I have this feeling often. This feeling that I desperately NEED to be doing things but have absolutely no motivation or energy to do them. I plan things out in my head extensively. What I’m going to do, how I’m going to do it, when I’m going to start, on and on and on. Then what happens? I sit. Or I sleep. Or I lay on the bathroom floor hoping I can move again soon.
There’s this extremely dull saying amongst my age group, “the struggle is real”. I loathe this saying but as I fight every day that is what keeps popping into my head. Every single person struggles in one way or another. Struggles are something we all deal with and I think it’s partially beautiful that we can all be struggling in our own personal ways.
So my question lately has been, how do I tell people reading my blog what is going on with me? How do I adequately put into words what’s happening in my head and in my body? How do I help people like me know they aren’t alone? It’s almost an insurmountable task, but I’m going to try today.
I’ve been wanting to do this particular blog for weeks now. I have been putting it off because it’s scary for me to be open despite being open in the past. Tomorrow I turn 25. Most people just roll their eyes and say, “shut up Faith, it’s not a big deal.” For me it is. I have attempted to take my own life at least 3 times since I turned 21. In my mind, I was never going to make it this long. I was never going to be happy, get married, have my own family, a house, that wasn’t a reality for me. Now that I have all of that and I’m still here it leaves me with this empty feeling inside. My plan was to not even be here this long.
It’s really hard to talk about, let alone write about. I keep re-reading and re-working it all, trying to make it make sense and get across what I want to say. It’s even harder because there’s not much inside to get out at this point. I feel very empty. I have a degree I don’t use, tons of debt, a part-time job because I’m not able to keep a “real” job. It all just feels like a giant mess. I feel inadequate, like a failure. I feel guilty for not being better. Sometimes I wonder if part of my failures are simply because in the back of my mind it didn’t matter because I was leaving this world anyway. It’s scary. I often struggle to tell what’s real and what’s not.
One thing I know is real is that I am turning 25 and I’m still here. I plan to still be here for a long time because of the people who need me to stay. One day I truly hope that I want to stay for myself. Until then, I’m going to keep fighting. Keep promoting mental health and suicide prevention. Keep embroidering. Keep drinking Turkey Hill iced tea even though I know it gives me kidney stones. I’m going to keep making “that’s what she said” jokes. I’m going to continue to instigate my husband to the point of him sitting on me so I stop poking his armpits. I’m not going to wear pants unless I have to. I’m going to keep wanting a baby even though it might turn out like me. I’m going to keep praying and believing in God and Jesus even though sometimes I feel way too much and other times I feel nothing at all. I’m going to keep being scared of clowns. I’m going to watch stupid teenage dramas where Archie is in an underground juvie fight club and it makes zero sense. I’m going to continue to thoroughly enjoy animals and babies. I will be here to burp as loudly as I can and make Ben jealous of my talent. I will be here to watch my nephew learn the trumpet even if it means hearing hot cross buns 100 times. I will be here to see my nieces master the art of rolling their eyes at me. I’ll be here to hold Loki’s paw. I’ll be here to let Daisy do basically whatever she wants because, who are we kidding, this is totally her house, not ours. I’ll be here for Ben even though he doesn’t really need me because he is an emotional and mental fortress. I will be here to see 25, I’m not going to say I’m at peace with it, but I’ll be here.