wockywrites

[wockywrites]

“I found my way again, it’s hard to explain it, I know that I hate it.”

do you ever feel empty? do you feel like something has gripped you so tight and just holds on to your mind?

I just want to explode. I want to not exist.

i started my low last night, before anything. as I cleaned up my depression room, I looked at old memories and just sat in sadness.

why can I not be okay? why do thoughts possess me?

why does mental illness and struggle continue to hold me back?

when is my time to shine? when do I find me?

when do I find my purpose?

when will I feel like I’m not behind or missing out?

fuck.

[wockywrites]

“It’s no surprise I won’t be here tomorrow, I can’t believe that I stayed ‘till today.”

this shouldn’t surprise you, with the way you treated me.

I’m second best to you.

I’m just here. I’m nothing but the second option, the second to everything.

if I only knew this would run its course this way, I would have shut my mouth.

I’ve started to hate you. I’ve started to hate how you make me feel.

your condescending comments, your “holier than thou,” attitude.

you aren’t a great person, and you only do what you do for what you think will be brownie points with God.

i hope you learn to be yourself.

what goes around, comes all the way back around.

[wockywrites]

when you first enter senior year of high school, absolutely everyone you know asks the same question.

“What’s your plan after high school?”

I sure thought I knew. College for psychology.

instead, I’m working a fast food job, my mental health teeters because of it, and I find myself wondering what I could be.

Tonight I sat in the car with my best friend and I started to list people I wasn’t fond of, and I realized every single person I listed, I work with or have worked with.

I had a coworker the other day confide in me, telling me some dark secrets of his, and asking for advice. He’s much younger than me.

As he told me more and more, I realized I’ve become that person for many people, someone to confide in.

He looked me in the eyes and told me the same thing I’ve been told a time or two,

“You should go back, and become a psychologist.”

every time I hear this, I just smile and agree, but deep inside I ponder.

am I strong enough to become one that heals?

am I strong enough to hear someone else’s pain, and put my own aside?

is my own pain lesser or greater than another’s pain?

are my problems and weekly mental ailments in my head?

there’s so many questions that swirl around when I think of going back.

is this my true purpose?

I’m not sure anyone knows their “true” purpose until they try.

I’m not sure anyone knows anything about themselves unless they work to discover things about themselves.

this entry is slightly scatterbrained, but that is my current brain.

scattered with a lot of ideas and thoughts, ranging from my family to friends, and even myself.

i need the strength to do what I want. my physical is strong, but my mental needs to hit the weights.

[wockywrites]

lust

sometimes, typing this word out, it autocorrects to “list,” like it’s unserious or not something so soul damaging.

when you fall for someone, lust, I think, it’s natural.

I look at him and I imagine all of the dirty, nasty sins I want to commit.

some Christian I am.

[wockywrites]

“Pour my heart out on the floor, and now it’s leaking,”

i feel like this often

i pour my heart into too much

relationships, love, my job, you name it, I do.

[wockywrites]

do i text him?

do I let him know he’s on my mind?

no, don’t waste your time.

[wockywrites]

“such a lonely day, and it’s mine. the most loneliest day of my life.”

blasts through my earbuds.

do you crave something? chocolate? nicotine?

i have cravings too, but mine is a craving from my soul

i crave love.

no food or drug in this world can top the emotional and physical feeling of love.

love is popularized by media, be it music or tv or movies, but love is important.

love between friends, love between pets, or the biggest, love between a man and a woman.

I spend my days listening to love songs and creating love stories, trying to fill the void in my soul that seems ever so important to me.

what I would do for love.

scratch that. what I would for someone to actually want my presence.

someone who just wants to be around me, and who wants to talk to me.

each time I start a talking stage, it goes so well for so long before it’s too good to be true. suddenly I’m sitting here at 2:30 am wondering if that person truly does what me around.

clearly they don’t, they would have reached out.

according to him, each time I press, it’s always “of course I do. youre cool, you’re pretty, blah blah blah.”

If I am all those things, I wouldn’t be the one putting all this energy in a misguided place.

I wouldn’t be sitting here, at 2:30 in the morning wondering if we’ll talk.

fuck it all bro.

fuck. it. all.

[wockywrites]

i feel like my mind is a war zone, each side fighting the other.

One side is obsessive, thinking critically of every small thing, making big issues out of thin air.

My other side is trying to squash that first side I described, explaining how irrational and absurd it is to be so critical.

I can’t stop either side, especially during each waxing gibbous moon.

Tears flow from my eyes like a waterfall as I let the thoughts flood my mind and I sit In disbelief at myself, telling myself I’m better than this, that ive learned better.

I try to remind myself of all the time I’ve put into my mental health, and trying to fix it. I remind myself that this isn’t me.

Then I remember, I’m right, it’s not me.

it’s the damn bipolar.

She’s so sneaky with her tricks, tricking you into three full days of over confidence, just to give you complete ego death in just a matter of what feels like a few minutes.

The crash from mania to a deep low is fast and hard, your mind trying to make you believe the most horrid things about yourself or those around you, absolutely playing you.

after the low leaves, you wonder why you ever felt that way, and everything is normal.

you then start to worry how much of this the people around you can take. you begin to ask yourself, will they leave you?

some lows aren’t as bad as others, just like some highs are not as extreme as others.

this low is kind of kicking my ass I won’t lie to you. I haven’t had a low this weird in a while. just bear with me fr.

[wockywrites]

why do I cry at all?

why does crying feel like a guilty pleasure, like I shouldn’t cry when I do? like my tears are irrational, but they feel so good.

I want to know who trained me that crying is pathetic so I can show up at their door and punch them in the jaw.

[wockywrites]

when I was growing up, I was obsessed with Hannah Montana, in fact, I still have a birthday card from when I was 6 that sings one of her tunes:

“Life’s what you make it, so let’s make it rock.”

Now to any adult, that may seem “cringe” or something a child would listen to and believe, but I just think it’s absurd to think you can’t make your life “rock” as an adult.

my life does “rock,” honestly.

I have been recently having conversations about how I grew up and what I’ve experienced as a child and as a young adult, and honestly, those things didn’t “rock,” but when I have these conversations, I’m praised for my positive outlook on it all.

I didn’t always have that positivity.

there’s another lyric Hannah Montana later goes on to say, that I think is important to this entry as well:

“Life is hard or it’s a party, the choice is up to you.”

she isn’t wrong, you know. I’m choosing to live my best life right now.

I have never been happier, to be honest with you.

I have my faith, my family, and my friends who have my back, even when I’m in my darkest moments.

Music plays such a big part in my life and I’ve found that bringing it back into my life has made so much of my pain fade into nothing that I never want to lose touch with the sweetness of music again.

I never want to be in that darkness that I once believed was eternal ever again.

that’s why I had to change my outlook, not only for me, but for those around me, and my future family. they need to know you can escape that pit of emptiness and sadness, even when you feel alone.

[wockywrites]

Sometimes I panic.

Do you know what I panic about?

my weight. I sit and panic.

I can only do so much in so much time, but to me I should me thinner, you know?

I’m tired.

[wockywrites]

I’m not really struggling mentally recently, just struggling with internal battles.

most of my internal battles are romance surrounded.

I love love, if that makes sense. I’m the typical woman, I enjoy romance novels, movies, and romantic Christmas ideas.

but somehow, I’m not in love.

is it my false sense of what “love” is?

I’d like to think I have a false sense of it. because I didn’t grow up in a household where both of my parents loved each other, I think that what love “is” to me, is not real.

I imagine love how I imagine it is the movies; romantic strolls in the park, magic carriage rides during Christmas, and sending love letters to each other.

i crave the love my mom wanted to have with my dad, like what i described above. Maybe she instilled that false sense of love into me.

I don’t even care about passionate moments that are full of sexual tension, all I yearn for is a sense of security in a relationship.

I want what I haven’t gotten to experience.

every “love” experience I’ve had has been so sour and tumultuous, I just want to be loved.

[wockywrites]

why am I not good enough?

why is it that no matter how much I try, no matter what I do, I am not good enough.

I’m showered over and over again with compliments that I’m so funny, so kind, so sweet, but it doesn’t outshine what I look like.

I’m told so many times how pretty my face is, how gorgeous I am.

no matter what, my weight is the issue. I’m treated like I’m seven hundred pounds constantly.

I’ve wrote about this before but it’s eating me alive.

I am so consumed with the thought that I am not good enough based on one factor.

I’m so done with my life, I’m so done with everything. I’m just so done.

I’m tired.

I’m so tired of how I feel.

I just want to feel better.

[wockywrites]

today is my last day at the store I work at.

it’s quite bittersweet.

Originally, I never wanted to come to this store. everyone called it ghetto, and told me all the problems it had, from cars getting keyed, to Sunday fight nights.

I was scared to say the least.

Before I even was on the schedule, I snitched for the first time in my life, telling my field leader about an inappropriate relationship happening between a manager and a crew member, with the man in the inappropriate relationship trying to end my friendship with my best friend of almost 8 years.

After a few shifts, I started getting super close to my crew, searching the schedule to see if I worked with them in the weeks ahead.

this whole week, I’ve had many exchanges of “It was nice working with you, I’ll miss you, come visit,” and enough hugs to cover the earth.

Some of these people I’ve had deep talks with outside and over mozzarella sticks, seeing their deepest form, hearing them tell me what’s ailing them.

Countless hours standing in a big circle in the parking lot, making fun of other coworkers and laughing with each other about bean dip jokes.

While my best friend still works at this store and I’ll be visiting every night after my store closes, it won’t be the same.

I won’t be able to griddy by the grill table in front of my friend who hates when anyone griddy’s.

No more “fuhhh you” in the middle of the DML rush.

they’ll always be my friends, but it’s just not the same.

[wockywrites]

who am I?

In my eyes, I think I’m quite beautiful. My eyes, shiny with an eccentric green glow, my lips perfectly positioned below my nose in a pink, slightly plump shape. my nose is just above my lips in a feminine expression, my face coming together to show my parents’ long forgotten love.

my personality, as I’ve been told, brightens up any room. I like to keep the mood uplifting, making jokes and making people i care about smile.

But, how do you see me?

no matter how beautiful I feel, the back of my mind reminds me of what is around me besides my face.

my golden hair falls perfectly on my shoulders, passing just by my breasts, shaping my sharp face.

but once you look past all of that, what do you see?

as far as I’m concerned, no matter how beautiful my face or my hair is, or how bright my personality may be, it seems it’s all drowned out by my biggest insecurities.

my breasts lead the way to a smaller waist that even out to wider hips, down to a feminine design only God can create.

my stomach sits in a way that is almost unnoticeable through my shirt, shrinking from its size from a year prior, but it’s there.

where my biceps rest, underneath is a layer of thickness that can only be dissolved by hard work and dedication. while they aren’t as wide as before, it’s still there.

as you read this, I want you to understand something. something that people who encourage the positivity of these insecurities don’t understand.

I hate looking this way.

If you think this is a walk in the park, if you think I enjoy the darkness I let myself fade into, you are wrong.

but there’s something else you should know.

I am beautiful.

my current weight does not define me.

my mental illness does not define me.

what does define me is how I choose to deal with what hangs me up. what gets me down. what brings me to a feeling of depression.

I’ve chosen to make that change, I’ve chosen to work on my body, but why does it still not count?

why is the main focus always on my weight?

“I’ve drawn out in sharpie where I’d take the scissors, if that’s what it took for me to look in the mirror, I’ve done ever diet to make me look thinner, so why do I still feel so goddamn inferior?”

[wockywrites]

i find myself thinking too much. my head is full of ideas, full of thoughts. I wonder if he likes me? I wonder, am I losing time? how many pretzels are in a bag of pretzels?

some of these things are silly, who cares about the damn pretzels, wocky?

other things, are more pressing on my mind. I get reassured often I am only twenty, that I’m not nearing the end of my journey of life, but I feel like it’s all over. I’ve missed my chance to find a man to love, I’ve missed the chance for a baby.

I haven’t. I know I haven’t, but alas, my mind races.

Does he like me? oh man, the never ending question. Why do I worry? I keep telling myself it is all in God’s plan.

It is. It is all in God’s plan. I often find myself questioning my faith. Is my faith that strong, if I’m questioning his plans for me?

but alas, my mind races.

[wockywrites]

his voice meets my ears with a warm, and silky tone, each word he says dripping with honey, his voice is unlike any I had heard before. I’m not sure what it is, but his voice seems to make me keen to listen. for some reason, I find him so entirely attractive. I’m delusional in the fact that each thing he does is to represent falling in love with me. I want his attention, I want to know him. I want to know how he feels. i feel like he’s intruding on my heart without even knowing he is doing so. his presence is oh so welcoming to my soul.