I’ve been awake at night and asleep during the day.
My eyes dried with the stale realization that I don’t matter.
My voice is low with no echo and no significance. Fingers pointing at me because I’m the dramatic one.
My motivation has wasted from its high expectation.
I fall flat on my face with this realization.
I feel broken, shattering into a million pieces, so I try to grab onto the nearest person to me, but they look at me confused…uncaring…whats wrong with you?
I scream but no sounds comes out. I’m sitting alone. I’m holding my knees to my chest.
I feel pain.
I see the sun come up.
And still I can’t see who I’m supposed to become.
My life has no meaning.
I write it down so I can see it…
You are a life worth living.
You are a life worth living.
And while I wipe the pieces of my broken self and realize it’s just shedding ashes from the volcano that just erupted inside me, I get up.
Maybe, just maybe I will begin to see that my life is necessary.
I’ve never felt so proud of myself ever before.
The excitement to create or make something and call it mine.
To give myself credit is to create power in myself.
I feel my purpose in this. This is my healing and my strength.
My self-worth is my motivation. And as I become more and more engulfed in my self-journey, I can feel joy like no other.
A joy that is great and more overwhelming then I could imagine.
This. Is. Me.
The way I can imagine something and give it life. The way I can create using words. A story made into art.
This is sparklywartanks.
Sparklywartanks is the birth of my identity. The creation of the lion in my dream.
I will work until I build what my vision has crafted.
The hardest part of my life gave birth to my purpose so I thank the struggle for making the diamond.
My motivation has never been this intense.
It’s time to create something. Something that reflects what I see in my mind because it’s beautiful.
Before I developed anxiety, I would push myself to my limit. My perfectionism didn’t allow me to do anything but my best, and because of that I never looked at myself or my health before making decisions. In my days after college living with anxiety, making decisions about everything has to be thought out with my health first changing my approach on life entirely.
I’ve been in the most uncomfortable situations because I have to explain to people that I can’t. I’ve never known myself to not do something because of my mental health, but the past 2 years have been both humiliating and embarrassing. I have to measure stress levels in environmens, decide what’s best for me based on whether I would get overwhelmed or not and it’s not been easy what’s so ever.
I’ve learned, however, that because of my anxiety I’m the most important person in my life. If I want to heal, I have to put myself first no matter who judges me and thinks that I’m weak, overexagerating, or believes what I’m going through is not real. Although I’ve cried having this realization many times in the past year, I can say that I refuse to have another panic attack another day in my life. I will not backtrack my healing to make money or satisfy anyone’s inability to see the realness in my struggle.
I’m my first priority and I will find peace in my mental chaos. I will surround myself with things that are good and not allow anyone to tell me that I’m crazy.
I love myself and will continue with my healing in ways that I know best. The only person who can tell me how to heal me is me. I will heal by understanding and knowing myself.
My healing will progress by me having a voice about my well-being.
Sometimes I wonder if something is wrong with me. How is it that I can love deeply like this? I think of the ways that can make someone else smile. I spend hours looking for something or thinking up ideas on ways I can express my love. Why? Is it that serious? But then I feel bad because sometimes I don’t get the magnitude of love back that I’m giving so I break down. I feel betrayed. Why do I love like this? Even when I can’t afford to love like I do, I’ll go broke drowning in my giving.
I wish I can give the world when I can’t. I’m working too hard to get the love I’m letting out. I don’t want to look crazy for being creative with my love so I feel like I’m retreating to a dark place in my self-esteem. I’m afraid of being hurt and embarrassed for doing too much.
I just want love too.
As I learn to explain what anxiety is to others, I have to first validate what it is in my head and love myself through it. Anxiety is something I go through everyday and by understanding where it came from, I can treat it and take steps in my healing process.
I remember the time I was struck with insecurities about who I am.
How I couldn’t explain what I want to do, or who I want to be.
I remember being stuck…
Putting myself down…
After I was done doing a bad job at explaining my interests, I then immediately thought, wow, that’s stupid. What you want is not a thing.
You won’t get anywhere with that. Who does that? You’ve done nothing for yourself to get the unimaginable dream you want to come true.
And as I began to crush my dreams next to tangible accomplishments of the ones around me, I began to shrink. Shrink so small that I couldn’t see myself anymore. I saw myself in the muck and oil of my current state. I began to grab my aching back and bruised arms, rub the pain from my wrist, and throw up blood from the anxiety and the depression.
Then I thought, a hope so big brings people bed ridden for dead back to life. A hope that opens closed eyes and ears. A hope of power that flows and pumps blood to my heart every time. The one time I feel a touch of happiness is when I create something.
While my suffering heart feels myself floating and dispersing into the sea of forgotten faces of capitalistic tendencies, I remember, my dreams is what brought me back to life after my soul left my body..and into an oblivion I went…drowning in fear and regret, I thought I was nothing, but my dreams made me feel something. While my body and soul unite again it’s because of my pencil and my pen.
I remember why my heart started to beat and the oxygen came back into my lungs.
I created something.
Thats what I do.
I’m a motivator for life.
Living is my motto.
I remember I was struck with insecurities about who I am, then I thought one more time…I create to give back the life of those whos bodies have left their souls.
I came to give back hope
Its been a difficult year already. I’m writing to let out and release because otherwise I don’t know what else to do. I’m in a point in my life where I don’t know where to go or who to talk to. I don’t want to stay where I am but I’m stuck in a cross road and even more stuck mentally. I’m physically exhausted and mentally going partially insane (I feel like). My anxiety is telling me lies but still tears fall down my face because I am loved and people do care, right?
I feel my purpose is lost in a financial prison and my degree is just a burnt paper worth nothing. What do I do? Where do I go? Thoughts of worthlessness in creeping back in and it makes my chest hurt. Holding back cries and wanting to scream is where I am. I only wish things will get better. Hopefully they will.
I have to take care of myself thats one thing I have to keep in mind all the time. I learned a week ago that people only care about their money and their business so jobs are just temporary till you get something better suited for you. Fast food isn’t a healthy environment and I need to move on, but to what?
My procrastination is only a product of my fear, a deeply rooted fear. I’m scared of failure and I’m scared of rejection. I’m scared of change and I’m scared of stress. I’m scared of my anxiety and I’m scared of getting depressed. I just want to be okay for once, for an extended period of time. I’m tired. I’m tired of worrying all the time about everything.
Please life bring something good for me.
This is a letter from the one that kills herself trying to be the best because shes always been in the shadows.
The second best.
The girl whos been rejected.
The girl who developed anxiety because she overcompensates and overdoes it.
The one who was so tedious in her actions that she gets nervous when shes not perfect.
The one who got up extra early to be on time but all she gained from that was loss of sleep.
The one who stood up all night studying and skipped breakfast.
The one who raised her hand every class.
The one who was the weakest link.
The one who couldn’t go to graduate school.
The one whos mental illnesses crippled her to mental paralysis. Dark. In a daze. She just wanted to be...the best.
The best is an illusion. The best is fake. The best is a lie. No one is the best. Everyone has talents. Everyone is really good at some things, and not so good in others. You have something about you thats great. That doesn’t make you better, or the best, it makes you who you are.
Get rid of the notion that you need to be the best. The best is a disease. Take your time. Go slow. Find yourself. You’ll then realize the best is already in you.