Depressing Shit

July 9, 2018

I hate the sinking feeling.

I pray in ignorance that those around me are not familiar with the feeling. The tightness in your chest. The difficulty breathing. The lump in my throat, like I'm on the verge of tears that will never shed. The swirl of dangerous thoughts that push their way to the front of my mind. The heaviness of my limbs. The chasing of sleep I will never catch.

It's a miserable feeling, to have your own mind constantly remind you if every little mistake you have ever made. To panic over things you cannot change. To be unable to breathe or soothe the feeling.

It's like drowning without the pressure of water surrounding you. It's like suffocating while still breathing. The feeling of my lungs collapsing in on themselves while still expanding.

I wish my anxiety would just vanish. I wish it wouldn't pop up after a really amazing week. I wish anxiety didn't exist.

I would never wish this feeling on my worst enemy.

The absolute crushing pressure of failure and disappointment. It should be familiar by now, and yet the experience always hurts like the first.

I thought these attacks would lessen after I finished school and finally made my parents proud, but I guess I was wrong; the pain hasn't gone and my parents pride hasn't come.

Anxiety is like a wave on the ocean; the longer it takes between waves, the bigger the wave will be.

Drowning would be less painful than the slow crushing of my lungs as I try to breathe.