It wasn’t until recently did I come to terms with anxiety and negative feelings I experience in my life.
I am currently 19 years old, in my second year of university, have a stable relationship with my boyfriend of almost 3 years, have parents who love and support me in all my endeavors, and yet I live in a melancholic state of self reflection and over-analyzing.
If you were to ask me, more often than not I am lost in deep, racing thoughts and for some reason those thoughts are not exactly always “positive”. Since I could remember, everyone in my life has called me a pessimist, to which my instinctive rebuttal has always been “I am not a pessimist, I am a realist.” The people who label me so negatively are those closest to me such as my mother, father, and boyfriend. However I am not pointing that out to impose that they are putting me down, and in turn causing my negative state of mind, I am pointing out the fact that my “miserable” attitude has been a part of me for a long as I can remember, and I’ve just always thought it was normal.
When placed in social situations this is completely masked though, and my personality is as happy and buoyant as the next teenage girl. This always seems to be this case however, because why would I willing bring up the subjects that make me melancholic and gloomy? When in public situations I am as normal as the next person, and you’d never guess some of the thoughts that make a daily debut in my mind.
Here’s to put some of my thoughts, and thinking processes into perspective:
First thing in the morning my boyfriend kisses me goodbye and leaves for work. As he walks out the door there’s this fast-as-lightening drop in my stomach as the bitter realization he’s gone for the day and that I am alone in my apartment sets in. But I quickly brush it off and busy myself with getting ready to go to class.
I start to second guess everything I have prepared for class. Although my entire life I’ve gotten an average of 80% or higher as marks on projects, tests, and whatnot. I tell myself this, but it doesn’t shake the doubt that lies as a thick glaze over my perception. I go over my homework again and again, mentally making a list of everything I did wrong or could have done better. But I don’t fix anything. I sigh and look it over again, making sure I didn’t miss any other mistakes. If I find another mistake I add it to my mental list and still, do nothing about it. I try to make myself feel better by reasoning with myself, telling myself that the mistakes are fine. (Reflecting now, I basically have a mental dispute between two polar opinions, within myself). I take the transit to school and have more time to think. I think about life, I think about my life. I think about the universe, I think about how society is so forced and yet so vital. I get bitter over the fact that I don’t have a choice to truly live my life the way I would want to, without having an extremely hard time doing so. I think about how, because of the way we’ve evolved, it’s almost impossible to live like animals. I think about what it would be like to be completely driven by animal instincts. I think of how much of a paradox it is to ponder on the thought of no consciousness, when the only way I am able to do so is by consciously thinking about it. I think about death. I think about how I have no freaking clue what lies on the other side of this life, but I have some feeling that there is something. I think about my friend who succumbed to suicide. I talk to him in my head. I experience an uncomfortable frustration at the fact that I don’t understand that dark place his mind must have been, and the fact that I will never know. I think about suicide as a concept and the effect is has on people. I look at the strangers around me and consider each an every one of them. I make up a story for each one of them. None of them are positive. “He gets drunk, gets mean and then takes it too far some nights and beats her until she has bruises. But she stays because she’s pregnant but just hasn’t told him yet and she’s scared that she’ll have no way of supporting herself and the child.” Random things like that are a common thing for me to think of, and it perplexes me because honestly I’ve had the most sheltered and loving childhood growing up, and my parents did their best to shield me from the brutal truths of the world until I was old enough.
So looking back at that last paragraph, it is basically a confusing mash-up of sentences, hardly making any sense. But perhaps that’s exactly the way my mind works, and it’s a good window into the way I think.
Also, I’ve sort of lost my motivation to continue writing this (as I do with most things with depression), so unless I come back to it later, this is my story. Well, it’s more of a newspaper clipping, looking into my life. I only recently realized that the way I think isn’t exactly normal, and that I dwell on some things more than others, and on topics that most don’t consider. And honestly, sometimes I feel like I’m going a little bit crazy, but then I think that everyone has problems right? So who am I to complain.