How We Start to Heal

Part 1

It's November 26, 2018.

I'm in college now. 

I'm in my dorm room and I'm reading all of the old blogs and journals I wrote on here and on my docs, and honestly, it's really...

Well, what exactly is a word to describe how I'm feeling right now?

Sad? Pity? Happiness? Determination?

I mean, it's all of these and so much more.

What I'd been reading consisted of so much sadness, hate, depression, and anger towards the world, myself and the people around me.

I know I suffer from anxiety and depression, I don't need a doctor to tell me that. I know that the things I think on a daily basis aren't normal for a healthy (almost) adult. I know that if someone else were to know what I think about, I'd be shipped off to the nearest mental ward.

But I do know that what I used to feel and what I used to write about is no longer where I am anymore.

I used to be so angry at myself. My body. My mind. The people I let into my lives, men and friends who've betrayed me.

I used to let that anger seep into me and make me bitter and depressed. I would write about it... maybe cry a little and eventually go on the next day and fake a smile as if I wasn't practically dying inside. I would think about death so much. I would cut myself and hurt myself to make me feel something else besides the pain I suffered so much inside. I would do anything to numb how I felt, blur out the sadness and possibly feel another emotion.

I know that those were the darkest times for me. But, now? I mean... I can't imagine being like that anymore.

And I am so proud of that.

I don't ever want to be in that place ever again. However, that isn't to say I'm cured and I no longer have anxiety or depression, because that would be too simple and naive. I, of course, have those moments where I feel like I let everyone down or I ruin everything. I, of course, dislike what I see in the mirror sometimes, or let my isolation get the better of me. I, of course, think about life without me in it.

But it's not in the same way that it used to be.

I remember who I was then. She wasn't who I am now.

Reading those journals made my heart cry for that young girl because I knew her so well and I never thought that I would get out of that feeling at the moment. I thought I would never find love or happiness.

But I feel like I need to teach myself something. Even now I often think about how I want to find love and blah blah blah.

But... I need to learn that everything is happening for a reason.

I read those journals for a reason today.

I let those people out of my life for a reason.

I felt that way for a reason.

I need to remind myself that I don't need to "find love" in the sense that I need a relationship, or someone to fall in love with me and tell me how fucking beautiful I am.

I need to do that myself.

I need to fall in love with myself.

And it's so easy to say that, trust me, I used to hate hearing people talk about learning to love themselves before you could let someone else love you, but honestly, from every pore in me, every inch of me- I need to learn to do this.

I need to learn to love the small things before I could even think about letting someone else into my life.

And I think I've been starting to do that.