Everyone always tells me, “You are in control of your destiny.” Or “You are in charge of your own happiness.” If I could control the way that my mind worked, that’d be f**king great. If I could stop the anxiety, depression, C-PTSD, and the onslaught of other mental illnesses, I would do it in a heartbeat. “There are healthy ways to cope.” Well, I haven’t found any yet. Other than writing, but that always makes me feel empty in the end. Like I’d bled myself out and just have to lay there in it.
Anyways, I just hate when people tell me stuff like that. It’s definitely not encouraging because if I’ve been “in control” this whole time, Jesus take the goddamn wheel. Somebody, please. Other than that I think it’s a load of bull. There are so many unique circumstances that can affect the way that we function. I try to be in control of my life, but I don’t think I’m doing the greatest job. I could be doing more, trying harder, going the extra mile. Yet I feel like I’ve accomplished nothing. Or at least, nothing to write home about.
A friend told me it’s enough that I’m alive. I disagree. I should be alive and grateful for it. And proving everyday in some shape or form that I am. Instead, I’m laying in bed procrastinating about taking the trash out and writing this dumb book that nobody’s going to ever read.
Maybe someone will read it after I’m gone. If that’s the case, whoever it is will finally understand. Hopefully.
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