unpacking-it

[unpacking-it]

Shout out everyone else who has done so much research and soul searching that they know so much about how their mind works and all it's flaws but not how to actually overcome those problems. Hope the limbo of emotional intelligence is treating you well.

[unpacking-it]

I wonder how many others have this thing where most of the time you can blame yourself for things being hard, but the moment you get a handle on things, the second you go 'hey if I can keep this up maybe it'll just work out', the universe says 'um yeah no' and throws something your way to destroy that chance.

I left my job that was making me miserable to do a course, and I'm still terrified of the future and returning to work, but at least I'm better about the present, and I'm proud at how well I was keeping up with the workload.

Then I had a family holiday. Sounds great. But it was so busy, and exhausting. That really active kinda vacay. I surrendered a day (plus evenings) to work and still only handed one of two assignments in. So now I'm back home with about a week and a halfs worth of stuff to do in THREE DAYS.

I'm one day back from a holiday and have already had the first panic attack I've had in YEARS (im luckily not prone to them) and for once no matter how I slice it there was nothing more I could have done. I mean, noone can earnestly ask me to miss out on like 70% of a vacation. The timing was just horrible, a few weeks earlier or later would've both worked out.

But that's almost WORSE. Because I HAD IT. Sure I have a long way to go, but for once I was half enjoying day to day life and actually getting shit done at the same time. For me that's a miracle. And it still wasn't enough.

To feel like nothing will work, like the universe is just throwing you around in a little glass case and anything you do doesn't mean a thing in the face of chance, or fate, or whatever. Fucking sucks.

[unpacking-it]

Do not punish the behaviour you want to see

I mean, it seems pretty obvious when you put it like that, right?

But how many families, when an introvert sibling or child makes an effort to socialize,  snarkily say, “So, you’ve decided to join us”?

Or when someone does something they’ve had trouble doing, say, “Why can’t you do that all the time?” (Happened to me, too often.)

Or any sentence containing the word “finally”. 

If someone makes a step, a small step, in a direction you want to encourage, encourage it. Don’t complain about how it’s not enough. Don’t bring up previous stuff. Encourage it.

Because I swear to fucking god there is nothing more soul-killing, more motivation-crushing, than struggling to succeed and finding out that success and failure are both punished.

[unpacking-it]

how much evidence am I going to amass before I show it to someone?

I have a folder on my phone of screenshots of mental health quiz results (yeah they're not all accurate but I need to gratification) showing high results for stress, depression, ADHD (now confirmed), autism, and anxiety.

I have a playlist called 'too close to home' consisting of songs like Wasted Potential (Rainaeri), Inertia (AJR), quater life crisis (Taylor Bickett), my mistake (Gabrielle Aplin), and Gloomy June (by Chxrlotte) the last of which explicitly talks about suicide and it's the first on the playlist.

I have this blog, plus a Pinterest board of other people's mental health pins and some really evocative emotional art.

I have the books... I once got in trouble for doodling in a school book and they never noticed how dark my doodles were so started bringing a spare book. I still use books to draw out my worst moments and thoughts.

The first of these books is over ten years old.

What the fuck it wrong with me that I can't seem to just show someone these things?

[unpacking-it]

I used to have these moments when I realized im a real person who is living. That I’m going to die one day and the world will keep going on without me and I used to be so deeply afraid.

Now when I have those moments I feel so at peace that I won’t have to feel like this anymore.

[unpacking-it]

chronic fatigue from mental illness and neurodivergency isn't something you can just will your way out of. your nervous system is part of your body. your brain is an organ. the fatigue is real. you're not lazy. so be kinder to yourself. be gentler with your bodymind.

[unpacking-it]

wanting a diagnosis is like

you've always lived in your little home in your head that's constantly collapsing on you so you repair it and flooding and catching fire and getting mould infections. And you just keep fixing it up best you can with your very little building/engineering knowledge and some advice on the internet.

and when people visit they see how few decorations you own, how carefully locked up your keepsakes are, how dusty and stained things are, how rushed the DIY jobs are, and say "wow you put no effort into this place" "why do you do this to yourself" "it'd be nicer to live here if you put more effort in"

and you just want one person, a professional home expert people will believe once the visit ends, to be let into your little house and go, "oh dear, this place is in a horrible state I can see the signs of what you're dealing with, you should have received support/maintenance for this years ago"

you want to finally be seen for the effort you put in to just keep the house standing, when everyone else just sees a mess. next time someone visits you want to say "I should tell you, there's X reason it's in poor condition" so they finally go "oh I didn't realise. i'll try not to hold you to the standards of normal houses."

please stop holding me to your standards. i don't like it in here either but it's the best I can do with what I have.

[unpacking-it]

Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less Dying would hurt less

JUST DO IT COWARD

[unpacking-it]

Do you think every cry for help is a scream?

Do you know how many voices have been lost because all they could muster was a whisper?

Do you think a cry for help is always blades to skin and violent freakouts and loss of appetite and too many pills?

Are my pleas not enough for you?

Is my constant words of being trapped of being hurt of being desperate and scared not enough for me to deserve help, just because I'm barely strong enough not to take a leap of lost faith?

I don't have the air left in my lungs to scream, so listen to my whispers. Listen to how quietly I cry, the bags under my eyes, how I stop talking when we disagree at all, how I've neglected my appearance, my overactive empathy, how I dodge hard topics, my hollow laugh to be polite, how I distract myself at every waking opportunity,

Both of my phone backgrounds (both of which you actively acknowledged but refused to read into), my pinterest boards (my best friend knows my Pinterest well), the two sketchbooks I leave beside my bed for anyone to peek at (they're in the way of the bin so you move them when doing the trash), and for the love of god listen to my WORDS (I have actively tried to open up in the last months despite crippling fear of rejection due to nothing else working). I have never taken a knife to my skin, but I shouldn't have to. I shouldn't have to scream.

Fuck you.

[unpacking-it]

The worst realisation in recent months of soul searching might be what I live for.

I wish I could just disappear to never return so so often but I don't. And to some degree I am afraid of the pain of the process or pain if I fail.

But those aren't super solid reasons. So I thought about it. A lot.

The thing is. I think I exist, to not exist. My joy is all from fiction. I thought to myself, "when am I happy?" The answers were: watching shows, playing games, reading fanfic, imagining my own stories, imagining worlds to the music I listen to, rambling about the show in currently most invested in, rambling about my ideas.

None of them are real. I exist for the unreal.

"why should I keep living?" "Oh that show I love is getting a second season." "No that's too far away I'm not willing to suffer for two years just for eight more episodes." Well it's sister series has an ep coming up?" "Oh. Okay."

And so on.

I live my life only for the moments I can be living someone else's far away from here. Because I don't want to be me. So I only keep being me so I can be someone else.

That's not.... That's not really.... a reason to live at all is it.....

Why am I still doing this?

[unpacking-it]

Following on from my last one.

Realising the difference between listening and actually supporting has ruined me.

Because fuck I thought my mum was so perfect. And she's great she really is. But she just listens. I never had a complaint because I could ramble to her and she'd never criticise or judge me (ignoring the odd exception there...)

But it broke my heart to realise that the one person I thought I could seek support from DID NOT support me. Because I vented, and most of my vents are cries for help. Its when I have no idea what to do with myself and am looking for any hope, and sense of direction at all. And I can't expect her to have the answers, but not ONCE can I remember her even suggesting one thing, or directing me somewhere else for the support I needed.

She always saw that I was at least coping and I got this impression without even realising it that I didn't DESERVE help. It took me so long to realise just how crap my mental health had gotten because I was 'coping' and at no point did she seem even remotely concerned by anything I said, but now I know she should have been. But she's my mum- I took her inaction to heart. I saw her do nothing and that's what I thought my mental health was worth. Nothing. Because if she saw no issue I must be fine right?

I love her for the effort she puts in and her patience with me but I don't know how to forgive her for letting me get so bad that I'm struggling to convince myself I want to live and clawing for every second of distraction from it all I can get. I blame myself a lot, but I blame her too because I was still a child, and she knew I trusted her every word... And her every silence.

[unpacking-it]

There's something about parents trying to give you advice but instead showing what a fundamental misunderstanding they have of you as a person.

It's that slight almost sigh-like sound in their voice as they offer you a suggestion because they think you're going to dismiss it out of laziness or stubbornness. Because they don't know you well enough to know that you WISH you could do that suggestion but know you won't be able to force yourself to no matter how bad it feels, or that you literally already tried that but they will assume you did it wrong if you said that you did.

It's a fucking wonder I never talk to you about anything dad it really is...

[unpacking-it]

I'm an older gen Z and I feel like I see more of my age group feeling depressed than not. We are in our optimal years, our young adulthood, where we have young bodies and minds but no longer the restrictions of childhood.

And I look at their posts and I see Fear for what our futures hold. Grief for our lost dreams. Anger over the broken world we're entering into. Sadness at the feeling of their hope getting drained. Sadness at the sudden lack of any free time and energy. Sadness at the strange social expectations boxing us in cause we're 'adults now'. Sadness at how we can give it our all and still be called the laziest generation. Sadness that our next several decades of our lives are expected by society to be mostly spent tired and miserable from work. Grief for our old love of life. Grief for the hobbies we dropped due to time or energy. Grief for the lost feeling of being excited for birthdays and events. Grief for how simple relationships were once. Grief for our younger selves as the world pries them from our hands and tells us that being miserable is just life.

Being 22 isn't supposed to be this.

When did being 22 become this.

[unpacking-it]

I hope this IS me trying my best. I hope that when I say I've done all I can yet am still struggling it's the truth. I hope my fears that I'm being lazy or useless aren't true. I hope I can look back on this if I make it and be proud of how hard I tried. I want to know when I hurt that it's not my fault because I'm doing all I can

I hope this ISNT me trying my best. I don't want to face that my best just isn't enough. I don't want to know that at this point if help doesn't come I'm just going to be stuck here. I don't want to look back and think what was all that effort for if I failed. I don't want to have put my everything into making it through and only be getting worse

[unpacking-it]

[unpacking-it]

there is no such thing as being "behind in life" but it's okay to recognise that you missed out on some things whilst you were busy surviving

[unpacking-it]

i don't know who needs to hear this, but guilt, self-hatred and shame are not sustainable sources of growth and healing. you can't hate yourself into feeling better, or being better. you can't repeatedly punish yourself for your flawed humanity and expect wholesome results.