Mental Hardships

I’m going to start this post off with a question. Why are you so hard on yourself? Now, really stop and think about that question. Don’t just keep reading; everyone’s hard on themselves, I want you to really think about why.

I’ll tell you why I’m hard on myself. I am the first child to not disappoint my parents. I am the one who holds the most promise at not breaking their hearts. My dad -a druggie, alcoholic, and smoker- left the home at a young age and made it a goal to hurt my parents in any way (figuratively speaking) he possibly could. My uncle used to be that child; he was the perfect son, stayed around until he got married, model citizen, good job, loved his only niece, doted on her, and was more of a father to her than her own deadbeat dad. That is, until his “perfect” little wife became more than a little controlling. I was never her niece, I was always his niece. After a while, I stopped feeling his love, only his obligation to me because I’m family.

I, however, have done nothing. I have been the one who has worked hard to not be like my father. I refuse to marry in the current world we live in, so there’s no worry of marrying a controlling, manipulative human being-ish who ruins my relationship with my family. I’m working on being someone who will hold a good job, keep a relationship with my family no matter how much it drains me to deal with my mother on a daily basis. I am expected to be perfect. I deal with my mother’s wistful thinking that I will keep straight As and everyone will love me, when that is neither logical nor rational.

Do I know that I can’t possibly live up to her expectations? Yes. Do I have the ability to not feel like a failure because I can’t? I have no idea. Do I think I can do this? Not on my own. But I have a few good friends that help me cope, listen to me when I cry, deal with me turning into a turtle when I hurt. 

It’s so hard to think when all your mind is, is a dark, black, scary abyss. The most terrifying thing anyone has is their own mind. If I was to sit alone, in quiet and darkness, I would go insane with my own thoughts. Thoughts of pain, suffering, everything dark that you can think of, I have thought of. If I’m to be completely honest, everyone should be terrified if I ever did go crazy. I do love life and everything in mine, save for a few things, so I would never let that happen, but I’m afraid of what would happen if I didn’t fight every single day to stay the “sweet, innocent” young “woman.” (Quotation marks because I don’t feel as if I’m a mostly grown human being.) I feel as if I have the mind of a psychopath, but sometimes I feel as if I’m only a child. I’m so tired of fighting, but I will never give up because I’m afraid of the outcome.

I’m so sorry that took a really dark turn, but isn’t depression just darkness?