James Blunt’s, “You’re Beautiful” is playing whilst I write this if you’d be inclined to feel my overall vibe of this writing.
Y’know, writing anything within the topics in the title nowadays either feels like a paradox or just another self-righteous feat of a person exploring their own mental illness. I guess this is a story for those books because mental illness is scary due to the fact it’s your own body doing this to you, and other people cannot physically see your harrowing injuries that amass within. The feeling of loneliness and seclusion settles into your bones before you realize its made home.
Depression & anxiety, two monsters who date well when introduced to their host. Infection of these two hindrances bring the MENTAL symptoms: loneliness whom sympathizes with anxiety, funk (and not the good funk), and lurking murky thoughts that may consume you. Anxiety is a pickly little monster who adores to stoke you with the feeling of paralyzing fear; she enjoys depression’s loneliness and intrudes with fear. Among other things, mental illness is a nasty cluster that invades, and hosts itself within a person. It kills the use of to be a human, and it can fluctuate.
I always had this last thought in my head as I grew up, and I still, sometimes, do: “You’ll die at x age so just keep doing the struggle,” this has really been the main course of who I am, and it took me quite some time to finally come to this realization.
Living for me has always been about survival up until I become aware that I was a human being too. It’s interesting, in the since, because I graduated. Being able to do what I did whilst having depression as my constant companion, I was floored. Enamored. After that, I kinda blanked out for a year – explored the depth of what a human should be doing – things happen. Thinking back, it’s always been a struggle to stay afloat with just living. I mean living in the sense of motivational endurance, and forever, I thought laziness was my honest concern, yet where I am now, I should be understanding(?), in a way, because I was just a young sprout learning the way of life. Depression is your friend, they’re interwoven within your entire atom. Like a festering fissure, they’re lost deep within bones. Creaks of who you used to be sometimes are reminded when you’re admits a group of your loving friends and you’re body just feels weighed down. That’s depression.
Anxiety lives quietly within my soul. I’ll call her entity she because she was a flowing feeling that wound the silk threads of herself into the core of you, only to be woven into how your existence is… That’s anxiety for me. Anxiety is a mental whiplash. She’s subtle, yet quietly finished.