I woke up today and everything’s fine. I’m eating my breakfast - oats and muesli with cinnamon and a chopped banana, drizzled with honey and yogurt - and everything is back to normal again. I have to stop doing that. Because of my recent apathy, it seems that any emotions that I may have and be suppressing tend to explode at inconvenient times. I guess my body needs a way to release all that crazy. I’m still pissed though. I keep smiling and I keep trying but the truth is that I don’t want anything to do with any of them. I miss my solitude. Only duty propels me now.
It’s been a long time since I’ve blogged and I guess part of it was that I was too busy to write but the other part was probably that I was too focused on not thinking about it. “Just don’t think about.” That’s been my motto for the last five months. I’ve been a lot more stable this year because of that and I guess - to be honest - it has its ups and downs… but, recently, I’ve been seeing more of a down-side than an up-side.
The honest truth is that I’m scared, if not terrified, of failure. It stems from my past - a childhood spent honing my own expectations, raising the bar, feeding my pride. Before I knew it, I had stopped trying and stopped wanting. I had resigned myself to a life of discontent. I hate investing in anything for this very reason - my future, my present, myself. I don’t trust myself to succeed. It just isn’t worth it. Most of the time, I suppress these thoughts; I cling tight to my motto - “just don’t think about it”. That’s the only way I can function now. Once my mind begins to churn over all the things that I need to do, the expectations I need to live up to, the panic rises in me and threatens to swallow me whole. The smallest things begin to seem impossible, unthinkable. I can’t do anything right. I’m never good enough.
I miss you. I call out to you. But all I hear is silence, empty and cold.
Sometimes I think to myself that there’s no point in anything if I don’t hate myself.