Sunday, January 8, 2017

These words are all I have


Not gonna lie, kind of forgot about this blog, and I'm sure nobody reads it anymore, so I guess for now I can use it as my own outlet. 

As I sit here, 1519 miles from the apartment I was calling home this time last year, in a bed in a room surrounded by all of my possessions, even though on the outside I look and may seem so normal, nothing feels like it should here. Everything is different, and everything hurts. Day to day, I survive. I get by. I get up. I go to work. I do my work. I come home. Rinse and repeat. My brain is a cloud of fog. I am alone in a city in which I knew not a single soul before moving. Everything in my life that meant anything to me prior to the past 6 months is on the opposite side of the country. And I could not be more scared. 

I am scared I'll never find my calling, my dream job. Scared I'll never find my home. I'm scared that when the man I'm supposed to spend my life with comes (or has already come and gone) I won't know. I'm scared I'll constantly be comparing my imperfect life to the perfect one in my head for what my future holds. I'm scared this disease will never leave me alone to be normal. 

That's just the tip of the iceberg. Here comes the anxiety that lies in wait for the depression to wear me down. Battle after battle, I am bloody and battered and tired. That is when the anxiety preys on the weak shell of a person the depression has left behind. They work as a team, the depression sets in soft and slow, and the anxiety swoops in at the end to quickly finish the job.