i am enough (i think)

I don’t like myself.

I never have. I can’t seem to remember a time where I wasn’t full of self-loathing.

I don’t like myself and I don’t know why. Everyone has good qualities and I do recognize my own. I’m a pretty good writer. I’m empathetic and kind and I care about other people. I have awesome friends and an amazing boyfriend – surely, they must love me for a reason. I try my best and I try to do everything with love. But, deep down, I don’t think that I’m worthy of anybody’s love. I don’t know why I think that.

I know that I’m okay and I’m enough and I’m worth it. To other people, that is. I just want to be enough for myself and I don’t know how. I’ve only come to the realization of how deep my self-hatred runs inside me and I don’t understand how I can possibly fix it.

I also know that I’m not a broken toy that needs to be fixed. I’m just a girl, no, a woman, trying her goddamn best. I just hope that it’s enough.

4/10

The world feels distant. Muted. Like I’m floating in a dream that isn’t really my own. I’m in a one-person game without a goal.

I’m forcing myself to write this blog post. To salvage whatever is left in me that I can find. I’ve been dropping classes and missing group projects. I’m on new medication, upped-dosage medication and I still don’t feel completely like myself. I hope I’m not destined to feel this way forever.

Destiny. A strange word, is it not? I don’t understand it. I’m not sure I believe in it. Perhaps it is my way of coping with the world – blaming “destiny” for my problems and situations that I’m in. Because if destiny isn’t set and fate isn’t real, then what? All my problems are because of me, and I’m stuck here where I am, because. of. me.

I feel like a failure in more ways than one. I can’t write, and I can barely read. Depression has affected my daily cognitive functions, leaving me impaired and hopeless. I blame depression for most of my problems, but what if it is just me who is incapable of performing normally? What if I’m just lazy? I ask myself this question all the time. Why don’t I want to do things? Be normal? Go out with my friends? Why do I feel so small? Why do I feel like the world is crushing me slowly? Like I’m drowning in the middle of the ocean while there is a huge storm going on at the same time? Who will find me in the storm when I can’t even find myself?

I have never been more lost. Every time I relapse, I say that. I have never been more lost. It keeps getting worse and worse, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I am a prisoner in my own mind.

broken-glass words

when you are frustrated irritated impatient

i am complacent

i close my eyes, and spiral down

watching the circles get bluer and bluer and finally turn black

sharp teeth in the dark grip me and i’m used to it

but it still hurts when i choke on my words

drowning coughing gurgling up mangled words

that i want to spit out but i’m scared

because they’re not real words

not real to you or in a way you can understand

you say: give me real words i don’t understand you i’m frustrated by you give me real words real words real words

but what you mean is: your words are not real and your feelings are not real and you. are. not. real. so stop pretending like you are.

so, i choke on my sliced-up words and i drown

i think it is you, who makes me feel like i am not enough

but it is me

i am swallowing my own broken-glass words

and then i wonder why i can’t use my voice

ii. a letter to my future self

Hi readers! Since most of you were delighted by my previous “letter to my future self,” I thought why not post another one? This post actually predates the last one (I know I know I know I know, I suck.) But this one was salvaged from my old bedroom in Bangkok, and I believe it was written during the spring break of my senior year in high school.

Also, I’ll have you know that I am thoroughly embarrassed by these posts. Writing used to be something that helped me express myself in a way that I wanted people to see me, i.e. mysterious, cool. Alas my writing has its limitations and I can only be fake cool for so long. Yes, I surrender to the cool gods. You guys win. Revel in it.

Anyway, welcome to my mind. It’s a fun place.

10 March 2017

Dear me,

How are you? I hope people are still asking you that. You’re probably in college and you’re back for break…? As of now, I don’t know where I want to go yet, but no matter where you chose, it was a good choice. If not, nothing’s permanent! Hey, transferring is always an option. I hope that you are happy and you are safe. Knowing you (AKA myself), I know that you are unafraid to throw yourself out there to experience all the possibilities of life. But please be careful because there are people out there who love you. Dad, mom, Nina, Sara – even little grandma. Are you still writing? I sure hope you are because words are so so powerful (but you know that). Please don’t forget to push a little harder. Things sometimes don’t work out, but you KNOW that you can do this. I hope that you are where you want to be.

Remember: if you don’t like something, change it. And if you can’t change it, accept it. Be honest. Especially to yourself. All wounds heal. And you’re never ever alone. I hope you go home each night to a warm bed and maybe someone’s arms – and safe. You are important. And you are loved. Take care of yourself.

Love,

Me at 17 xx

Post-letter thoughts (present day)

Should I respond to these letters? I feel rude. Even if it is to myself. Is this stupid? Am I crazy? Please let me know if I should respond to my past self. Thanks for reading!

simple truths

adulting me It’s hard to tell the truth. But here’s my version. Within each statement is a simple truth, just how I feel. If you think that this is how I’m projecting my relapse – you couldn’t be more wrong. I would have never posted this a year ago, or hell, even a month ago. I don’t think I could’ve even gotten myself to write this. I know these aren’t great sunshiny feelings but they’re my feelings and I’m working on them. This isn’t a call for help. I’m proud of myself, and I’m proud of how far I’ve come. I can’t believe I’m including a picture of myself in this. I hate having my picture taken but I think it’s important for me to realize that I am a part of others’ memories and that they actually love me. Thank you for being a part of my journey, I wouldn’t be here without everyone’s love and support.

Here are my truths.

I am nineteen.

I have accomplished nothing.

I like writing.

But I am not good at it.

I have had my heart broken twice.

I’m scared to fall in love again.

I don’t like it when strangers look at me.

I think they’re mentally stripping me.

I’ve been taking sleeping pills every night for the past month.

Because when it gets too late at night, I want to hurt myself.

I miss my father a lot.

But I still remember the belt he used to strike me with.

I love reading.

I need to escape. I need to forget.

I paint my nails often.

Because if I look put together, no one can tell that I’m falling apart.

I like getting sick.

Because having the flu is a better excuse for me to stay in bed than depression.

I have recurring nightmares of drowning.

I’m scared of the disappointment I feel when I wake up.

I’m always sunshine and rainbows.

Because if I’m not, no one will like me.

I don’t like it when people tell me to shut up.

It’s taken me a while to find my voice.

I intend to keep it.