Despite what you may think… it really is hard to write.
This blog is not a happy-go-lucky blog for me. I have plenty of those. I choose to mask off my deep unhappiness and show only the bright side. Because i’m afraid that i’m not worth it in the long run. People like me better when I am happy. Hell, I even like me better when i’m happy. Most cannot deal with me unhappy. It’s probably because my emotions are so intense that I scare people away. Or do I automatically assume they can’t handle it and I push them away? The dark emotion permeates from my skin. Sometimes I feel like a poisonous frog. Poisonous to the touch.
So when I come here to write, I really have to be in that introspective dark place. Even if I am on the horizon of it. Because I don’t feel like turning this blog into a happy and positive place to share my thoughts. I want this blog to be the most honest thing about me.
Because the truth is, I am miserable in my own skin right now. And… I’m the only one who can change it.
I have my children and my husband. I am thankful for them but I am not the person they deserve. I have my business that I just started during the winter months and I have no time to do it justice so therefore it is slow-going. My brain is scattered in a million different pieces. On a good day, I can take those pieces and make sense out of things. On a bad day… good luck trying to get me to come up with something coherent.
I hate my weight and so I hate myself. I really loathe who I am some days. The saddest thing in the world is when you loathe yourself. When you stop looking at yourself in the mirror because you are depressed by what you see. Because you think that if you were of a normal weight then you would be pretty and intelligent and more worth listening to.
So that’s where i’m at right now. This week. This moment. I feel like i’m going to drown in my own depression. I know that I need to get back on the meds but I feel ashamed. And yet, as I say this, things are falling down around me.
So I need to make something positive happen. I’m just not sure where to begin. Because this thing called “my life” feels like 3 tons of steel on my shoulders and my neck is in unhappy knots of pain.