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"be patient with yourself, nothing in nature blooms all year"
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TW: This chapter depicts scenes and talks of self harm and may be incredibly triggering! Please skip this chapter if you struggle with something similar and are at risk of being triggered by it. If you need someone to talk to, I am always herein you need to reach out.
You know when you have one of those days where nothing seems to be going right? Like every little thing is off. You can't focus, you're not really hungry, you're tired yet can't sleep. When you have low grade anxiety just eating away at you, making it impossible to feel fine.
The feeling of being trapped inside your own body. When all you want is to somehow start the day over or quickly move on to the next one.
That's what I want.
To be done with today and hopefully feel better.
But this is real life, and I can't.
Every time I think I'm getting better; my anxiety is improved and I'm going out more, this happens.
Suddenly all that improvement I've made is gone and the happiness and motivation I once had, have suddenly disappeared.
It's a lonely feeling too. Because while in the first place not many people can quite understand, even if I do; find that person who truly gets it, I don't want to tell them.
I don't want to admit it. Partly because it's embarrassing and partly because I don't want to accept this is how I actually feel.
It's also lonely because I don't want to be around people. Like somehow I crave attention and someone to comfort me, yet I can't stand anyone. Just the thought of having to talk to someone makes me cringe.
And so all I can do is hate.
Hate the feeling and hate myself for feeling it.
That's where I'm at right now. I've spent the entire day locked in my room, not being able to eat, sleep, or talk. I've been lying on my bed, wrapped in the covers, just hoping for this day to end.
Now, as lame as it sounds, I'm standing in front of my mirror. Filled with utter self loathing and disgust. I can't stand who I am.
I need to get out of here.
I rip off my pyjamas—a gross old t-shirt and dirty sweat pants—and I change into a pair of leggings and a sports bra.
I walk downstairs, avoiding the girls' stares, and make a beeline for my car.
Jemma invited Aspen over last night after they had dinner and she spent the night. Harper and Beth joined them early this morning. They all, for the most part, know what's going on with me. They've seen me like this before; unreachable, distant, and essentially removed from reality. In the past all four of them have made the detrimental mistake of trying to talk to me when I get like this, and all four of them have learned their lesson.
