As of late, I’ve been struggling with words. They have been escaping from my grasp. The are like specters that appear to be solid, but when I reach out for them, they fade into a fog that withers away. They camouflage themselves into the backdrop, becoming invisible. I am still able to feel their presence. The energy they produce doesn’t go away. But I am unable to reach out, to grip them, and force them onto the page. I only have bits and pieces of what I know I need to say, but I will attempt to be positive about it. At least I have the bits and pieces, somedays that’s a comfort. There were years where there was nothing. Not even the feeling that they existed was there. In those years there was nothing but a huge void, a vast gaping hole where they should be. Being able to feel the presence, even when I can’t use them, is a consolation on the harder days. Those days when I don’t even want to shake the feeling of sleep. I just want to remain in my haze, the realm between dreams and reality. I want to avoid it all. I want to do what I am so good at, pulling the covers over my head and ignoring everything. Retreating into that part of my mind that I keep locked away for those avoiding days. That little bit of myself that no one else gets to see. The bit that I carved for myself, and myself alone.
Avoiding was part of my survival. Diving into the deep end of my depression mixed with pulling the wool over my eyes was how I kept surviving in some kind of half life. I was breathing and my heart was still beating, but I wasn’t a person. For a long time, I felt like my insides had been scooped out and left on the side of the road to rot. I felt like a shell of a human. I didn’t have any wants or dreams. I had the bare minimum for needs. But there was no driving force to give my life any kind of meaning. But I was also at a place where the darkness was my comfort, it was all I needed. Why would I ever need anything outside of that nourishment? Why would I possibly need to try hard in school and go off to college and make a life for myself when I had that comfort? That was not a great mindset to have, but when you feel like you’re in between a rock and a hard place, you pick either the rock or the hard place. I picked the hard place and put the rock aside for those especially hard days. The days where I could beat myself into a (figurative) bloody pulp. I learned how to hate myself, how to hate my existence to the point that I was able to get good at tearing myself apart. I hated who I was, and most of the time I still dip my toes in to that pool. I’m not at the point yet where I can look in the mirror and be completely happy with what I see. I don’t honestly know if most people hit that point where they are. Most of the time I’m okay with what I see. I still nitpick about my appearance or those flaws I hate or the cracks in my personality that still feel like huge gaping holes from trying to piece together my broken soul. There are days where I am good with it. I can accept that I am not broken like I was. But I still feel like I am not able to give enough to the world to feel connected and accepted by others. I still have the fear that if I let people see inside it will be like the mobs in Frankenstein running from The Creature. I read Frankenstein around Halloween, and I felt for The Creature. He had no say in his creation, and how his personality was. He was half-hazardly created out of remnants of people who had long since passed, and he was sewn together in hopes of creating a new life. People ran because they didn’t understand. All they saw was a monster. But I think what he really wanted was to be accepted, to connect and to be loved.
I used to feel like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz, the unfeeling cold exterior with no heart underneath. Now I feel like The Creature. I feel like I’m trying to assemble my personality and my soul from bits and pieces that were leftover from before I was broken, and with new pieces I’m not entirely sure fit. Like The Creature, I just want acceptance, connection and love. I want the unconditional appearance of these in my life. I know I’ve kept myself from them out of fear. You teach yourself that it’s easier to avoid them, to circumvent the rejection rather then try because it’s less hurtful. Honestly, it doesn’t work that way. I’m just denying myself all of it. I do have the fear that people will run away screaming if they see who I really am. But I deny because I don’t think I am deserving of it. Deserve is such a tricky word. But depression will trick you into thinking that you deserve these shitty things, and don’t deserve these good things. When in reality, you have done NOTHING to be denied those basic things that humans need. We need to feel accepted and loved. We need to connect with others. It’s a easy concept to understand, but god, is it fucking difficult to put into practice. I’m trying to dismantle these walls and fences I have put up as protection. But I as start to break them down, I realize how much I had really put up. There are more layers than I even knew existed. I keep pulling and breaking them down and find more and more layers of protection. I realize that I will need help with it. I need more than one sledge hammer to take down those thick brick walls. It’s always going to be a challenge to keep them from popping back up and keeping myself locked away. To keep my heart under lock and key, and to remind myself that people will not run away screaming if I show them who I am.