No Longer The Moon: A collection of writings from the month of October

Airplane Mode

Monday: at 1am i have something close to a mental breakdown. i can't keep up with my own thoughts: why do i wear makeup? do people only like the person they think i am, the person i present to them, the person who only shows their best? do i have friends, if i was getting married tomorrow who would i ask to be in my bridal party, if i die tomorrow who would volunteer to help carry my casket? why am i going to college? what do i want to do in life, will it make me enough money to support myself, will it make me happy, will it help others? will i ever find love, do i just love the idea of love, what if i love the wrong person, what if the right person loves me and i don't let them? where will i be in 5 years? how is it possible i want so badly to live life and die at the same time? how can i try so hard to encourage others but do nothing to help myself?

if these thoughts are bullets then my mind is full of holes and i need time to patch it up. i've been here before and know that if i try to fake it i will only get worse so i go into airplane mode officially and disconnect myself from social media so i can try to connect with whatever is going on with me. 

i forget to eat lunch. i don't wash my hair because the process seems far to exhausting. i see a sign in the bathroom about sexual assault on campus and start crying because the world shouldn't need to be like this. my younger sister picks me up because i still can't bring myself to drive, i jump out of the car when i see a cat in the road and she lets me, we listen to the same Nirvana song 6 times because i want to. i don't do my homework, i watch an indie movie instead. i tell my parents i had a good day without anything to back it up. i fall asleep before 1am. 

Tuesday: i start writing again. funny how when things are at their worst my art is at its best. there's not enough space on the pages to contain everything i have to say. i observe everything. i walk everywhere. the boy at the thrift store who sighed and walked out after finding his pockets empty. the older couple at McDonalds who isn't talking but shares an order of fries. the girl who passes me on the street who is carrying a Coach purse but complaining to her mom about how she doesn't have enough money to eat this week. the boy in the back of class who clearly says the wrong thing at the wrong time but doesn't seem to notice. my professor who looks at his phone right before class and rubs his forehead and sighs before turning it off. the cleaning lady humming the tune of a lullaby. i take in all their moments and they don't even know they have shared them with me. sometimes i feel like this: a sponge thrown into an ocean; i try to absorb everything even though that's not possible. 

i wake up with a nightmare. shaking, sweating, crying. i was driving and i turn around and see a little boy in the street just before he gets hit by a car. there's blood everywhere, body parts; his mom tries to put him back together but i know she can't. i don't go back to sleep. the image will stay with me too long. i told someone about these nightmares once and they said i should drink tea, i wish it was that easy. 

Wednesday: i worry that i need people to miss me because if no one misses me why am i here? do all those people who wish they had the power of invisibility know what it is like to feel invisible? i don't think so.  it's days like these i remember i have to live for myself because sometimes no one else is there; sometimes because they chose not to be, sometimes because they don't know i need them, sometimes because i push them away. honestly, it is hard for me to believe that people care about me, but that is my fault not theirs. my anxiety is constantly trying to discredit anything positive in fear that i am believing a lie and will only be let down. being self-aware and having mental illness is a terrible combination because i am sometimes so aware that i am not thinking logically or simply exaggerating a situation but it still affects me. it is good to know who i am fighting but it's still fighting at the end of the day so it's still hard. 

i think wanting to get better is half the battle and i know that i am there. i've done my part, i've asked for help but what if it doesn't work? do i just learn to live the way i am? is that even possible? i'm worried they'll put me on meds but i don't want to rely on a pill, i don't want to be a zombie, i don't want to need anything but myself. 

i listen to quite music. i'm afraid of giving my brain anything too loud because it might explode. i don't want to give my anger a place to go. i feel like i could break at any second. i am trying to take care of myself. 

i washed my hair last night. i ate all my meals today. i didn't get mad at myself for raising my hand in class. i went to the bathroom at work when i started to feel anxious. i bought myself a candy bar. i played with my dog when i got home. i did almost all my homework. i replied to a few texts. i looked up things to do in pittsburgh. i made a playlist called swing set. i let my mom buy me a coke. i am sitting down to write this. this is recovery. 

recovery isn't always actively getting better, but it's wanting to. it's baby steps, not giant leaps. it's saying maybe instead of no to thing you might want to do. it's letting yourself make plans, and cancel them. it's reading your favorite book over again. it's accepting compliments. it's trying to eat every meal. it's wearing an outfit you like. it's taking your dog for a walk. it's posting a quote you love on instagram. it's untagging yourself in a picture. it's unfriending someone. it's not watching the news. it's making your bed. it's doing laundry. it's buying a new notebook. recovery is the little things, but little things can add up. sometimes you relapse or have a bad day but that doesn't discredit all the progress you've made.