Author: Flickeringdedications

I’ve spent so long sitting and watching people live life. Whether it’s a group of friends sipping on coffee, girlfriends going for cocktails or romances that swept even me off my feet. Watched and watched again, being too scared to go out and do the same. I didn’t have friends, I spoke too much, I was too weird and the list goes on. I hid in my room for weeks at a time; ignoring phone calls and pretending like I existed in the worlds’ of my book and TV shows. I hated it. I wanted to be out. I wanted to live.

I found a group, began seeing a boy and we went, did things, saw people, adventured. It wasn’t all the time, but his housemates forced me out of my shell. Bit by bit, I learnt how to be social, and began to love it. Then as relationships do, you eventually shut the world off and live in each others pockets. This is great if you like doing the same things, I made the mistake of being with someone who liked to spend their time differently.

I wanted to see nature, he wanted to see family,

I wanted to see friends, friends had to come to him,

I wanted to go out and eat, he wanted to stay home,

I wanted to do something, he wanted to watch sport.

When I was finally honest about the relationship not working, I found myself. I began learning about what I loved doing. I call it my enlightenment period (very wanky, I know), that time of my life; where I learnt about me and loved myself for it.

Then I stumbled into a new relationship. It has so many fantastic qualities, and we do have similar interests most of the time. I want this to work. But I like doing one thing and he likes doing another. I keep forgetting to ask myself what I want, and instead focus on what he wants. I keep thinking that I wish he thought about what I wanted. But that’s not his job.

I need to make myself happy. My relationship is a partner that I choose to have walk with me, someone that loves the way I do, inspires me, but most of all; someone that I can love life with. Participate and engage with each day.

How have I forgotten to always choose MY own happiness?

I’m trying to fall in love with this process, but I think I’m hating small sections of myself more and more instead.

I always wonder if this is who I am; a web of smiles and mindless responses. Someone incapable of saying what I think, or even fucking knowing what I want.

Or am I the illusions that I convince myself as fact? Telling my friends and loved ones; this time I’m good, this time it’s better.

I am hypocrisy. I’ll do, say or be one thing. Then judge it the next.

I am inconsistent.

I am a mess.

I’m sick of thinking this time I’ve got it. I’m actually good this time, only to be obnoxious as fuck.

They keep telling me it’s a roller coaster. It’s a process. I won’t get it right straight away, and I’ll have to keep trying. There’ll be times I crash, and need to keep going.

But what if I’ve already played the groundhog day role? I’ve seen this deja vu too many times.

I’m sick of never knowing what to expect, feeling like a different person when I’m depressed or angry. The pressure of anxiety on my chest, cutting my breath short and reducing oxygen to an already panicked mind. The endless loops of guilt that slash my self esteem to the defeated confetti at the end of a night. I convince myself each whisper, giggle or sneer is directed at me. The world hates me, and so do I. This moronic obsession with the uncontrollables in life. The neurotic burden of thinking everything is my fault. Then the paralysing laziness, that sentences me to repeat the fucking loop.

Or maybe it’s the completely bizarre idealism that lives within me. Spurs the loop into movement. This completely alien flower in a sea of decimated hope.

Continue the fucking process then.

Fall in love with it.

May as well.

He had moved away. He was so difficult to live with. All the lies, playing with the truth like play-doh in his hands. Whatever he wanted, he got. He was charming though, so you’d never know in the moment. He’d use his words to sweeten your cheeks, and fog the sense in your mind. It was trance like. But that’s just rubbish, isn’t it? It was just words and a voice after all, what power could he have over people, parents, and finally me? Didn’t they teach us in school; sticks and stones may break my bones but your words will never hurt me.

Maybe instead you heard… Sticks and stones may break your bones but my words will sow seeds of destruction in your heart and soul.

I wonder if you’ve thought about the power your words had? I wonder if you considered the crushing pain your actions left? I wonder if you even fucking think about it or have you been given the liberty of a free mind?

I feel like I’m stuck though. Trying to be free.

There was the time in the afternoon, I remember the door stop. I don’t know why. I remember the afternoon sun, and how it looked on the stop. As if sepia had covered my eyes somehow.

There was the time when you had a bunk bed. I saw the car lights shine through.

There was the time I heard the front door open. I heard the footsteps. Hoped.

Then there was the last time.

It was a dizzying process going from the show that was placed in front of people. The smiling, how everything was fine, joking around, the ‘normal’ teasing. I’ve always wondered since then. Wondered what it was like to be normal.

But there was only what I knew.

I knew a monster. A monster that hid his lies behind a smile.

I know that I’ll never fucking forget. This is branded into my mind, stagnant on my perspectives and behaviours in life. This will stalk my nightmares. I think I’ll always hate apart of me. The part that knew you.

Forgiving myself for your crimes has felt impossible so far.

So far.

I worry.

He is kind, he is thoughtful, he is considerate, he is sweet.

I’m worried.

He is smart, he is funny, he is calming, he is warmth.

I’m worried.

He is my best friend.

I’m more worried.

He sleeps next to me each night.

I’m MORE worried.

He’s promised me a lifetime.

I’m terrified.

What if he leaves? What if he walks away?

What if we fight all the time? What if we lose our romance?

What if..

What if I turn out like my parents; heartbroken.

 

I am worrying.

It’s sad to think I’m losing the things I once loved about myself.

I no longer want to be silly and cheeky; for fear of being ridiculed.

I no longer wish to speak my mind; people may listen, but they hear what they want.

I no longer wish to give as freely; the disappointment in how people take and kept taking, hurts too much.

I’m now not trying to fix some of my relationships, instead I’ve given up. I’m too tired to try with people, who lack the ability to see a perspective other than their own. I’m done trying to impress my parents and force a relationship with them. I’m done trying to impress people, full stop.

I’m saving my fun side, for myself and closest friends. I don’t want to give anyone else a chance to hurt me again. There’s only so many times I can accept being called the fool and having the suffocating pressure of abandonment press down  on my chest.

I just want to be happy. Please universe, Mum, Granddad, anyone listening; help me find happiness and serenity.

I made progress last year. My mind was set and clear. I knew where I was going and who I was.

I was happy and confident.

I met a brilliant man.

I moved 1,566 km’s away from everything and everyone I love.

Cue sprinting back to the confused lost girl who had no confidence and all of the self pity. I mean the pity party was huge and rocking. I pushed every new person I met away unintentionally and sat there hating myself. Everything about myself I fell in love with, I forgot and every single fucking thing I hated, became the only thing I could see. I missed my home, my family, my best friend and my unfortunate man who heard each whinge, whine and tear that fell from my face. Then a pandemic hit the world and made its invasive way to my reality. Mission impossible became mission tapping the fuck out.

I had reached my limit before. Now I was fucked.

Preparations were made and now I’m on my way to moving back home. Before I reached the safety of my support network, I had a pit stop and mini holiday in another town. A way to cleanse my soul of the hate that had taken tenancy. Little did I realise each concern and worry bubbled to the surface exploding into a breakdown.

I let it all spill out, my dumb little fears. I was moving in with this new brilliant man. What if he saw what a moron I really was? What if he was disgusted by how self centered I am? What if he see’s me eat a taco and runs for the hills (never watch me eat tacos, I can’t and won’t change the horror show that occurs). But what if what happened in the past occurs again? What if my mental health swallows him up and consumes our relationship? I’m worried I’ll lose this beautiful and intense love. I’m worried after 4 months of not being around, suddenly it will all be too much and he won’t want a second more with me.

Then there’s other fears. What if my new job doesn’t work out? What if they all hate me there (like I felt at my last gig)? What if my friends realised it was a picnic not having me around and are reminded what a terrible person I am? What if everyone was happier without me around? What happens if I don’t get better coming home and I’m always going to be this emotional wreck?

I’m crazy. I know. But that’s exactly why I am afraid. I’m crazy as fuck.

Then an idea pops into my head. I don’t let fear rule my life, I mean sure, it impacts it. But fuck. Never ruled.

I’m terrified of heights, but I’ll still go rock climbing and abseiling.

I’m afraid of people in groups. I still go out to social functions.

I was freaking the fuck out about moving away. I still did it.

But like I’ve done in the past and I’ll do again. I’ll make a plan, get help and plough forward. Because that’s life, right? It might all turn to shit, but in the same breath as much of a chance of it all fucking up, it might just end up okay. Everything could work out.

Get help, work this shit out, but most importantly – find a way to love myself again. Because when I have support from my own mind, suddenly the world seems less scary.

 

 

I have no idea what I’m doing in life. I know where I want to end up. But I don’t know what I want to do week to week or day to day. How do I get to my prize? Where are the rules on how to play this game called life? I want to lay in bed, curl into my blankets and become ignorant of the world playing on outside.

Ideally I’d love to study the world from the comfort of my bedroom. The four walls that know me better than any soul on earth. I’m sitting in a pit of my anxious indecisiveness. I know only two things. I am unhappy and I want to be happy. That has become my ultimate goal. Some people chase money, career, love or even excitement. All I want in life is to feel the warm glow of happiness, the ability to smile and mean it.

I tried the whole running away to find the sunshine, but it’s still not thawing my soul. Do I risk the instability of my mental health to allow  more time for this happiness to finally arrive? Or do I become impatient, but accept reality, that I won’t find my permanent smile in the green hills and deep blue oceans of this new home?

I’ve moved 3 times in the past 34 weeks. These moves needed to occur, but does this one need to happen so quickly?

Someone please provide me the serenity to make and accept a choice.

I felt myself tread water and tried to find the strength to hold my head above the surface. I could feel my chin slip under the depths followed by my mouth, nose and eyes. I’d have a moment of unexpected strength and push myself free to the surface again. Hold on for as long as I could, before dipping again below the surface. It was a constant battle to maintain my head above the water. I so wished there was someone close by to grab my hand and drag my entire body out of the crushing waves that never gave up its steady pace.

I wish I had the ability to better describe the consistent and persistent hell of mental illness. This is the closest my fragile mind is able to muster. Every time I think I come close to find a normalization in behaviour and health, a wave comes crashing into me. Or sometimes it even feels like something below me, has reached for my ankles and yanked my being so far down. It feels like my lungs will burst with the attempt to break free to the surface and greedily gulp the fresh air. There are no rescue boats approaching, life rafts searching or flotation devices available to provide respite for me. I am exhausted, I am numb from my surroundings and I am wondering how long I must tread the unforgiving thoughts that never seem to stop crashing into me.

I just want to feel the sunshine on my face and rest my weary mind. I want to be free of my torturous drowning thoughts..

I thought I understood loneliness. Turns out this entire time, I’ve been spoilt and just behaving like an ungrateful child incapable of understanding true loneliness. I was surrounded by people that loved me, and I chose to be lonely.  It was not pushed on me, I wasn’t unable to speak to the ones I love. All that stopped me was the thoughts that seemed to infuse themselves in my brain. Convincing me that no-one wanted to see me or talk to me. How childish. How incredibly foolish.

Recently I moved to a small town to purser my passion. The only thing I never truly thought about in a serious capacity was how truly alone I would feel. Living with strangers. Going to work with people I didn’t know. I don’t have the comfort of my friends being a short drive away nor do I have the arms of the man I love. Instead I have my inanimate stationary objects to share my isolation with. It’s an odd feeling to know that people are around you physically, however emotionally and mentally; I feel deserted. I can’t disregard though that this was my own choice. A fact that I keep forgetting and yet continue to be reminded about. I chose to move. I chose a life away from my support network. I feel like the sea captain who was warned not to sail out on the peaceful morning because of the storm prediction in the afternoon she selectively ignored. What my support network doesn’t understand though, is that for me this wasn’t a choice. This was all I could think about. It consumed me. I had thoughts that were unfamiliar to me in style and content. They were persistent in their message, that this is what I HAD to do next. This was my mission and would drive me insane if I didn’t heed the message.

But what if by listening to the foreign thoughts, it wasn’t the spiritual message I had hoped for. But instead my own toxic thoughts disguising itself to await my destruction? What if instead of following my passion, I unintentionally chased my depression into the nothingness?

I don’t have the normal people around me to comfort my anxieties and soothe my erratic mind. Instead I just have myself. And I’m just not sure that I am enough to hold my head high on my own.

 

I never analysed why I don’t have any relationships longer than 8 years. There always seemed to be reasons that denied me of fault. But now I have the mirror facing me, I’m not so sure.

I’ve made every subconscious effort to destroy a new relationship. Every fucking opportune moment, I seem to find a new way to bring fresh hell. I hate the feeling that surrounds my brain each and every time.

My stomach feels like some-ones pushing on it, like someone has their hand on my throat. My shoulders scrunch up and I hate myself a little more. I thought I had changed. I was no longer this fuck up of a child. The one that always got into trouble. The one that always struggled to make the right choice. I thought I was becoming the woman I dreamt of being.

The woman wearing the white coat, surrounded by children and loved by a wonderful man. The woman that cared about those around her, loved deeply, was tenacious as fuck and had an honest mouth. The man was one I could talk with deeply, love truly and have a beautiful smile. This was an old spiritual reading given to me from a family friend. I could be this woman. I want it so badly.

But I don’t understand why each of my decisions at the time, seem so clear and right. Then upon reflection realise what an absolute moronic choice it truly was. I wish I could trust myself like others trust themselves. I wish I could make decisions without first having to consult a sane human being.

Why am I like this?

Why can’t I just be sane and normal?

How can I ever trust myself?