Learning to Accept Myself With Mental Illness

I am currently sitting in my car on the verge of either crying or hyperventilating. I’m not really sure.

I’m trying to continue fighting my demons by doing the things I normally enjoy, but they seem to make me feel empty lately.

I feel like I’m too much. Other people tell me I’m too much. So I try to be less. To be more manageable. To be less emotional. I work hard to not be toxic, but sometimes I fail miserably. I think that’s the worst part — reminding myself that being toxic is wrong. I try to manage all of this, but sometimes it seems like the emotions seep through like water on a napkin, leaving the napkin ruined and everything damp.

I don’t know why I was born this way. Sometimes I wonder why the universe deemed it necessary to put so much feeling into my brain, like a too-large splash of vanilla in cookie dough.

But like Jenny Lawson, author of “Furiously Happy,” says:

“I am here.

You are here.”

I am an imperfect being with an ability to feel so much that I’m sitting here again, frustrated with myself for letting these moments get to me. But I also have great depths of emotional intelligence and empathy. My deep breadth of feeling gives me the capacity to see life differently. It gives me the capacity to embrace creative outlets like writing, drawing and photography. Also, I’m a damn good baker.

I don’t like fighting these demons. I don’t like depression. But depression is part of me. Without my breadth of feeling, I might not have depression, and I also might not be me.

That’s what I wanted to say here today. There are many different emotional, chemical, genetic, physiological, psychological, historical and environmental factors that make you different, special and unique. Some of those factors are not glamorous, pretty, or fun — but they are part of you.

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