Do you ever just sit back and notice yourself?
Hear the way you talk, and notice the way you walk and the way your hair falls and the shape your hands make as they fly across keys and the gestures you make and the thoughts you have and the way you are?
Do you ever do that and hate every single thing you have to offer the world?
I do. And I know I’m not the only one.
It’s like being self aware to a fault. You’re suddenly so aware of yourself that nothing makes sense and you have no purpose. Every word, every thought, every action – pointless. It’s like this rabbit hole of senselessness that sucks you in when you least expect it and you can’t find your way out of things for a few panicked, heavy moments. Or hours. Or days.
I’m a walking paradox – in that I have a diagnosis that says one thing, and a brain that says another. To a fault I will find logic in everything. I must understand everything that happens around me, and not being able to understand sends me into an existential tail spin. BPD diagnostics suggest that I am not meant to be logical. I am assumed to be irrational and unstable in a variety of ways, and it is in this that diagnostics and reality peel away from each other in defiant opposition. A page that says one thing, a brain that says another. My desire for rationality and logic defies all rules of rationality and logic, resulting in an irrational outcome. Irrational self-analysis. Irrational self-hatred. Irrational self-doubt.
I have been working and continue to work towards something bigger than me. Every single day, I work to free myself from the constraints of my own paradoxical brain so that I can find peace within myself and within the world. Every single day I ask myself, how can I be better today? I try my best to allow myself to be the person I want to be. Some days, I don’t improve, though I don’t go backwards. Not ever. Recovery and wellness is not a straight trajectory but I refuse to see the days where I cry and cry and can’t go anywhere or do anything due to a burst of inwardly violent anxiety as a step backwards. They don’t prevent me waking the next day, or the day after, and asking myself how can I be better today?
Recovery and wellness is not a straight trajectory but I refuse to see the days where I cry and cry and can’t go anywhere or do anything due to a burst of inwardly violent anxiety as a step backwards.
I guess there’s a lot that goes on under the surface of every single person. Nobody knows what goes on inside someone else’s head. Nobody knows what gets another person through a day. I tell myself – and some others – you got this on a regular basis
so much so that it has become a motto because I truly believe that I do, I got this, I’ve got everything I put my hand to in the least arrogant or obnoxious sense of the term; failure does not mean failure. Failure does not mean anything other than a chance to alter the choices I’ve made before and to try again.
It’s the days that the doubt sinks in that things fall apart. I’m never going backwards, but I am stuck in a time loop where I don’t feel I can ever be better. I don’t feel I can ever improve myself and I don’t feel I will ever make it anywhere but this limbo I end up suspended in. I know on whatever level vies for logic that this cannot and will not last, but the fear that it will surpass my tolerance for worthlessness is stronger than anything else. That creeping doubt, while it won’t result in my demise, is the one thing standing between me and my efforts to be content with myself. The only thing stopping me is me. What do you do with that? How do you do anything with it? How can it be made better?
Do you ever experience that creeping doubt? What are ways of dealing with it?