I have a box that I keep underneath my easle where I throw insignificant/ half finished/ I-made-a-mistake-and-now-my-perfectionist-mindset-thinks-its-worthless pieces of work. I cleaned that messy box and I found it (can you believe there was also a jumper that had acrylic paint ALL over it? #whoops)
Honestly, I think it's a crap piece. But that is just the stupid perfectionist who is really, really hard on herself speaking. I hate the nose. and the lips. and the shoulders. They are not perfect. I ACTUALLY HATE IT. Arggg!
It came with a poem.
"I know
this
feeling
all to well
of
Nothing
ness
slivering
silently
throughout my skin
suffocating me
never soothing me.
never
soothing me
always
suffocating me
something is not right
something
something
something
inside my mind
is
not right
please (I'm begging you)
safe me.
safe me
before the
nothing
ness
blinds me completely "
I don't know.
I think it is different for everybody
but
For me
It's like
I don't want to use the analogy "It's like watching paint dry" but it is.
It's boring and monotonous and everyday seems like I'm swimming endlessly and hopelessly in thick black glue.
I try and hide it behind forced smiles. I try and hide it behind pretty clothes and well- done makeup, selfies posted on Instgram, and multiple photos of my cat on Snapchat.
I try and ignore it.
but the truth is
I am sad.
and my saddness is paralysing.
When it comes, my bed becomes my saviour; my loving embrace. I just lay in bed watching TV series after TV series,wanting desperately for a sense of escapism, and wishing my life was as perfect as Alex Dumphy who is a perfect student with a perfect Mum and a perfect Dad who always get along and a perfect sister who wants to talk to her and a perfect brother who isn't sad and a perfect family who love her unconditionally even if they are having problems of their own (and yeah, Modern Family is one of those TV series I binge watch) . I just lay in bed hoping that tomorrow is not a repeat of today and being disappointed when I wake up and it isn't.
People surround me. People are everywhere. Friends. Family. Teachers. Classmates. Workmates.
Strangers.
I see them.
But they walk straight through me.
I feel different, isolated, and alone.
As if I am here but I'm not.
Like I'm just a ghost floating throughout space and no one can see or hear me. Because, really I don't exist, Physically I am here because I can feel myself . I can feel my feet on the ground and my heartbeat pounding out of my chest, but mentally I am in a place far, far away.
There is a loud voice inside my head that tells me not a single person in the world cares about me anyway.
I can't see anything beyond my own sadness becoming thinker and thicker. I can't see anything else other than my own saddness suffocating me.
I get so consumed with myself, and not in a positive "I am fantastic" , full of confidence sort of way. In a negative "I am a shitty friend and that is why people hate me'' and ''my life sucks and nobody wants to be apart of it" sort of way
I can't stop thinking about the sucky, negative things that surround me and I can't see anything else. I am blinded by negatively and sadness.
And everything becomes harder and harder.
It becomes hard to find the energy to get out of bed. It becomes hard to leave my house. It becomes hard to force myself to attend my classes. It becomes hard to finish my homework or even start any school work. It becomes hard to do anything, really.
It becomes hard to hide it.
I cry.
I cry a lot. (I'm such a heavy crier)
Some school days I don't even get it to the end without crying.
When I come home I wrap myself in a blanket and cry into my bears. I cry until there is no more tears left to cry and then I just feel empty and stare into space.
I become very slow. I don't know if it is because I can't concentrate or because I have serious lack of energy but I become very slow. Physically and mentally.
Everything I used to enjoy seems hopeless.
It's pointless listing to Chinese music, or reading a good YA book, or using my art supplies.
It's pointless writing. Blogging; journal-ling; bullet noting, etc.Or doing the things I know will make me happy because nothing brings me any joy or pleasure.
Everything is just a chore I am being forced to do and it takes so much effort. Effort that I don't want to put in because I don't see the point.
My appetite just disappears into fine air. I skip meals because I'm just not hungry. I start becoming finner and losing weight because I'm just not eating and giving my body the energy it desperately needs to keep fighting.
I feel so tired and exhausted but no amount of sleep can fix the amount of tiredness I feel. Even if I wanted to sleep, I can't. Insomnia comes in and I'm up all night. (and living of several cups of coffee)
I truly believe that I am a horrible student; a horrible friend; a horrible daughter; a horrible sister. I believe I am a horrible person. I believe that no one likes me. I believe that I make everything worse just by existing. I believe I am a giant waste of space and that I am a burden to everyone. I think that nobody wants to be my friend. I believe that everything I do is stupid. I don't believe I am worth anyone's time. I believe that I really do not matter because I feel so insignificant and small.
And I believe I deserve to feel like this and that there is no point in recovering because I don't deserve to feel better.
Some days I wish I could go back in time to when things were amazing. To when I was care free and I was surrounded by friends who liked me, and I went to school and was met with friends instead of diving headfirst into a void of lonliness. and everyone in my family was happy, and I had a grasp over my life and I woke up everyday feeling happy because I knew that everything was going to be OK.
I was really struggling when I painted this. I was really struggling at the start of the year. I was feeling isolated and lonely, trapped, hopeless and miserable.
I still feel like that, but, I don't know... I've kinda gotten used to it and it has became easier.
Truth is I want to tell people. I want to scream. I want to ask for help. I want to ask for attention and love and support from the people I know. But anxiety entraps me. It is never easy asking for help. Combine that with a proud, stubborn, and anxious mindset and you understand why I never do.
In a way My art is my way of telling people how I feel without using my words. That being my blogging and my practical art making.
I have recently been put on medication for my worsening anxiety ("the only way to cure you is to drug you!" my physiologist said over and over again until I finally caved only after months and months of convincing ) and the constant panic attacks are starting to become more irregular and I am starting to feel more in control. Since going on medication I have felt like my anxiety has defiantly been taken down a step. (after waiting for a week or two for them to kick in) I haven't felt a sense of control over my panic disorder since tenth grade and it kinda feels uncomfortable but it is the type of uncomfortableness that I WANT TO GET USED TO, because, my gosh it feels great to not always be on the verge of a panic attack. It feels great being confident enough to be able to walk through a hallway. It feels great to leave a classroom at the end of class instead of waiting behind to breathe and conjure up enough bravery.
But, just because I am on medication doesn't mean the anxiety has magically went away (I FUCKING WISH THO!!!!) I still get panicky and anxious. I still struggle. I am still struggling. I still have Anxiety and I still have to work on it.
I still have a very, very long way to go but that's OKAY. I have already came a long way and I am proud of that.
The world feels different and I feel a happier about it. I have hope. I know that one day things will be easier. One day I will be happy. Things will get better. In the meantime I wish for hugs, chocolate mud cake (because, honestly chocolate mud cake fixes everything), and lots of love
Painting and making art really helps me.
No comments:
Post a Comment