I walked to his room in the middle of the night eager to feel his warm body next to mine and eventually the sticky heat from wearing too much clothing to bed. I wanted him to be next to me as I slowly peeled off layers and settled into his arms and rhythm of his heartbeat. I feel like I am not as terrified of happiness as I used to be. I am formless, shapeless, elated nothingness, yet I am alive. I use my index finger as a pen, drawing the outline of his body and then filling it in with kisses. Last night, I clung desperately to him, not just the idea of him, and I said things that I really meant. I talked about my feelings. It's such a relief to be able to say what is on your mind without being scared. I wonder if he feels that too.
It seems like everyone around me is falling apart. As my life is gaining sanity, and as I am becoming comfortable with this new found sanity, everyone else seems to be losing theirs. I am sealing myself in a bubble of happiness and ignoring everyone else's pain. I feel guilty about it, but despite my guilt I cannot fight compulsion to run back into safety and warmth. This is the first time I've cared about myself. This is the first time in a while that I've felt like my depression has a slight chance of being erased. Maybe I'll find the cure in his heartbeat or in his voice. At the very least, I may find a part of the cure which is more than I had in yellow pills or dwelling on my past trying to fix the unfixable.
As the people around me who I looked to for stability get shakier, I am starting to question whether anyone is truly stable and whether people are really as sane as they appear. I am starting to think about how fragile we all are. As I think of fragility, I recall a scene from the popular British television show, Skins. Emily (one of the main characters) is standing on the edge of a building as her girlfriend Naomi who has just cheated on her looks on. "Don't you see it Naomi, I could be dead in a second. Everything is so fragile." Emily gets off the ledge and walks away. Despite ending with an anti-climax, this is one of the most poignant moments in the series. The moment is honest and profound for a sixteen (or seventeen) year old's thoughts. People are fragile; their emotions and their behaviors are all tethered together by an unreliable glue. We are utterly reliant on each other, yet each of us is so unreliable.
What do you do when the strongest people around you are no longer protected? How do you help them when you are used to being the weak one? I am not dealing with my need to nurture very well. I am running to what makes me happy, and latching onto it, trying to ignore the fact that people I care about are in pain. I am consciously being selfish. I know what it's like to feel alone and to feel engulfed in sadness. I am irrationally scared that being around sadness or unhappiness will take me back to darker places in my life.
I am only now learning that some darkness can be alright, and manageable, but I still fear it. Protecting other people is a huge concern for me, but I wonder if I could even be supportive right now. I am almost too happy to be supportive and I'm scared that my happiness may come off as gloating. A part of me is aware that this is the anxiety-controlled piece of my depressed brain at work. I am fighting this piece of me that wants to be immersed in selfishness and ignore people who have been there for me.
But how do I act strong? How do I assure others that everything will be okay? I know that I cannot guarantee a happy ending for anyone even if I want to. There seems to be no viable solution for my conflict between selfishness and selflessness. I am ruled equally by both: an unexpected moment of balance in my life.
Know that I care. Know that I love you. Know that you deserve a happy ending. Know that everything happens for a reason... At least I hope it does. Stay strong. Cling to memories of when you were happy because I assure you that they exist. I love you. I love you. Remember that I'm here and I always will be, in the middle of the night when you need to cry or early on weekend mornings when the whole world is dead. I will be here because I care. It's the sort of caring I cannot help, that is almost too much. You are my sisters. You are my friends. And I want you to be happy.
If only I could speak half as well as I could write, then I'd be twice as helpful as I am.
It seems like everyone around me is falling apart. As my life is gaining sanity, and as I am becoming comfortable with this new found sanity, everyone else seems to be losing theirs. I am sealing myself in a bubble of happiness and ignoring everyone else's pain. I feel guilty about it, but despite my guilt I cannot fight compulsion to run back into safety and warmth. This is the first time I've cared about myself. This is the first time in a while that I've felt like my depression has a slight chance of being erased. Maybe I'll find the cure in his heartbeat or in his voice. At the very least, I may find a part of the cure which is more than I had in yellow pills or dwelling on my past trying to fix the unfixable.
As the people around me who I looked to for stability get shakier, I am starting to question whether anyone is truly stable and whether people are really as sane as they appear. I am starting to think about how fragile we all are. As I think of fragility, I recall a scene from the popular British television show, Skins. Emily (one of the main characters) is standing on the edge of a building as her girlfriend Naomi who has just cheated on her looks on. "Don't you see it Naomi, I could be dead in a second. Everything is so fragile." Emily gets off the ledge and walks away. Despite ending with an anti-climax, this is one of the most poignant moments in the series. The moment is honest and profound for a sixteen (or seventeen) year old's thoughts. People are fragile; their emotions and their behaviors are all tethered together by an unreliable glue. We are utterly reliant on each other, yet each of us is so unreliable.
What do you do when the strongest people around you are no longer protected? How do you help them when you are used to being the weak one? I am not dealing with my need to nurture very well. I am running to what makes me happy, and latching onto it, trying to ignore the fact that people I care about are in pain. I am consciously being selfish. I know what it's like to feel alone and to feel engulfed in sadness. I am irrationally scared that being around sadness or unhappiness will take me back to darker places in my life.
I am only now learning that some darkness can be alright, and manageable, but I still fear it. Protecting other people is a huge concern for me, but I wonder if I could even be supportive right now. I am almost too happy to be supportive and I'm scared that my happiness may come off as gloating. A part of me is aware that this is the anxiety-controlled piece of my depressed brain at work. I am fighting this piece of me that wants to be immersed in selfishness and ignore people who have been there for me.
But how do I act strong? How do I assure others that everything will be okay? I know that I cannot guarantee a happy ending for anyone even if I want to. There seems to be no viable solution for my conflict between selfishness and selflessness. I am ruled equally by both: an unexpected moment of balance in my life.
Know that I care. Know that I love you. Know that you deserve a happy ending. Know that everything happens for a reason... At least I hope it does. Stay strong. Cling to memories of when you were happy because I assure you that they exist. I love you. I love you. Remember that I'm here and I always will be, in the middle of the night when you need to cry or early on weekend mornings when the whole world is dead. I will be here because I care. It's the sort of caring I cannot help, that is almost too much. You are my sisters. You are my friends. And I want you to be happy.
If only I could speak half as well as I could write, then I'd be twice as helpful as I am.
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