Sometimes I wonder if I’m bipolar. But I’m probably not.
And I always come over here when I’m feeling down. How about that? You effectively get to suffer through my random stream of consciousness bullshit because I’m too proud, too stubborn, and sometimes too poor to go to therapy.
Here I am again. The world turns. And the story I want to tell, well… it’s stalling. I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it right now. And I am under PRESSURE because the price of being the STRONG ONE is always having to be strong, even when you CAN’T be, even when you want to scream and be left ALONE and please, just for a little while, let me be weak and let me fall apart and don’t judge me for breaking.
And so it goes. Pain and sorrow one minute, and then I remember the habits of a lifetime. I have always had all the answers, and this is one of them: that resilience is actually just a matter of routine. It’s an act like any other. Pretending to be strong is just as easy as pretending to be weak. And after a while, you stop being able to tell the difference between the act and the real you.
Confidence, though… that’s not an act. And I’m losing it again.
All I have are words, and I’ve gotten pretty good with them over the years, but even they are an act. Because I don’t understand people. And the act is there to make-believe that I do, that I’m not an pretender on a stage no one else can see. And it’s starting to KILL me, when I don’t want to play the part, and I JUST CAN’T EXPLAIN that this is not who I am for fear of being seen as rude, and why can’t I just be LEFT ALONE with things that are simple, like computer code and art and the very, very few people who DON’T JUDGE ME –
STOP JUDGING ME I DON’T CARE IF YOU THINK I’M RUDE LEAVE ME ALONE I’M SICK OF THIS MASK
I’m cracking up 😥
Sign off Shay. Go to bed.