I never really thought of myself as depressed.
Hell, my family certainly didn't talk about mental health. But even as a child, I've just always felt different, like there was a separation between me and the world. Imagine being an observer of your...
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Imagine...
You've turned down dates because dependency freaks you out.
You go to a job daily that you detest because you dread morphing into your chronically unemployed mother.
And when someone does manage to fall for you, you repeatedly question his motives because of your fear of heartbreak.
Some people are driven by goals, by morals, by the need to not disappoint; however, I believe everything that I think, do, and say is driven by fear. I dread confrontation so I bite my tongue. I fear failure, so I overwork myself even to the point of exhaustion. Being judged by others frightens me, so I fade into the background. I fear becoming like my parents, so I continue school even when my major isn't something I love. Thus, like invisible tattoos, my fears are permanently etched into my skin, and no matter how badly I want to remove them, I am branded.
And one by one, they conquer me every time...
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But my worst fear by far is...
Living.
I've never feared death. I've always thought of it as peaceful, to be honest. The idea of not worrying anymore, of not crying, and of not feeling as if I'll never be enough is comforting, even while I know it shouldn't be. It's these thoughts that make me seek therapy; it makes me pick up a paint brush.
For who fears the continual struggle of life more than the uncertainty found after death?
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