I feel so trapped

Posted on July 15, 2015

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So what do you do when it starts to feel like there isn’t really any way out? Wish it? Wish it all away?

I am desperate to run away. How I wish I could just run away. I wish running away was like writing crappy poetry at ungodly hours: effortless and unconscious. I wish my life wasn’t like my everyday coffee, the one I take to make my job slightly more tolerable: watered down and tasteless. I wish people were as easy to outgrow and give up on like a pre-loved teddy bear. I wish all the toxic things in my life were as easy to destroy as everything I touch. I wish fighting back tears was as easy as putting a band-aid over a paper cut. I wish holding back feelings was as easy as one two three. I wish I could put all of my feelings in a tub and drain it

down

to

the

last

drop.

I can’t describe my current situation poetically because I don’t think I have the right words to do so. I’m just going to make this as straightforward as possible because I just don’t see the point of bullshitting it anymore.

I’m losing my sense of lightness and freedom. Yes, I wasn’t exactly the most cheerful person out there but this time it’s different. Everything is SO. FUCKING. CONFUSING. I get normal and joke around from time to time but my default mode is a cynical ball of nothingness. I feel like I’m trapped doing the same old routine day after day. Life is losing its meaning. It’s becoming an endless sadistic play that’s meant to fuck me over scene after scene after scene. And then I feel bad because there are people with actual problems that are bigger than mine. And then I feel like I have no right to feel the way I do because I’m just a whiny 20-something millennial who just can’t let the fuck go. And then I cry until I realize that I’ve been crying every night for the past…I don’t even know for how long anymore. And then I cry out of frustration because I keep crying every night without even realizing it.

I feel like I’m losing everyone. But when they reach out, I clam up. I don’t know why. I joke around like typical me but I can’t face my deepest, darkest feelings. I’m happy for a while when I talk to my friends but then I get back to being depressed. Sometimes I feel like I’m just one of those people who aren’t meant to be happy, no matter how hard they try. I just don’t identify with happy. No, not anymore. But come to think of it, did I ever?

I don’t even know how many times I’ve Googled “signs and symptoms of depression” since high school. I have gone through countless websites and even bought books on mental illness, self-diagnosing myself because I don’t think my parents want to spend money on therapy anyway.  I have always thought that “oh, I was just a stupid kid going through a phase during a highly emotional period of adolescent turmoil blah blah blah” but why am I still not outgrowing this? Why am I still so fucking sad? I don’t even know what causes it anymore – PMS, the weather, brain chemistry, childhood pressures…I don’t know. I don’t know.

I don’t know and I don’t understand. I give subtle cries for help but when someone takes notice I feel embarrassed for being so fucking sad. Somebody once said that people should stop minimizing and discounting their feelings, but I feel like I’m not doing enough. I feel like I should be getting a grip when the rest of the world is getting on with their lives. Everybody’s busy living and I just want to scream, to everyone and to myself, “PLEASE, CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I’M TRYING?”

But it’s hard to keep up the act of having it together when you’re depressed. Someone once said, depression is not like having a black veil over your face. It’s taking off that veil of lies and seeing the world for what it is. And once you’ve seen the world for what it is, you start to realize how hard it is to be as hopeful as you were before. There’s nothing more painful than seeing the things you believe in get shot one by one. This, ladies and gentlemen, is how you turn an idealist into a hopeless cynic.

Ha. Three in the morning, as per usual. I think they call it the devil’s hour, and I guess it makes perfect sense. It’s when all my demons come out and say the things I’ll get embarrassed for thinking about when the sun comes up. I wonder when 3 AM will start being as peaceful as it used to be. I wonder when I will be.

I have always fantasized about moving to someplace where no one knows me. Some place where I can start over. With everything I’m tied to, this will never happen. With everything that has happened to me, I swear to God, I’d ask for a spaceship out of this fucking planet. Wouldn’t make that much difference if I disappeared anyway.

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