I wish I were dead. There, I said it. I wish I weren’t here anymore, I wish I weren’t alive. I don’t want anymore tomorrows. I don’t want my future. I don’t deserve it. 

I don’t want to live because I don’t think I am worth anything to anyone else, or even myself. I think that everybody would be so much happier without me in their lives. They wouldn’t have a negative friend anymore, I would’t be the anchor in their lives anymore, pulling them down.

Honestly, I try not to tell people about this new anxiety, the panic attacks, the constant worry, the constant thoughts about anything death related. They don’t need to know and I don’t need to be labeled an attention seeker. Of course, it’s hard to always keep it in, especially with the lack of availability my therapist at school has. But honestly, no one person knows everything (besides my therapist). Considering this, you would never think that people did not want me and my negativity around, but I guess they don’t. 

I’m sorry, I truly am sorry. I’m going through something right now and I’m trying to fix it and I’m sorry about my negativity but I’m not sorry that I don’t try to fake damn smiles around any of you - because that won’t help me. Yeah, me. I’m a person with feelings, remember? I was that person that felt awful for you all of those times you needed someone and I felt like I should be that someone. I was the person who gave everything I had to try to make you feel better, even if it didn’t work. I was that person who was always willing to drop everything for you, for anyone. Not because I expected to be paid back later but because I wanted you to feel better right then. Of course, even if we don’t explicitly expect anything from anyone. there’s a small place in the back of our minds that wants to assume that if we were ever in need, those same people we helped would want nothing more than to have our backs. Wrong.

So, I’m not upset right now because I expected people to care and they don’t. I’m upset because I don’t understand different types of people. I don’t understand people who don’t want to drop everything for someone when they need it, who don’t try to go out of their way for the ones they love. I don’t understand insensitivity or tough love in situations where I’m vulnerable - probably because I would never show anybody such when they were in that state. I guess this is a ‘me’ problem, then. It’s not my fault that the people in my life handle situations differently than I do but it is my fault for being sensitive, for hoping with all of my might that someone would notice me feeling as they once did and not turn a cold shoulder but instead, open their arms, heart and ears for me. It’s my fault. Mine. 

That’s why I don’t want to live anymore, because I don’t understand and I don’t think I ever will. I’ll learn and I have learned but I’ll never comprehend. I’ll always be disappointed with this, and uncomfortable with it. I don’t want this discomfort anymore, though, I don’t want anything anymore. 

I’m just, done. 

(If only I had the balls to actually leave this place, if only.)

There is nothing in the world like having a panic attack. Nothing in the world like being reminded that your mind has exhausted your body to its maximum by traveling to every irrational thought, even the small and passing ones.

I have way too much work to do. Chest tightens. What do they really think of me? Breath shortens. Am I good enough? Why did I say that thing I said a month ago in that passing conversion? Sweat. What if I shouldn’t be here anymore? What if me being alive is not worth anyone’s time, even my own? Bam, tears. 

I’ve never had anxiety before this semester. This damn semester. The straw that broke the camel’s back. Imagine being stressed out and worried and tense over everything. Not just your tests or general classes, not just your physical appearance. But, your birthday, a night out of fun, your good friendships. The stuff in your life that’s supposed to be good, that’s supposed to be positive. The weight of this world I live in has never felt so heavy before; it’s never felt this impossible before to make it through. The worst is that very few people understand. “Why do you care so much about what other’s think?” “You’re smart, don’t worry about your work.” “You look really good, don’t say that about yourself.” I know that what I’m feeling is irrational, I’ve accepted that. But getting through this is so much easier said than done. 

But, I am trying

With one counseling session, I’ve come to accept and embrace my anxiety as being just that, anxiety. A feeling. A physiological response to my overreaction to certain situations, comments, thoughts. I know how one controls and battles it, I’ve even done so a couple of times. It’s a nice feeling. But, it’s not quite enough. I’m waiting for that next session, that next release. Until then, I’m trying

I guess there’s nothing more I can do right now, and I promise that I am doing it. I just wish more people knew, or understood. It’s hard to be anxious and have other people not understand why you are reacting in a certain way, why you’re looking for constant confirmation that you’re doing something right. That you’re not being irrational. That you’ll be okay and that you’re not just another girl seeking the attention of people around her but fearing that you’ll never have their acceptance. 

I’m sorry for this direct look into my mind, but I needed to get this out somewhere. This seemed like the good place. I doubt anyone will even read this. If you did though, and made it here, thank you for listening. 

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eclectic69:

pups

"Let the storm rage on,
the cold never bothered me, anyway.”

"Let the storm rage on,

the cold never bothered me, anyway.”

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