I used to want to help other people with mental illnesses to deal with their lot in life. I realize that I have to help myself because there are many self defeating habits I have and thought processes that keep me from being happy and healthy and limit me from living even a low grade normal life.
I know, it's boring and nothing new. To me though it's really opened my eyes to how little I really know myself. And that is a door I'm not sure I want unlocked anyway.
I hate myself. I hate that I'm human. I hate that I don't look the way I want to look. I hate that I have something nasty in me that I have to hide. I hate that I am not happy 95% of the time. I hate that I second guess myself all the time because when I let my guard down and don't second guess myself I almost always shoot myself in the foot than spend so much time degrading myself for making that mistake. I hate that I am not free from my past. I hate that I can't just take off and spontaneously go somewhere because the anxiety within me prevents me from not examining the situation beforehand and stopping myself from doing something new and exciting in case I find that my head might explode with fear and self loathing.
In my dreams I travel to foreign places and enjoy the land, the sights, the noises, the smells, the food. I explore places and events without impunity. In reality the worst punishment is already wrought on me internally. My brain flogs me continually. I get tired of the repetitiveness of the same words, the same messages, the same people and places. Mostly it is my point of view. I know there are people here that are wonderful and not scary if only I could present well. The anxiety I experience just walking out the door, the messages in my head, the bridle on my senses reduce my life to monotonous drudgery of existence. I rarely see the point in this harnessed experience. I can't even express the past and the pain so that I might even benefit from what I've gone through. At least the people I love could get something from this humiliating continuation.
I know, it's boring and nothing new. To me though it's really opened my eyes to how little I really know myself. And that is a door I'm not sure I want unlocked anyway.
I hate myself. I hate that I'm human. I hate that I don't look the way I want to look. I hate that I have something nasty in me that I have to hide. I hate that I am not happy 95% of the time. I hate that I second guess myself all the time because when I let my guard down and don't second guess myself I almost always shoot myself in the foot than spend so much time degrading myself for making that mistake. I hate that I am not free from my past. I hate that I can't just take off and spontaneously go somewhere because the anxiety within me prevents me from not examining the situation beforehand and stopping myself from doing something new and exciting in case I find that my head might explode with fear and self loathing.
In my dreams I travel to foreign places and enjoy the land, the sights, the noises, the smells, the food. I explore places and events without impunity. In reality the worst punishment is already wrought on me internally. My brain flogs me continually. I get tired of the repetitiveness of the same words, the same messages, the same people and places. Mostly it is my point of view. I know there are people here that are wonderful and not scary if only I could present well. The anxiety I experience just walking out the door, the messages in my head, the bridle on my senses reduce my life to monotonous drudgery of existence. I rarely see the point in this harnessed experience. I can't even express the past and the pain so that I might even benefit from what I've gone through. At least the people I love could get something from this humiliating continuation.
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