I want to reach into your mind (don’t fret, I’ll be kind)
Pluck apart your notion that you’re not good enough (I’ll do anything it takes, even if it’s tough)
Start a different thought pattern for you (I just never, ever want to see you blue)
I’d do these things with all my might (and I won’t fail, for it’s within you I see the light)
I can fake it, sure. I can be one of the many people afflicted by mental illness that hides how they truly feel. I can pretend that it will all be alright, can pretend that I’m not dying on the inside.
But I can’t bare to lie anymore.
It’s hard to describe how I feel, really. There is a large part of me that wants to do the above, in order to save myself and stop hurting everyone around me.
But I just cannot walk through hellfire daily and not speak of the burns.
I am not that person. People must know that such pain exists within some human’s minds. They must know that sometimes getting out of bed feels like torture and trying to act ‘normal’ is god damned impossible.
If people don’t know these things, then everyone would end up suffering.
It’s at the point where it’s just easier to say “I’m alright.” Rather than tell the horrid truth.
When it comes down to it, I don’t think I’ll ever find another soul on this wretched earth who truly, really, understands what I say when I explain what goes on in my head. I can try to explain, but words are never enough.
My thoughts collide at such speed and force that I can’t keep up, and it’s awfully tiring to try to cope with. There’s a rational side of me that tells me I will be fine, that I can stand this and that I do deserve this life. But then there’s the deep, dark voices. They say the opposite, they say it’s time to give up if you can’t get better and if you can’t give up? Then be quiet. Suffer in eternal silence.
I’m just exhausted, you know? Every day is a challenge, and I know that’s the case for many, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I’m stuck in fight or flight mode and the physical symptoms I feel are running rampant. My head is pounding, perhaps from the constant gritted teeth, or maybe from the fact that my muscles are more tense than they have ever been before. I’m constantly nauseous, due to anxiety rippling through my body. My muscles are weaker than normal, as if I’m just losing the will to carry on.
My mind is carrying on, fighting for the sake of fighting, by the feel of it. I don’t see a purpose and I don’t see a happy ending; I see eternal pain. I have yearned for a life of happiness, but I’ve been met with a life of mental illness.
And you can’t just get over it. You can’t do anything but fight, and there’s only so much fighting one can do before becoming bloody and bruised and broken.
When will we learn?
When will we learn that we cannot find true happiness until we let our bodies succumb to every single emotion that’s felt?
We spend so much time fighting.
We spend so much time fighting off sadness, off anger and all the other emotions inbetween.
For what purpose do we choose to disregard these emotions?
Are we seeking solace or hiding?
Are we seeking solace, happiness in it’s highest regard, or are are we hiding from the things that make us feel different to how we want to feel?