#sure the toggle is good but still not fuckin happy about this
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this feeling of unhappiness I can’t seem to shake off lately. I hate it. Is it self inflicted? Am I doing this to myself? some may argue it’s in my hands to change it. yes. but no? Is that an excuse?
I have no real reason to be unhappy though. if that’s the case, does it mean my feelings should be invalidated?
I’m fortunate. I have a lot. I know I do. So are these unnecessary feelings I’m creating for myself?
why is it so hard to be content with what I currently have? nothing ever seems to be enough and I’m always chasing for more.
C said I keep chasing to run away from my reality. Maybe that’s true. I may be fortunate but I’ve had my share of unfortunate events. I’m not special and shit like mine happens everyday. Even worse for sure. But I’m unique to my own life. If that even makes any sense.
This depressed and sad feeling lately feels familiar. A feeling I had since I was young. A feeling I questioned why I had even when I was young. Why am I like this. I asked. Why am I like this. I ask.
I have it all. Why am I sad? Why am I sad? I don’t deserve to be sad. I can’t shake this feeling off. I toggle back and forth between sad and trying to be happy go lucky. But I think I’m sad all the time. I’m just.. trying to be happy. Trying to be cheery.
What is this pain I feel? Why do I feel it? Why do I feel like I just Wana sleep forever and not wake up?
Whats this all about healing? And self love? And getting to know yourself? I don’t get it. I don’t know how to.
These days I feel like a child throwing a temper tantrum as they sit on the ground with legs sprawled out. Crying. Loudly. For no god damn reason. But maybe there is a reason. There is right? The child is craving attention. The child is screaming to be heard. Screaming to be loved. But the outside is looking at the child like they’re a brat.
I’m the brat. But I just want to be loved. I just want to be loved. I know my mom loves me. I know. Sometimes even overbearing. I love her too. But idk. Maybe I’m lookin for other types of love too. That I don’t think I’m getting. Clearly. Right?
And so I want to be that child. Throwing a temper tantrum. Because then at least I can crawl in mamas arms. Mama will hold me n tell me everything will be alright. Because she has only ever been the person to tell me. She has only ever been the person to be there always. And I owe her so much. And more. I wish I can give her more. I wish I can give her love the way she gives me love. I complain she only knew how to buy my love. She’d buy me whatever I wanted as a child. And she still does. She spoils the shit out of me. And I now realize I only give her love the same way she did for me as well. I buy her things I think she’d like. But that isn’t the way to love. Even if it’s a thoughtful gift. I know that. But I do it. I still do it the wrong way.
I don’t like to admit it. But I’m selfish. I’m pretty fuckin selfish. Who am I? Who do I want to be? Maybe all this depression business is really an identity crisis. And the frustration of not knowing who I am spirals into a depression. So how do I go about figuring out who the fuck I really am? Does anyone know who they truly are? Is this business about healing and self love even real? Or is it fake confidence like the way I currently do it? Cause apparently I’m god damn good at doing it. I’d fool me too. I’d fool me too.
But I Wana put this mask down. I Wana put it away. I just Wana be vulnerable. Well the weak me wants to be vulnerable. The strong me says, I was born to do more. And keep powering through. See? The fake confidence. It’s back and trying to take over again. And again.
So the circle begins. Round and round we go. I’m back to. Point one.
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