Lack of imagination

If 2020 was the year when things just went crazy, I am honestly fucking scared for myself this year than I was last year. Sorry for the strong language. It’s just that sometimes you need to let go of very strong emotions and I know a lot about having strong emotions. You know it’s like how Ari (Aristotle and Dante discover the secrets of the universe) says that it is not about having a lack of imagination, it really is about getting an outlet for strong emotions. I am full of them. I feel like a suicide bomber except I do not know when my self, which is actually my bomb, will detonate. It might be in a few minutes or weeks. This year started nicely by the way. Can you believe that? I am not the ones who believe that a new year literally means a new me. It is okay if you do. I just do not. So as I was saying, this year started in a kinda positive way. I baked banana bread with one of my siblings at midnight. We literally broke bread as we entered the new year. As far as positivity comes I feel like that was just it for me. Perhaps it is because I got the blues again. I had them pretty much the whole festive season but I got them again on new year. I think it is because of the pressure that comes with new year. You think that a new year means instant healing of all your mental illnesses and trauma but I know healing does not work like that. Healing is not linear. It does not have a structural timeline.(So in case you feel like you have to be healed or okay because it is a new year, be gentle with yourself, okay? Take your time. You are a child of the universe. I am rooting for you, I really am).
Then came the brutal realization that one of the places I have always thought to be one of my safe places is actually unsafe for me. Home does not feel like home anymore. My hyper vigilance is back and in control. The pills cannot work against an unsafe environment, can they? No. No they cannot. I would go into details but what is the point. I am thinking I might have to look for home. It is sad. It is damn sad and that is it. I need a home. But I cannot afford it. (for now – me being a bit positive).
There is also the crippling fear of being smart, gifted and useless. For a detailed picture of what this means, I suppose you will have to read a few quotes by Sylvia Plath. I feel I am doing nothing but wasting away. Is this what oblivion feels like? Perhaps. I know mental illnesses is not the same for everyone. I tell others this but it does not settle my fears. I cannot even tell the group of people I work with for school work how bad things are. I cannot deal with the whole “it is attention seeking” or “you’re exaggerating” or “why don’t you just plan yourself” or ” just do your best. you can do better than this” statements. Bruh. This is me doing my best. We try our best but because it is not people’s best, we are called lazy. We are apparently exaggerating the effects of mental illnesses in our lives. How am I supposed to even have a discourse with someone who has made up their mind to consistently deny my experience, even in the face of evidence? Do I think of giving them more evidence by perhaps getting back into self harm or having a suicide attempt? Sure. But such people are not worth it.
There is no way to explain the existence of something to someone who firmly believes that the said thing does not exist. Hence, this year I am not explaining the inconveniences my mental issues are gifting me in my daily life. I will cry. A lot. But I will not explain my existence. I will do my best. I will laugh. A lot. I will probably love and live. But I suppose that is just it.

For anyone struggling, I am rooting for you. I am believing for you. x.

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