I begin Starbucks tomorrow after my last day at Teavana this past Sunday. I really do not know what to expect, other than coffee and green aprons. So I am satisfied with that.
I'm just at that point where I am tired of faking it. Everything. I could be sitting in pure, festering anger and when my dad knocks on the door, I suppress my roaring, raging madness. I open the door and say, "Hey, what's up?" To some of you, this will make no since as to why it seems significant. However, to some of you, this one quick story tells you what I'm going through every day. I answer that door, hiding what it happening, and I engage in normal conversation. My dad doesn't know that just moments ago I was sitting on my bed, so angry and tired that my tears don't even come out of my eyes, I just dryly gasp small breaths and clench the sheets. "Oh god.." I whisper, "Oh god, make it stop. Stop hurting, I'm scared."
I admit to a god I do not trust that I am afraid. Of everything! Everything is a vast concept, but there it is, a category on my wall of fears. I'm afraid of thinking the wrong thing at the wrong time and having an anxiety attack. Where I am struggling to breathe, shaking so hard I feel like I have lost control of my limbs as they start to go numb, my throat closes up, my eyes sting because they can't tear up, I feel my chest start to thump. I feel all of this in three seconds. Then it continues. I sit in my room, if I am lucky enough to have this in my room, and I go through this. I go through this so many times a day. I also climb out of it every damn time. I know how to cope, I know how to get out of that one instant episode. I just don't know how to escape it completely or shut it down before it starts. So, that is why I lay there and cry dry, stinging tears and gasp for help. I am afraid of it. Every day.
The "Try" list emerges from most people after hearing some mention of having to go sit down.
Try being happy! Positive!
Try eating cleaner!
Try distracting yourself!
Talk to a therapist.
I have tried all of this, I am currently medicated, going to a therapist, and doing everything I can to always make my surrounds protective, positive, and happy. It doesn't work like that. Those things are why I can climb out, however, they will never stop it.
My uncle has depression.
My aunt is a drunk with anxiety.
My brother cuts...
My sister tried to OD before..
My friend has to see a therapist, too.
My dad has anger issues.
If you know what I mean, this suffices. If you don't, then think about it longer than reading and reacting.
Anyways. My point is, this makes me feel so isolated and alone. That I feel like I have no other choice than to cry out to a god who mercilessly rampaged his creation out of anger and hate. So loving and sweet! Aw! Thanks! No. I cry out to a god. Not God, Buddha, Ganesha, Hera, Freya, Diana, or Isis. Just something that might be bigger than this. Which never helps.
The reason I'm pouring this out to you, drawing it out, is because this is goodbye. I'm scared and prepared to say it, goodbye. No, I'm not going to kill myself. I've been dead for so many years, there is no point. That's just adding insult to injury. I'm just going to be leaving Polyvore behind. I really felt safe here, like my mind could explode and my tears could sink into my keyboard some nights, when I was lucky enough to actually cry like a human, and I was able to communicate my thoughts. It's time I go on from this domain. But before I go, I want to say thank you.
Thank you Jack. I love you more than you can fathom. You're my entire reason for survival. You kept me here. You kept my heart beating and my chest rising. You heard me when no one else knew what they were listening to. You held my hand through abandonment to awkward flower shop situations. You're my other half in the sense that you can keep me feeling as if someone out there can comprehend me, breathe life into me, and remind me why we keep fighting to live.
When I wake up, I face the terrible truth that I will get my fill of depression, anxiety, panic, post-traumatic stress, binge eating, anger, paranoia, abandonment, social anxiety, and faking a functioning, stable appearance. But thank you, because now it is just a truth, it is no longer a secret, not to you who know me. That's what will keep me going, I think, knowing that I'm not going to be going through it alone every day of my life, that eventually, you'll be there to hold my hand and start a new Sims life by my side. So goodbye, Polyvore. You hold some of the juiciest morsels of my past right in your grabbers. Keep it classy. Keep me hidden. You're so very good at that.