I’m so preoccupied in my own self doubting, self conscious thoughts that I am unable to write about anything.
Hundreds of millions of Americans and Canadians feel overwhelmed and stressed out everyday, we believe that our stress and our minor problems are crushing and numbing; Myself included. While I know people have it worse, I also know that people have it better.
I know I was a blessed kid, ‘santa’ always got me my wishes, in moderation of course, My parents were together, I had clothes and a home, and more love that surrounded me then I knew what to do with. I saw an appropriate amount of affection, but I wasn’t raised with men and/or women in and out of my parents bed’s. I knew what love was, I knew what happiness was, I knew what so many people don’t; and because of that I should feel beyond blessed and grateful for the life that I live.
But for some reason, unknown to even myself, I am not.
My inability to look pass the past; the time in my life that I wasn’t in the midst of depression, or an anxiety attack. I wasn’t this angry, this sad; this radical. I did not do things out of anger, or because I ‘couldn’t deal’. I did not know what a panic attack was, or how hard it is to look someone in the eyes because something about them, or the person before them, sends me into an anxiety attack. I am not rude, or unkind; I do not avoid eye contact, or small talk because I think I am better then anyone. I know I’m less then many people. I am 25 years old, and I am unable to be a productive part of the world. I feel like I have jumped into a fire, or a freezing cold lake, and I have to try to live through all the consequences of that one mistake. I still don’t know what mistake I made, if I am being punished for being dishonest and drinking without telling my parents, for having sex to young, or maybe all of this is just a test; something only god knows the answer to.
If this is a test, father, please show me a clear sign that this is teaching me, or leading me to something far better then the pain and suffering myself and my family have gone through.
I am, I have been for a while, clinically depressed. Following my fathers passing it resurfaced, not exactly in the way it has in the past, I am not suicidal, I do feel hopeless. This hopeless feeling is what cost me my job, I know this. I am in need of a change, a drastic change that will make me happy. That’s all I ever wanted, you know, happiness.
I couldn’t care less about material things, a huge house, or lots of money as long as I was happy.
Maybe this is just a chapter in my book, maybe this ‘closed door’ will open another one, one that will provide me with happiness. Maybe everything does happen for a reason.