I’ve had it with my anxiety.
I’ve had it with my fear.
I’ve had it with my fleeting, unstable heart.
Do people think I really have a choice with my depression and anxiety? Do people think I wake up in the morning and decide to feel the horrid effects that rage on in my heart and mind?
I don’t believe that I’m weak. I don’t negotiate with my mind on what’s right and wrong. I battle with myself on a daily basis. I recognize that, in order to stay alive, I have to wage war on my emotions. I have to wage war on my “Fight or Flight” tendencies. I have to lay all of myself down at the cross every single day. Otherwise, I find myself curled up in a ball, shaking, and crying over the terrifying feeling I experience.
This isn’t something I would actively choose. Yes, I fully believe that my decision to harbor anger against people ultimately put me in this spot. I recognize my mistake and I know that there are consequences. Even thought that may be true I just want my innocence back. Isn’t that what anybody who’s ever lost something wants?
That’s all I want.
I want to be able to love freely without facing crippling fear and constant doubt. I want to be able to commit myself fully to loving people without the constant nagging in the back of my mind saying, “How long until they do what everyone else did?” I want to be able to assume the best out of people and forgive easily when they don’t meet those expectations.
Unfortunately, that’s not how things are right now.
Wanna know why?
Because I gave up my innocence when I decided that hatred was the best option.
Can I tell you that I was wrong? Now, because of my childish decision making, I not only wage war on my anxiety but I wage war on myself. I hate what I was. I hate what I let myself become. I hate that I’m this way now. If only I had been smarter…Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up like this. Maybe I would be able to enter into relationship with people and actually be normal.
Instead, I have to battle myself over the smallest, most obsolete things. Look, believe me when I say that I know that I wouldn’t be who I am, where I am, or with the compassion I have for depressed people if I hadn’t done those dumb things. I get it. Most days I find hope in that my struggle will hopefully help someone else. Days like today though, make me want to go back and beat the common sense into my foolish brain.
Want to know what I hate the most about my battle?
It’s my fault.
P.s. If you haven’t already figured it out, hatred isn’t worth it.