Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
I've been avoiding an intense conversation with myself for quite some time now. I think it is time to take it like a man and just open my eyes to the fact that I'm not better.
Going to class on a regular basis and doing 99.9% of what is required of me does not, in and of itself, equal mental health. Old habits are rearing their ugly little heads these days and in their sneaky, toxic sort of way, they are succeeding beautifully. I'm standing precariously close to the Giving In Line. I feel as though I have no other means of emotion, of tolerating, I have never felt well equipped when it comes to coping, but in these times of trial, I have had many a chance to consider the cruel fact that maybe it is not so much my ability to cope, but rather my willingness to try anything beyond the status quo. I have gotten into a rut emotionally, and have gotten used to this angry mode of handing my disappointments and failures. Why I get so angry at myself for things outside of my control, I will never understand. It is as though I am punishing myself for needing something beyond that which I can provide for myself. I need the support of friends and family, this is an illness, not unlike cancer in its persistance, but because my own wasting away cannot be seen by the naked eye, I have been brushed off my entire life. This is not my fault, but who else is there to blame? It is not the fault of those who cannot see and no human being can be expected to carry another persons sadness for them. I suppose that is what my need for support looks like to everyone else. I suppose it seems as though I am asking to dump everything onto the shoulders of another person so that I may go on unfettered, but that is simply not the case. I don't know what the case is at all, but I know its not that.
Change of topic, please.
I didn't eat today, and I don't recall having anything other than a bagel yesterday. All the pots and pans are dirty and I don't want to do the dishes that are required in order to cook something. I know, its lame, but true nonetheless. Insert frustrated scream here.
Going to class on a regular basis and doing 99.9% of what is required of me does not, in and of itself, equal mental health. Old habits are rearing their ugly little heads these days and in their sneaky, toxic sort of way, they are succeeding beautifully. I'm standing precariously close to the Giving In Line. I feel as though I have no other means of emotion, of tolerating, I have never felt well equipped when it comes to coping, but in these times of trial, I have had many a chance to consider the cruel fact that maybe it is not so much my ability to cope, but rather my willingness to try anything beyond the status quo. I have gotten into a rut emotionally, and have gotten used to this angry mode of handing my disappointments and failures. Why I get so angry at myself for things outside of my control, I will never understand. It is as though I am punishing myself for needing something beyond that which I can provide for myself. I need the support of friends and family, this is an illness, not unlike cancer in its persistance, but because my own wasting away cannot be seen by the naked eye, I have been brushed off my entire life. This is not my fault, but who else is there to blame? It is not the fault of those who cannot see and no human being can be expected to carry another persons sadness for them. I suppose that is what my need for support looks like to everyone else. I suppose it seems as though I am asking to dump everything onto the shoulders of another person so that I may go on unfettered, but that is simply not the case. I don't know what the case is at all, but I know its not that.
Change of topic, please.
I didn't eat today, and I don't recall having anything other than a bagel yesterday. All the pots and pans are dirty and I don't want to do the dishes that are required in order to cook something. I know, its lame, but true nonetheless. Insert frustrated scream here.