Betrayal sucks. Hurt sucks. Drama sucks. The unknown sucks. It all sucks. There’s at least a hundred reasons, I’m sure, for why that is.
People don’t like being hurt, and a lot of the time, people that hurt are the first to hurt others. Why this is, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because they want other people to know what they feel like. Maybe it’s because they don’t know any different. Maybe it’s because they were taught that’s how you show your love for people. Maybe they don’t think they deserve anything more than the hurt that they feel when they hurt others. Or, maybe they don’t care. They are all possible.
The thing with my brain is that not only do I get hurt by others because I think so deeply, but I also hurt myself. I do it by constantly repeating to myself in a day that I’m fat - that I’m stupid or that I don’t know what I’m doing.
Truly, maybe I don’t know what I’m doing and maybe I made mistakes that day. Maybe I’m not flawless.
It’s funny because 90 percent of me knows that these things aren’t true. I know I’m beautiful on the inside and out. I know that flawlessness doesn’t exist. I know I’m intelligent and creative and loving and caring. I know that I learn fast and that not knowing everything all the time is a part of life- that learning is part of growing and that growing is kind of beautiful.
90 percent of me knows that to be true. No hesitation. But ten percent of me thinks all of the worst things. Why does that 10 percent seem to win?
Well, it’s because that measly ten percent is relentless. It is repetitive. It is competitive. It knows that if it keeps telling me the same things- that I’m not good enough and that I’m worthless, that I’ll start to believe it.
I don’t know if you reading this have this same issue. Maybe you’ve never experienced this. But, this is what someone with depression and anxiety feels like on a daily basis.
They are at war with themselves. There’s a constant battle in their own mind. It’s gnawing. It’s an internal grinding of your soul. The pieces of you just grind together like a bunch of gears in a clock that don’t seem to fit.
My heart often feels like it’s being crushed by my own brains' misconceptions of what life should be like. It’s an internal battle that I can’t always control- one that anyone would want to just get away from in whatever way that they could.
That’s why people become addicted to substances or sex or porn or sleeping all the time or eating all the time. There’s a void that they want to be filled. There’s a pain and aching that they need to escape. There’s an abrupt anger and an uncomfortable feeling of not knowing and knowing all to much in the same breath that people need to try to distract themselves from. What better way to silence the voices inside your mind than to destroy them? Unfortunately, most of the time people destroy themselves in the process of trying to silence those loud and relentless voices.
The catch of that too to keep in mind that no matter how much you try and escape, the more you are reminded every time they come back that you might never escape it. That’s the brutal truth of mental illness.
It exists beyond all intervention.
Now, I’m not trying to destroy your hope with this. I am trying to help people understand that mental illness is not a choice. That’s an insulting misconception. People wouldn’t choose this life- they wouldn’t choose this feeling. Because it’s not one that anyone who understands how it feels would wish on anyone else- we would not even ask you to walk in our shoes.
I don’t know if everyone with these issues feels the way I do, but I will say that I wear these shoes proudly.
I wear the tears in the souls with grace.
I step on rocks and glass with these shoes.
I trip on the laces and tie them up the best I can.
I wear them proudly because they make me who I am.
I don’t ask that you walk in them.
I ask that you admire me for the strength that I have to walk in them myself.
I ask that you recognize that they are different than yours.
I ask you to understand that the shoes I wear are not flawed.
They were not manufactured wrong.
They are not worthless.
They are unique.
They are different.
They are a part of me but they do not define me. They do not create me.
They do not decide my future.
They are simply the shoes that I gracefully, sometimes tragically, walk in.
I am proud of the holes and the mud.
They remind me of where I have been, how far I have come, and where I will go from here.
Respect me for my torn and tattered feet because they show you that I cannot be broken by the hardships I have battled through.
Respect my bruised yet soulful laugh.
Respect my imperfect worldview.
Respect it like I respect your perfectly shined stilettoes.
We don't always choose what we are given to wear in this life.
But we can choose how we look at people who dress differently than us.
Thanks for reading.
My name is Morgan and I have a passion for writing, just as I have a passion for supporting those that suffer from various mental health concerns. I fully believe that each day is brand new and we can do with it as we wish. Mental illness is crippling, and you may lose the battle but that does not mean that you will lose the war. Keep fighting and know that you are not, and never will be, alone.