try to express my own but always get caught laughing them off and I probably come across as someone who is shallow or rude. Which isn’t true at all.

It’s just interesting to hear someone else (my therapist) tell me what I already kind of knew: that laughter is a cover up for deeper emotions. I always knew I did this, but never knew that others did as well or that I could learn to push through the uncomfortable feeling I get when I try to talk about hard things.

It’s also taught me that it’s okay, and in fact necessary to communicate on a deeper level and to feel the emotions I’m going through, even if it means crying my eyes out.

It feels surprisingly good as well.

 

Anxiety, Habits, Life

// Thoughts on Growth \\

I want to say I’ve come a long way in the past two years, but the truth is, I haven’t really.

Yes, it’s true I’ve made some decisions that have helped me stand on my own two feet, and I’ve gotten and kept jobs which I never thought I’d be able to do.

But my anxiety is still holding me back.

The most noticeable place I feel my anxiety kick in, is at the gym. Two years ago, I felt like I could go to any gym and feel confident in myself and my workouts. However, now I can’t even stay in the gym for an hour before I panic and need to leave. It’s a combination of not feeling good about the way I look and the paranoia that everyone is looking at me, judging me.

As of right now, I don’t have to go to the gym because I created one at home. Solved that problem.

But in the long run, it doesn’t really solve anything. I just end up avoiding the whole situation and stay in my comfort zone at home.

I did go to the gym last week just because I had a free day pass, and it was terrible. I felt overwhelmed and uneasy but the most frustrating thing about it was how horrible I felt about my body. I didn’t feel strong. I looked in the mirror and saw a thin, depressed girl. It made me want to cry, so I worked through my sets and left.

Working out at home, I don’t have mirrors, so it’s been hard to really see myself. Going to the gym that day made me realize that I needed to reevaluate my health. If I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t been eating very much and tend to skip meals altogether at work, yet I always come up with some excuse why I couldn’t eat. ‘there wasn’t anything to eat’ or ‘I just didn’t have time’.

So in terms of eating, I’d say I have some work to do. The voices from the eating disorder are still there, louder than ever it seems, and it’s tough to tune them out and push through. They have been affecting my thinking and I know it. There’s no way around the truth, and the truth is: I am falling backwards. 

On the more positive note, and I’ve talked about this before. I feel like my communication skills have greatly improved in the last two years. Mainly because of my relationship with J. He has really pushed me to express myself and say what’s on my mind. At first it was annoying, and I felt challenged by him. But now I know he does it out of love and I know now how beneficial communication really is.

I still have improvements to make obviously, but I have been able to voice my opinions and concerns more easily, as well as my hopes and dreams, which makes everything run more smoothly, especially in the relationship. When we are on the same page and know where one another’s head is at, it’s easier to understand each other, But it’s also been helping at work. Just allowing me to speak up and make my voice known, whether it’s about something bothering me or just letting people know what’s going on during the day.

It’s a bumpy road. Changing. Growing. It’s overwhelming for me, mostly because I feel like I have so many things to work on, I’m not sure where to start. Lately though, I’ve been trying to just keep reiterating that I’m trying my best and everything will work out. If I can keep thinking positively, then I’ll figure things out, I’ll continue to make small changes towards becoming a stronger version of myself.

It truly is all about being more positive, and acting less like a victim.

Anxiety, Life, Personal

February Fourteenth, Two Thousand Eighteen

February fourteenth. The day my Dad celebrates his birthday. The day J and I were supposed to celebrate being in love. We had plans to go to our favorite pizza place. But February fourteenth wasn’t what it was supposed to be.

My Mom showed up at work around ten. Immediately my heart sank. She said she had news that I wouldn’t want to hear. The first thought that crossed my mind was that she had cancer. What happened to Leah? Did Leah get hit? My heart was beating out of my chest. I left work.

My Mom said that my ex’s mom called her this morning with devastating news: Ben had taken his own life. It felt as though I got punched in the stomach while getting struck by lighting. I couldn’t breathe. The first words out of my mouth were: No he didn’t. You’re lying.

I was in utter disbelief. Shock. I spent seven years with Ben and not one day went by where I thought he would do something like this. He was the most positive person I ever knew, always seeing the good in the situation, always telling everyone things would be okay.

After the initial shock, there was anger. How could he? And I know we had been divorced for over a year at this point, but how could he leave me? How could he do this to everyone he loved? What had been on his mind that was just too overwhelming to have to come to this?

It was hard for me to think this way. I felt immediate guilt because I have been that low. I have prayed to God again and again to take me, to just let me die. Yet, I’ve never gotten to the point where I would really take things into my own hands. I felt guilty because I knew how it felt to be so overwhelmed, yet I was angry at Ben for getting that far.

My Mom and I drove to the beach. I wasn’t crying at this point anymore. The tears had given way to a dead void. I felt uneasy, like I wasn’t sure where I was. I had to keep reminding myself that Ben wasn’t here anymore. This is real. Ben’s dead.

The truth hits hard.

Ben and I were best friends. Even after the divorce and the fights, we stayed friends. We talked here and there about our new adventures, our new goals, our new lives. The last time I talked to him, he was telling me about the farm he was starting, clearing trees, using the tractor to plant cover crops. He told me about his ideas to have a farm stand full of inspirational quotes and stories and said he might need some of my art work for the walls. He sounded excited, full of hope. Where did it go wrong.

The hardest part of everything (and it always will be) is that I will never know why he did it. I’ll never get my questions answered. And I’m not even sure if anyone knows. That’s the sick thing about suicide. No one knows you are struggling until it’s too late. I wish he had reached out to me. I would have been there. Ben had always been there for me no matter what. Even when he was angry at me, he would drop everything to help. I just wish I could have returned the favor.

Being one that has suffered through years with suicidal thoughts, and now being on the receiving end of the consequences, I’m not sure how to feel. My emotions are all over the map. When you’re down that low, yeah, taking your own life feels like the only way out. It feels like it’ll solve all your problems. But it’s selfish. Sure, you’ll solve all your problems but you’ll leave them all behind for your loved ones to deal with for the rest of their lives.

But in Ben’s case, it’s especially hard, because he was never selfish. It was one thing I both loved and hated about him. He was never freakin selfish. He was always looking out for others and their well being. He never thought about himself or what he wanted. He put himself last and catered to everyone else first. The suicide was the first selfish act I think he ever did.

All I can do now is hold on to the hope that he’s happy now. That he’s at peace. I’ll see him again one day and I’ll get my answers. But for now, I need to stop taking my life for granted and be as happy as I can be because that’s what he always wanted for me. I’m better because of him and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of him and thank him for teaching me how to love.

Til we meet again.

Depression, Life, Personal, Uncategorized

It’s Always About Attention

I’m addicted to my own sadness.

This is mad right? Crazy. Why would I want to be sad. How could this be an addiction?

Being sad puts me into a position to be cared for, because let’s be honest here, I crave attention. When I’m not getting the attention I want, I do one of two things: become angry or become sad.

Being angry causes other people to pay attention to me. They wonder why I’m angry and try to calm me down or figure out how to help. Being sad causes people to pay attention to me. They wonder why I’m sad and try to help me be happy, they tell me good things about myself; cater to my needs.

Being sad also puts me in a position of the victim, which in some messed up way, allows me to feel like I need to be extra cared for. People feel bad for someone who has depression, who looks sad, who is a victim.

So it makes sense to want to play that part.

Why would I want people to feel bad for me, though? Attention. It always comes back to attention. Although I find this to be confusing as well, because as much as I crave the attention of others, I hate being in the center of it. A quote from Blackout by Sarah Hepola:

“I’ve always been mixed up about attention, enjoying its warmth but not its scrutiny. I swear I’ve spent half my life hiding behind a couch and the other half wondering why no one was paying attention to me.”

Perfect.

Maybe it stems from my childhood. Although I think I had a normal one, obviously there was a lack of attention or love from somewhere. I know that as I got older, around seven to ten, my Mom started giving her attention to the neighborhood kids whom she babysat for. I didn’t like this. I acted out while they were around, being mean and grabbing at my Mom. I felt left out, like she was dumping me for these new children.

Maybe that’s where my attention-seeking behavior began. Scratch that, I know that’s where it started.

That, and the whole other fact that my Dad didn’t have any interest in my life, besides wanting me to be normal and be a good golfer. Like my brother.

Fighting for attention with my brother was another issue. One that, along with many other probable causes, led to my eventual downfall into anorexia, depression, and anxiety.

I wasn’t getting the attention and care I so desperately needed, wanted, so I concocted my own seemingly awesome plan: Stop eating and maybe people will figure out that there is something wrong with me. Act depressed and then maybe people will care.

But I soon realized this was not the type of attention I wanted. Actually, I wasn’t getting love at all, but anger. My Mom, angry that I was losing weight. My Dad, angry that I wasn’t being normal. My brothers, angry that I wasn’t the same happy kid I used to be.

As much as I hated the angry attention, it was still attention, and I clung to it with all I had. My fragile self thrived on this.

So when the anorexia was fought and I started eating like a normal person again, this attention stopped. Panic arose inside and that’s when the depression took over. Thoughts of killing myself became the new course of action.

Because it’s easier to hate yourself than to love yourself. And it’s easier to feel sad than to search for happiness. And it’s easier to gain other people’s affection through your own shitty-ness.

Being a depressed mess also makes you feel like you’re special, even if it’s in a fucked up way. I don’t feel any sense of uniqueness from being happy or looking on the bright side. Yet bringing myself down, contemplating suicide, and having a negative opinion about everything makes my insides feel special. I’m more fucked up than you. I’m more special than you are.

Sad.

These days, I can’t stand when people say their eating disorder isn’t about attention, because it is. Just be honest. You’re craving some form of attention, affection, care, love. And if it’s not an eating disorder than it’s depression, alcohol, drugs, whatever.

When we hurt and don’t want others to know, we turn to alcohol or drugs or food in a desperate search to not only cure our aching minds, but also in a hope that others WILL notice and in turn save our drowning souls.  

I’ve found, since losing the anorexia persona, depression is a lot harder for people to notice. I keep up a pretty good facade, in an attempt to appear normal, yet on the inside wishing I could let me guard down; fall apart. Because then people would realize something is terribly wrong, and help me. Feel bad for me.

Attention: it’s a devil’s game. 

You’ll never win.

Anorexia, Anxiety, Depression, Life, Personal

What My Anxiety Attacks Look Like

I don’t have normal panic attacks. There’s no rapid heart rate or sweaty palms, or fear of not being able to breath. But I do have periods of overwhelming anxiety. Periods when I don’t know what to do with my anxious thoughts so I sit and cry.

My anxiety is constant. It never goes away. Yes, some days I consider it to be better than others, but unless I’m sitting at home in my comfort zone, my anxiety is on full speed. When I say anxiety, I’m referring to mostly social anxiety, ie. fear around people, what to say, what they might say, what they might ask me, fear of looking stupid or mumbling my words. Basically just an overall sense that other people are judging me and being afraid of those judgments.

But I also have anxiety where I think too much about life: what should I do with myself, I haven’t made any major accomplishments, what if I never do this or that, am I going to have enough money this month, what am I going to wear, buy, do today, etc. And then there is food anxiety: what am I going to eat today, should I have this or that, and noticing what other people are eating and balancing my intake against theirs because in some weird world that puts my mind at ease. Body anxiety is in there somewhere too, obviously.

Pretty much anything there is to worry about, I worry about. 

Most days I can balance my anxieties, keeping them in check in order to preform the necessary tasks that my day requires: going to work, making dinner, going grocery shopping, having conversations with people, etc. Normal, human things.

But I’ve realized that I have two modes when it comes to my anxiety. Want and need. The things that I need to do, such as work and make money, is something that I can do without too much of my thoughts getting in the way. I mean of course my anxiety is always with me at work, but I am able to push it aside for the most part.

Then there are the things I know I don’t necessarily need to do, so those things I’ll avoid like the plague. Parties, social events, family gatherings, walking in public, going places by myself. These are the things that trigger my anxiety attacks because I know I can get away with avoiding them, but I am usually pressured into going either by someone else or by my own guilt.

What happens is that I feel like I literally can’t handle the situation or I picture myself not being able to handle it, by typically sitting by myself, avoiding conversation at all costs, feeling left out, feeling misplaced unimportant, forgotten, unhappy, you get the point. So if I know I’ll feel these things, then why would I put myself through them by choice?

That’s always my argument when I’m trying to explain this to other people. Why put myself through a traumatic event when I can just stay home and be comfortable being alone?

So my attacks typically start with me saying I don’t want to go, trying to explain the situation to someone, then my thoughts get out of hand, I start thinking about all of the worst possible things that could happen and how I will feel while being there, and I break down in tears. The thoughts and feelings seem perfectly reasonable and real at the time, but to someone else they seem completely irrational.

I’m just going to end up all alone in the corner and everyone is going to wonder why I’m so weird. 

People will constantly judge me based on what I will say, but more importantly what I won’t say. 

Many more thoughts run through my mind, which then leads to me getting overwhelmed, crying, panicking. Usually two things happen after my attacks: I feel better after getting the fear out and end up going anyway, or I get my way and I go home.

There have been two occasions where my attacks have caused me to completely avoid the situation while simultaneously being in the middle of the situation. Basically, meaning there was no way out of going, and my attack didn’t stop. So I go, say hello or whatever and then stay out of sight for most of the time, in another room by myself somewhere. Sad, I know. And this makes the whole situation ten times worse because it’s embarrassing. I can’t face the party so I hide and then people end up questioning what’s wrong with me, if not to others, at least in their heads. Or maybe that is my anxiety talking again.

Anyways, in the last seven years, this has happened twice, which is pretty good, but disappointing because the first time it happened was back in 2010 and the second time was last week…

So I’m not sure what happened in between those years, I guess maybe I didn’t have to go to any parties or celebrations, or at least ones I didn’t want to go to.

But I’m upset with myself because it feels like shit when I let my anxiety control my life. It also feels like shit knowing that this behavior can really make other people frustrated and angry with me. I don’t like to disturb the peace so when I do, it physically hurts.

In part I can say it’s not my fault, but when it comes down to it, it is. I have the opportunity to push past the fear, be bigger than it, but I don’t sometimes. I just let the thoughts take over and I start sinking without even trying to swim.  

I guess the thing that messes me up the most is that I still haven’t figured out how to deal with these situations. My coping mechanism is still to avoid, make excuses, push the problem away, but we all know how well that works. I have tried deep breathing and it does help, I have to admit. It really does calm me down and helps my mind relax. Drinking helps, obviously. Having a drink allows my mind to chill out and for me to not take things to personally. But drinking can’t be a coping strategy.

The best way to deal with my anxiety, and I hate this answer, is just to fucking face it. Face it head on. Go to the damn parties, gatherings, whatever. Do the thing that scares you.

I hate admitting it, but this method works. It’s freakin painful, but it works. Facing fear is the best way to deal with it. Yes, it’s uncomfortable. But yes, it helps you grow. 

 

Anxiety, Life, Personal

life at the moment {a short summary}

Life at the moment: happy + sad, exciting + boring, up + down.

In the past four months, I’ve gone through five jobs. Two different landscape companies, an organic farm, an artisan bread bakery, and finally a juice + smoothie bar. Although I feel somewhat happy in my current position, it’s been a battle getting here. Between a couple outrageously horrible bosses, multiple emergency room stays, and forging a new relationship, the last four-five months have been both amazing and yet discouraging at the same time. Amazing because I’ve found someone I can confidently say I love and see a future with and I can wake up and go to work without an incredible about of dread. Yay for me. But yet discouraging because the process of getting these two things was not pretty or easy or even necessarily very fun.

It’s always when you start to reflect on your past events that you realize the meaning or see the significance. Yet in the moment, nothing makes sense. How convenient.

My job basically consists of making juice, smoothies, baked goods, and other vegan-ish dishes, while putting on a happy face and being nice to customers. It is rewarding and I enjoy the fact that most days I can work alone and try new recipes and see what sells and what doesn’t. But the downside, and I guess what will always be the drawback to working under someone else, is that it’s not my own, so even though I have ideas on how to improve things, the owner has control and sees their own vision, not mine.

The upside to this downside, however, is the fact that it gives me motivation to open my own place someday. Then the vision will be my own and I can do whatever I want.

That’s my life goal right there folks: do whatever I want. 

Realistic? Probably not. But then again, reality only kills the dream. 

The job is only one part though.

Like I mentioned above, I met someone about five months ago, almost to the day, although the exact timeline is blurry, as I took a little while beginning things in fear of making past mistakes. That’s besides the point. The point is that I’m in love with this guy. He’s wonderful, caring, funny, very loving, and the best part, challenging. He challenges me to face my maybe not-so-wonderful qualities or faults in order to help me better myself.

So far, I’ve learned how to somewhat effectively put my thoughts into words and to communicate even when I don’t want to or find it hard.

Fun fact: we fell in love on top of the ferris wheel. Bonus.

Mentally though, although improving, my down days still occur. However, instead of being  a whole day, it’s more of moments now. Sad, happy, sad, content, happy, etc. Before, it was more of a sad-all-fucking-day kind of deal, a flash of happiness maybe, then back to being depressed.

I feel that J plays a part in this, but also the job, and the fact that I’ve finally back at the gym and eating decent again.

I joined the YMCA not too far from the house, and it hasn’t seemed like a struggle to get there like it did a couple months ago. Last month, I committed myself to a 30-day yoga challenge so maybe that helped as well. While I wasn’t going to the gym, I let myself beat myself up about it, which only fueled the guilt  more so doing the yoga, I think, helped clear my negative thoughts. But since getting back into a routine at the gym, my moods have seemed more stable and my happiness in terms of my body has improved. All good things.

I obviously still have days, like today, where I wish I could be more, do more, and be less myself. For some reason, I felt inadequate and just plain useless today; left out too. But I try to take these days with a gentle heart because not every day is going to be fantastic. I can only make the effort to pull out the positives and focus on the parts of the day which brought me the most happiness:

Coming home + getting hugs from J.

Receiving sloppy kisses from Leah (the dog).

Feeling as though I was still able to provide a loving space for both my Mom and J.

Eating beef stew from the crockpot (meaning I didn’t have to cook!)

Little moments + little things = the most rewarding forms of happiness.

Life, Personal

let us be kind {to ourselves}

being kind to myself means:

accepting where I am in my life. I may not be where I want to be, but I am taking steps to become a better version of myself.

accepting my body and the changes it’s gone through.

being okay with swapping strength training for yoga. there are different forms of fitness, each one bringing new and exciting challenges to both the body and mind. it is okay to try new things, while letting go of the old.

staying true to my own goodness. i am aware there are things i need to strengthen within myself, but i am also aware that i do not need to make any changes to my soul. i am perfect as i am.

giving myself time and space to relax. it’s okay to take a ‘me day’ or a couple ‘me hours’ and just relax. this might mean drawing, watching a favorite show on netflix, cooking myself something yummy for dinner, or literally just laying down.

accepting that i don’t have everything figured out and possibly never will. as much as i feel safe with making plans for my life, things are constantly changing and being okay with the possibility that i might never know what i want to do with it (my life) is important.

knowing i am doing the best i can with what i have/know at the moment.

knowing i can only do so much. there are always going to be people who demand certain things, attention, etc. and there will always be bills pilling up, chores to complete, jobs to get done. we can only do what we can do with the resources we have now.

letting things go that do not serve me. ie. the past, negative thoughts, old wounds, etc.

allowing myself to feel.

allowing myself to get angry.

allowing myself to express my thoughts and emotions in whatever way works for me in the moment.

this whole ‘being kind to myself’ concept seems to be a theme in my life right now and i can’t ignore it.

Anxiety, Life, Personal, Self Kindness

Pondering Purpose

Purpose. 

It’s all the rage it seems. Find your purpose, and life will make sense; you’ll finally be happy.

I used to do a lot of thinking about what the total purpose of life was and also where my own purpose fell into that, and it only seemed to bring me sadness. Mainly because I couldn’t really pinpoint any sort of purpose. And so that was when I started pondering the idea that maybe there is no purpose. No purpose to anything.

I mean what is life? Why are we here? What does it all mean? Is there really a reason we are all living on this Earth, just kind of floating around, trying to be something we’ve been conditioned to believe?

What if there isn’t a purpose to our existence? What would happen then? What would people do?

Sometimes I wonder if this whole idea of having a purpose is just something those in religious leadership made up in order for us to believe in something, but I won’t get into my views on religion, that’s for another day.

If people believe they have a purpose in life, they can then feel as though they are working towards something that might make an impact, help them feel better about themselves.

But what if our purpose, and also the overall point of life, is just to be here living it? Would that be enough? Pondering this idea, that life having no point is kind of scary, but yet oddly freeing too. Because if there is no point to life then we can all stop trying so hard to search for one. One less worry on our minds I suppose. Maybe desperately trying to find out what our purpose is, what the point of life is, is a major cause of our stress. We’re all running around in a great panic as if it were necessary to achieve something greater than ourselves. If we were to let that belief go, where would be be? What could be accomplish then?

I think it’s also just my tendency to be negative about life, but sometimes trying to be honest with ourselves and looking beyond just the clear skies is needed in order to see the bigger picture.

I mean I can obviously see why believing you have a purpose in life would make life seem more fulfilling. You feel more connected and feel as though you were making your mark on the world. Nothing wrong with that.

So to each their own. And maybe there is a little of both beliefs. A balance if you will.

I guess that’s where I’m struggling. Somewhere between believing there is a point and purpose to my existence and knowing there really isn’t a reason why I am alive, going to a job I hate just so I can argue with a boss I despise, only to make enough money to pay for things I don’t need but I’ve been told I need in order to live the human life.

It seems a little like a trap to be honest. Like maybe at one point in history there was a method to the madness, but somewhere along the way we obviously lost it. And we’re just too far gone now to get it back.

So how do I live when I believe there is no point? I live to enjoy the act. There are so many beautiful things about being alive and living in this world. I’ve been trying to find the little miracles within each day, watching the sunrise or set, seeing a flower blossom, paying attention to the sound of a loved ones laugh, their smiles, watching my dog be insanely happy, etc.

I mean, what is the purpose of a dog’s life? To be alive. To live. To be here and to bring happiness to others. That’s a pretty awesome purpose right there not going to lie.

Life, Personal

Chasing Happiness = Creating Unhappiness

For as long as I can remember, I have been chasing happiness, as if it were a balloon soaring off into space. If only I could just figure out how to grab it, then I would have everything I want.

Unfortunately, I have been searching for this idea of happiness in all the wrong things. I tend to assume certain things I do, go, or get will finally bring me what I’ve been so desperately seeking.

If I do this, then I will surely be happy. If I go here, then I will figure everything out and be happy. If I buy that, then I’ll have everything I need.

I have learned that this false idea of happiness, this expectation that if I just keep searching, I’ll finally be happy, is just an attempt to escape the real problems I need to face. I expect certain things to bring me happiness and yes, sometimes they do, but eventually I get let down and just end up feeling even more depressed.

I get excited to go places. I was super excited to finally be traveling to California for the first time. I envisioned myself as a different person out there and thought everything was going to be perfect. But I wasn’t a different person. I was still me. The shy, un-excited, boring person I always have been. I loved seeing my friend and enjoyed his company so much. But my mind kept getting in the way of how I had thought things would be. I’m not saying I didn’t have fun and I didn’t feel moments of happiness while visiting, but I just had expected too much and let myself down in the process.

And this is not a new lesson. I  know what I do, and yet I do it continuously. I do it without even knowing I’m doing it. I assume I will be happier from doing things, going places, or buying stuff, and it’s a trap I always get stuck in because this assumption only brings an unrealistic view of happiness.

When I envision events and how they will go in my head, I picture myself as someone else. I see the person I wish I could be so when the even happens and I’m not that person, I become angry at myself and it all goes downhill from there. It’s as though I refuse to accept that I am who I am, and think I need to be a person who is outgoing, happy, excited for things. This is what I’ve been taught I should be. I’ve been teased about it my whole life.

“why are you so quiet?”

“why don’t you talk?”

“why are you not excited?”

So how am I suppose to accept something that I don’t think people like? More importantly, how can I accept something I’ve been taught not to like?

So I continue to search for happiness in these ways because I don’t know any other way. Where does happiness come from? How can I find it? Does it even exist?

Is the act of trying to find happiness, in fact the reason why I am so unhappy? If I stop trying so hard, would happiness find me?

Uncategorized

What Are You Afraid Of?

What are you afraid of?

I came across this question recently and couldn’t get it out of my mind.

What am I afraid of?

I am afraid of being a failure, of never being enough. This really scares me. It scares me so much that I will avoid doing things in order to keep myself safe and secure in my comfort zone. I fear any kind of failure. I fear the feeling of failure. I fear the feeling of not being enough, enough for others, enough for myself.

I am afraid of judgement, of people not liking me. I fear that I’ll never be anything that people hope me to be, or that no one will ever like me for who I am. I am afraid of saying the wrong things, wearing the wrong clothes, making the wrong mistakes. People always judge, and that scares the hell out of me.

I am afraid of not living my life. A weird fear, since sometimes I think life is pointless, but what’s the point of life if you don’t follow your dreams? What’s the point of being alive if you’re not actually doing the things you want to do? I am afraid of never reaching my dreams, following my heart, going where my drifter soul wants to go.

I am afraid of being close to people. Opening up to people is so freakin’ scary because there is always the risk that they won’t get you, or they’ll judge you, laugh at you, pretend they care and then leave you. I don’t like getting close to a lot of people in fear they’ll think I’m clingy or annoying. I hate feeling like I’m annoying.

I am afraid of being sad. I kind of laughed when I wrote this one down because I feel like I’m such a paradox. I want to be happy, yet I thrive on things that make me sad. That’s confusing. Maybe it’s because when I am feeling happy, I usually think I don’t deserve it, so I hold onto the things that bring me sadness.

I am afraid of regret. I am afraid I’ll regret things I’ve done, and regret things I haven’t done. Like there’s no win-win. Sometimes I find it odd when people say they want to have no regrets, but is that even possible? I feel like we will always regret something.

Apparently I am afraid of everything. Life is great.

xoxo

 

Life