For some people, things come easy. Not that they don’t work their butts off, but that working their butts off comes easy. For people with mental illnesses, things aren’t always that easy. Not at all. There’s things I want to work towards, but they seem like huge mountains to climb, even bigger than the sink full of dirty dishes mountain, and that one is giant.
People’s advice for this would be to break it down, one step at a time. My response to them? “Yeah, I’ll try that.” What I’m thinking? “Are you fucking kidding me?! You don’t think I’ve tried that? I don’t have the mental capability to break things down smaller, its all or nothing, it’s be perfect at the start or not at all.”
To be honest, maybe I’m holding myself back on purpose. By not making money from my blogging and by not having hundreds of readers, I’m able to stay as honest as possible, I’m able to stay in my comfort zone. I like it here, there’s no pressure to have certain posts done on certain days, there’s no plans. It’s just me and my words, it’s just me and my time. If I have time to do something, then I’ll do it. If I have a spur of the moment idea, it’s okay if it turns out to be shit and I don’t post it.
Sure, I’d like there to be structure. I’d like to have deadlines and a planner full of blog to dos, I’d love to make this my business. But, then maybe it won’t be enjoyable anymore. Maybe then it’d become work. I don’t want to ruin my writing by it becoming work. But, how the hell else am I going to earn my own money? I mean, it seems like the only thing I can actually do lately is to write. Even on my bad days, my pieces aren’t that bad.
Writing is what my soul loves to do. It comes as naturally to me as breathing. Sure, I’m not the best at it, but I like to think I’m pretty damn good. And I have a lot to say. I could look at my blog, and think about how few readers I have and say it’s not worth it. But deep down, I know my words reach people that need to hear them. There are people out there that can relate to even this post. A post that is simply me just bitching about the fact that anxiety and depression are holding me back.
I’m 22 years old. I don’t have a job, my grandparents support me fully, I don’t honestly believe in myself, and I spend most of my days at my apartment driving myself crazy. I go to bed at 7 or 8pm every damn night. I don’t hardly ever go out anymore, and honestly, I don’t have many friends anymore. I’ve got my boyfriend and his sister. No one else reaches out to me, no one else seems to miss that I’m gone. I haven’t heard from the majority of them since Thanksgiving. Damn, I need tacos now.
While my life may be at a stand-still at the moment, I hold on to the hope that there is in fact a future for me. Whether it be a family, a career, or a life of travel, I know things won’t stay like this for long. Right now may not be the time to make things happen for myself, I may need to wait a bit longer. One day, though, I will be where I’ve dreamt of being. Hopefully.