that feeling, after a therapy session, when for a couple hours, mental illness is just this vague little iceberg off in the distance. high heels and pop music and positive quotes and let’s just pretend nothing’s happened.
that feeling. slightly plastic. and you know it’s going to shatter, so just you wait for it. get black lipstick and waste your parents’ money and learn how to wear it, because maybe makeup can feel like normalcy. or something like that.
drown your thoughts in the flicker of the screen light for hours on end. because that’s easier than feeling anything at the moment.
today you saw the psychiatrist. you tried to pretend that mental illness was something pretty, or cute, because maybe that makes it easier to live with. and yeah, i admit it. i do that to myself. all the time, actually, to be honest.
and i know it seems like everything is going great on the outside. but when this is your life. when this monster is what you have to sleep beside… it just doesn’t feel that way, all right?
this isn’t a happy ending. i’m not okay. i’m not anywhere near okay. right now, it doesn’t even feel like i’m getting better.
i don’t know who i am anymore.
Of late, numbness and burying my feelings, in general, have been… on my mind. I don’t know–of late, I’ve just been feeling really tired. I can get through the day, I can do everything I expect of myself, even maybe exceed those expectations some days. But once I’m done that to-do list? I just want to sleep. Or read, or hang out with friends–anything but being alone in my head. I don’t even know what I’m so scared of. It’s kind of ridiculous. But of late, I’ve just been feeling… really tired, of all of this. Not in a suicidal kind of way. Just in that kind of way where you wish you could make time stop, and you could close your eyes, and fall asleep, and just kind of… disappear for a while. Does that make sense?