Oxygen Level 2.4%
I'm suffocating. It's starting. The warmth starts rising from your chest into your head and you can't breathe. You're fine. You're fine. You're... shit... something else happened that is setting you off. And you realize you're just a stupid piece of shit.
Why do I constantly believe my thoughts. The thoughts that lie to me. But also the ones that tell me how I feel. Are the thoughts about feelings real or should I just believe the feelings. Or do I feel anything?
How do you feel? How do you feel? How do you---
Does it even matter how I feel when the thoughts are telling me I should just stop doing everything. I wish I was able to explain this to people. I wish I had the capacity to talk instead of worry about the words I say effecting people in a way that they'll just want to cut me out entirely. I should thank my parents for that.
I've been thinking a lot about 'why'. Why am I writing this post? Why am I thinking terrible thoughts about people? Why am I holding onto this idea that I NEED to be validated in order to exist?
My meds have been helping. Which is NICE. It doesn't mean that 'woohoo I'm always 100% now and forever'. I cling to the hope that someone asks me how I am just so I can acknowledge my own feelings for a moment. And it has to be a person, not an app. I've tried an app. I had a god-damn app ask me 'hi hools, how are you feeling today' and I just got mad. I guess then I would say 'angry, app, I'm angry that you're the only one who asked'.
And then I create stories in my head. About how insignificant I am in everyone's life. Mostly because I only know how I think. They way MY brain works, and I have no other brain to compare it with because I'm not in anyone else's head. How I think is a constant stream of consciousness. My phone addiction leads me to messaging anyone who crosses my mind. I think it's nice to be thought about. But then I flip that on it's head, and become smaller by the minute as I look at my blank phone screen.
I don't wish to be anyone I'm not. I mean, sure, sometimes I'll see the success of someone and be like 'damn, it would be nice to be Emma Stone, what cool movies she's got to act in'. But I don't think I actually want to BE her. Just have those experiences. And truthfully, deep down, I know that I'm great. I know that there is so much good in me. I do love myself. But the surface of it all, the part that I can't breath in, is what's inadequately fuelling me.
Honestly, I don't know what this post is about, word vomit from the suppression of aggressive online interactions today, and the fact that I have an inability to express anger, so it stews inside my stomach and eats me alive. Half way through writing this I had a panic attack because I don't have answers, and I hate not knowing what's right.
I guess what I'm trying to get at is, even dating multiple people, even having a plethora of friends that I see all the time, even knowing I could call so many people up, even having meds that work, even having a therapist I talk to every week, I'm still struggling. And I don't know how much oxygen is left for me to figure out why.