The Hardest Part #30dayblogwritingchallenge Day 8

The excerpt probably misled you. because that is what this was meant to be.


But I apologise for what it has become.

I am a person so profoundly dissatisfied that I’m just mostly very pessimistic , very irritating and very confused .

And today in the beautiful , anxiety filled nauseating , suffocating day that I had, it was tougher than usual to recall the better things that have happened to me, the more satisfying moments of my life. not just because today was a bad day, but because most days are. and when I look back at the good times , all I can think of is how rarely they occur and how most of them will never occur again.

Like the last time a person told me I was perfect despite my imperfections .

Like the last time I didn’t think I would suffocate in a well aired room .

Like the last time I was with my family and we weren’t fighting .

Like the last time I rode my horse.

Like the last time I was with my dog.

Like the last time I saw my nephew .

Like the last time I was on stage with  my departed school principal when she pinned my prefect’s badge on my lapel and spoke about leadership and responsibilities .

Like the last time I was on a podium speaking about democracy to a crowd of children who gave me thunderous applause .

Like the last time I believed in my self and didn’t keep trying to get myself to believe in my abilities because the voices in my head weren’t so loud.

Like the last time I was near the sea I  and I breathed in the salty air and let the waves wash over me.

Like the last time I took my happiness for granted.

I am not an unhappy person. I’m not . I’m just the sort of person who has the highest levels of enthusiasm for things but then something happens to me.

I dont know  what that thing is or what maoes it come.

Sometimes I think I’m crazy and I just blow things out of proportion because that’s what writers do and I’m just telling myself a horror story because my normal is boring.

It makes me afraid.

So afraid.

And I can see how much I lack and how much I need and I hate that I can’t ever be enough because I can barely even breathe and I know how dramatic this sounds but there is just something so wrong with me that I am good with words , I really am, but when I go to my therapist tomorrow and she asks me what happens I will summarise and forget what mattered most and when she asks me how I feel (it’s such and therapy question) I’ll be speechless because I feel like there is a sinking feeling in my stomach like I want to puke but I only retch. I feel like my willpower is crumbling and that there’s a bundle of worms crawling on my head and that  I am overreacting but I have no clue what I  am overreacting to . all I know is that suddenly I don’t feel like walking anymore . suddenly my skin feels like I have an itch I need to scratch.

I lie down and I can’t sleep.

I can’t even breathe without feeling the worms all over me and wanting to cut open my skull  to pour cool water on it or to sit on a bed of cactus to distract myself from the pictures flashing in my brain .

You probably haven’t read death of a salesman , but I cannot help but feel so much like willy loman that I hate myself for it. like a phony trying to sell the world a phony bright dream , in denial about everything, hallucinating away reality.

When I see my ceiling fan sometimes I see a windmill .

And sometimes I see the place from where my batch mate hung herself.

I am afraid to die. but I also know how I barely make myself live on days like these.

I told you about the last times I felt so satisfied but I couldn’t even recreate those moments in my head without thinking how I didn’t deserve any of it .

Even then I imagine how much more I simply long for and how desperately I want something just something that bridges the gap  the things I almost am .

I wish I wasn’t so dissatisfied with everything sometimes. I’ve got it better than so many people. but I had it better than this once and I can barely keep myself sane when I should actually be focused and actually be studying and actually be building a future but here I am wasting my time , wasting my life, wasting my potential, wasting my parents money and wasting so much space and it’s just making me shrink a little each moment .

You know when I go to therapy , sometimes I feel like I’m just averse to becoming better .

I don’t even look like what I’ve drawn here

The last time I felt like this , everything just got ruined . because I suck at getting better. and I don’t even know how everything got so bad.



4 thoughts on “The Hardest Part #30dayblogwritingchallenge Day 8

  1. weavingwounds says:

    this is so vivid and touching that i, for a moment was literally going to itch
    i can’t help but point out how exquisitely you penned even the worms in your head (which perhaps are just caterpillars waiting to turn into butterflies) and also how the tiny space you take up is so beautiful and even though it may be shrinking, till you have mass, take up some(even if it’s negligible) space and can be perceived by senses(or nonsenses)- you ‘matter’ *required a bad pun alert maybe*
    and at the risk of sounding patronizing i’ll add something as overused and cliched as true…, you are enough
    whether or not for others- i’ll leave you to decide, but for yourself? absolutely.
    write yourself a love letter some day ❤

    Liked by 1 person

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