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?
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