There’s an art to losing yourself: so easily done, and yet so difficult, all at once. There’s something so natural about it, I suppose, if it’s what you need, and something so unnatural all at once, like the mental equivalent of floating, like a feather, but going nowhere. I’m finding it impossible to sum up my feelings these days, at least in anything less than the entirety of this blog post. The question: ‘how are you?’ is almost like an instruction to my mind, triggering my mouth to open and the word ‘good’ to escape, uncontrolled.
The anxiety that I’ve worked so incredibly hard to defeat for months on end now has pushed its way back inside my head, filling it with thought after thought of worry, concern and fear. Pressure and deadlines from school seem more like potential death penalties in my over-anxious mind: if that essay isn’t done, L, it will be the end of the world, and the end of your life. If that maths homework isn’t 100% perfectly correct, L, you will be punished by your teacher.
You get the idea. Now, imagine that in your mind, every waking hour of every day, from the moment you open your eyes in the morning to the second you finally manage to block out those voices late at night, well into the early hours, when you can snatch just a few hours of rest before the vicious cycle restarts with more desperation than ever. Imagine thinking that every car which drives past you on your 5-10 minute walk to the bus stop is drven by a murderer, who wants to kill you, or abduct you, or worse. Imagine that at home, every opening sentence of a conversation involving you is a threat, because you’re wondering what it is they’re trying to get out of you, what it is they want to know.
And that’s just the half of it…
Everyone around me is breaking: I guess that’s just what teenage years bring – such delights. I want to help – hell, there’s nothing more I want to do than help, and tell them all that everything is going to be OK, and that they’ve always got me. But when I’m the one who’s breaking apart too, into hundreds of tiny little fragments, how am I meant to put that to someone with their own problems, their own issues? How, exactly, do I go: ‘hey, you know you’re telling me about your disasterous love life and increasing anxiety? Listen to my problems…’. I can’t do that; it’s not fair.
So instead, I lose myself in their problems, to remove myself – the one constant in all this – from my own landscape of issues. Whichever eay I go, however, there is sadness, and misery, and loneliness. And I can’t escape from it.
I haven’t blogged in almost two weeks, and I new that anything I wrote during my time of absence would either be look-at-me-everything’s-perfect-if-you-stick-to-looking-on-the-surface type material, or nonsensical shit. I suppose this, in some ways, is the latter, but I’ve tried to make it make sense for you guys, to try and explain what the hell is going on right here. School is back, and my desperate attempts to drown myself in homework and revision has merely guided my efficiently back to my infinite sea of worry, from which I never seem to leave.
I want to lose myself now. I want to just switch off my mind, close my eyes and drift along, above my problems, above my anxiety, above my life. I just want to drift away, peacefully, to somewhere better, and happier, and where I can rest, and stay. Just please, make this unstoppable miserable headache, well, stop.