Why is it so hard to try and talk about what bothers me and so easy to try and soothe the needs of others? Am I really that low on my own pecking order? Is my self worth derived only from what I can provide for another, is my struggle really not that important to me? Is it my just reward for not being good enough? All these questions echo in my mind when I am trying to jot down what I want to share.
Is it the fear of being rejected, not being taken serious, or bluntly not being believed like it has happened so often in the past? Panic sometimes feels like a noose around my neck ever tightening. I feel like I am stifling my own voice, my own opinions, my own needs; And for what exactly?
I guess I just still cannot come to terms with me not being able to fix the world around me, that I am not able to take all the pain away, onto myself and soldier on like I feel I should. And the inner critics I have do not even take turns anymore, but blurt out a waterfall of insults and regrets onto my cognition all the time and even if I try to not pay any attention to them, they get worse and worse, to the point it gives me headaches.
What am I trying to convey here... do I really lose the plot that quickly? I guess I am just not so adept with words as I figured I am, especially when it comes to me trying to be open, honest in looking for help. I doubt this will even ever see the light of day, I doubt I'll hit 'post' on this.
#Depression #AskForHelp #perfectionism #Anxiety #CheckInWithMe #irrational