My Mind and Me
My mind and me, we don’t get along sometimes.
But I think if you know anything at all about me, you already know that.
I’ve never hesitated to share the most intimate corners of my soul, the things that make me cry, the things that make me bleed. I’ve always found such power in vulnerability, a certain strength in baring your scars for the world to see. I think that being brutally honest is a quality that has unfortunately gone extinct in this digital world. Nothing is real anymore. Not even the faces we see around us.
As I’ve navigated life in my mid-twenties, a lot of things have come to light. Sort of like those white tattoos that you can only see in the darkness. Things I never imagined I’d have to deal with have become the battles I fight every single day. Addiction. Depression. Anxiety. Self doubt. Abusive relationships. Trauma. Grief. There are days when getting out of bed seems like the most insurmountable task. There are days when I really, truly feel like everything is going to be okay. There are days when I think a drink really would make me feel better. And there are days when I know that it wouldn’t. I know I’m not alone, I know we all fight battles in our minds every minute of every day. There’s so much warfare going on up there, I’m sometimes surprised that we manage to keep going every day. We spend most of our lives inside our own heads. Most of the time, it’s not a very nice place to be.
I’m constantly trying to fight something that my eyes can’t see.
I’ve fought invisible battles for most of my life. I was raised in an environment where I was held to an impossible standard, to which I never measured up. I live life now, at 25 years old, with the core belief that I will never be good enough for anyone or anything. I was passed the genetic predisposition of addiction and depression, both of which I’ve fallen victim to. I’ve been told I’m too hard to love, too difficult to be friends with, too much, not enough, a lost cause. Twice in my life I felt like there was absolutely no way I could go on living another day, and tried to cut it short. When I look back now, I realize that some of these battles should’ve killed me. But they didn’t.
People have told me on more than one occasion that I need to be more private. That I don’t need to share every innermost struggle with the world. People have also told me that my story of my struggles has helped them fight their own.
In a world where everything is so calculated, so perfectly cultivated and manicured, filtered and edited, I know that my strength lies in being real. Raw. Unfiltered. Unapologetically myself. I know that being open about the things I go through makes people feel less alone, because the stories of others were once my survival guide. I know that my struggle is my superpower. If I can use the things I’ve gone through to help save the life of just one person, then the battle was worth it.
If I pull back the curtain then maybe someone who’s hurting will be a little more certain they’re not the only ones lost.
