Losing Control

When I was younger I would do everything I could to be noticed, I would have fits and would cry so loud until I got my way. I would make everything a competition, I guess I did this because I wanted to be good enough. Doesn't everyone though? Just wanna be good enough. The thing is that no matter how hard I would try, I was never good enough, never good enough for my dad, never good enough for my brother or the rest of my family. At least that's what I thought.

I changed though, somewhere along the way. Instead of fighting to be noticed I would fight to stay hidden, to blend in. To become invisible, because being noticed meant that something was wrong with me and because no matter how hard I tried I wouldn't ever be what they wanted me to be.

Always being told that the way you do things 'isn't good enough' or 'isn't right' eventually wears you down so much that you just wanna give up.

You dream of curling up into a ball so tight that you disappear. But at the same time you want someone to notice you. Someone to see that you need them, even though you're trying so hard to hide it.

Going out it to public places got harder and harder the older I got, suddenly the car washes that I begged for became walls trapping me in, becoming smaller and smaller.

The friends houses I used to go to turned into something that even the thought of made me sick to my stomach.

Things that I loved became distant memories and the most daring thing I did all day was get out of bed.

The list of things I was afraid of became longer than the list of things I wasn't afraid of.

I thought I was alone in this huge world, 7 billion people and no one understood me. I never knew it was possible to be so lonely when you're surrounded by so many people, so afraid when all you do is sit in bed all day.

I knew I needed help, because I felt as though the only way I made it though a day was on autopilot. I was a shell of the person I once was. But what if no one believed me? Or thought that I was lying to be noticed.

They didn't, when I worked up the courage they helped, even my dad and brother. The therapy helped, the doctors helped, the medication helped me to help myself. 

It took me such a long time to understand that this wasn't my fault, that I didn't deserve this, yet I don't even tell my closest friends.

Why? Why? That's the question that I ask myself on a daily bases.  I don't understand it, I can't control it not even the medication makes it go away completely. Nothing makes me feel free, completely free, I guess because I'm not.

I felt I never would be, I'm trapped in my own mind having to follow rules that my mind makes up. I'm not free, but I'm not alone either.

Now I know, I know it's not only me. I know that I won't always feel this way. It will always be apart of me, but I can learn to control it, I will learn to control it.

I'll fight against it, I'll do everything the doctors tell me to do, I'll keep taking my medication, I won't give up. Not because I want to be noticed, not because I want to be good enough for my dad or my brother, or anyone else but because I just, I just wanna be me.

And I don't need to be noticed, I don't need to hide either. I'm not weak, I'm not a freak like some might think. I'm strong, and every day gets easier, one small step at a time.