|| A letter to myself
“How are you really? At this moment?”
Although physically I’m fine, I feel like I’m in the ocean and I never learned to swim.
Doubts, fears and trauma has been circling my mind for months now. I haven’t been okay for months. But I put on a brave face and I choose to make others smile. But I can’t even do the one thing that brings me joy, because when I open my mouth, my lungs fill with water.
The death of the loved one was the thing that turned me in. It’s the thing that turned my drifting to drowning. But I’m no longer ashamed to admit to my friends that I’m not okay.
I wish I was. God I wish I was.
I’m losing weight again. Drastically. You can see and count my ribs. I’m no longer “healthy” with where I’m supposed to be. And I can’t tell you the last time I had a good night sleep, without the night terrors shaking me awake. I can no longer keep my demons at bay without a drug forcing them further down my throat and away from my mind.
I’m supposed to be cool, collected. But yet, I feel as if I’m an adult undeserving of this title. I worry about the smallest things, and lie to myself to say I’m fine. Truth be told, I hate who I am right now. I feel as if I’ve done nothing but set the world back.
There’s hella people that cherish me, that remind me how loved I am. But I wish they wouldn’t let themselves get hurt like that. I’m a terrible friend to love, and an even worse one to rely on.
But is that me or the anxiety talking?
Truth be told.
I might never know.
To future me, I’m sorry to let you down. I hope that one day I’ll earn the place in this world with honor and self love. But right now my head isn’t in the best place and I’m sure you’ll understand.
