Sometimes I wish I could run away from my life. I’d pack a suitcase, head to the airport, and buy a one-way ticket to anywhere but here.
I’m tired of living in my world. I’m tired of feeling this way.
Most days, I wake up and a gray cloud hovers over me. It drenches me with sadness, pain, fear, loss and anger; then it sends thunderstorms of doubt. Am I strong? Am I happy? Am I good enough? Am I good? Did I make mistakes? Did I learn from them? Did I hurt people? Will I find my way? Will I be successful? Will I fall in love?
My anxiety has made me silently question everything. When people ask me, “What are you anxious about?” the only response I have is “nothing.”
There’s no way of explaining that my heart races uncontrollably to catch up to my racing thoughts. There’s no way of explaining that I feel things too intensely. There’s no way of explaining that it’s out of my control. There’s no way of explaining that I’ve basically lived my entire life as an imposter who has never felt understood.
I’m tired of holding onto this feeling, but I don’t even know how to let it go. I’m tired of dealing with my anxiety, but I don’t even know how to fix it.
I keep telling myself that I live a good life; I’m not allowed to feel this way. But then I realize that I’ve been measuring ‘good’ by materialistic things, and that is not what living a good life is all about.
It’s about having a good attitude, and I try my best to have that. I really do. I extract positive energy by throwing myself into as many social functions as I can, and I hide my brokenness by looking as carefree as I can. Then I go home, sit alone, and feel sad again. The good attitude goes away and my perception of my good life leaves with it.
So every time I tell myself I want to pack a suitcase and run away, I realize that I’ve already spent my whole life running. I’ve been running away from this feeling.