It’s been a rough season recently. Generally I need to hit rock bottom to get this impulse of energy that helps me to try to get back on my feet. I wish I was able to do things differently, to know something different than digging too deep in order to finally take care of myself. For lack of better, right now, I just want to use this moment as an opportunity to be a little more honest with myself.
I’ve been too close to the edge lately. So this morning, I got rid of the things I intended to use to end myself. Got rid of the words I wrote to say goodbye. I’m trying to say no to the idea of disappearing, practically and not just theoretically, as there’s this little voice that just keeps being stuck in my mind over and over.
Avoidance and withdrawal are my things. But I need to keep learning to sit with how I feel if I ever want to live and stop surviving. F*ck, I want to live. But my heart is heavy and oftentimes it feels more comfortable to hide this reality under layers of self-hatred, abandonment and overproductivity. It hurts. It feels wrong to say that it hurts. And it hurts to realize that it feels wrong, while it shouldn’t… what a stupid cycle, and a good recipe to be stuck in despair.
I could say that I have objective reasons and events in my life that are happening and keep being a burden to me. Physically, emotionally, I’ve known much better. I’m a living pile of worries and fears. Well, I could repeat that it feels sometimes that life keeps crushing me with bad news and events, like there’s some kind of negative fatality there. But I also believe that resilience is always possible as long as someone is alive.
If I’m honest with myself, a huge part of what feels like a constant burden to me is not about facts, but how I feel about it, and even more, how I feel about myself. I can have so much hope for someone else and genuinely believe that anyone is worthy of love and care. But when it’s about myself, it’s just constant word vomit. “I’m a burden”; “I’m annoying”; “I shouldn’t have said this/I should have done that”; “There’s nothing good in me”; “I’m weak”; “I’m useless”; “I can’t do this”; I’m a waste of oxygen”; ”I shouldn’t exist” (…). My mind is an unfriendly territory for myself. I beat myself up. I feel guilty for struggling, existing. A lot of who I am is rooted in guilt, which is exhausting. Self-deprecation is a real sport in itself.
It is frightening for me to sit with those thoughts, those feelings. To be in some kind of contemplative state, without judging. It’s actually very uncomfortable. I see that I don’t like myself. And I can’t help feeling sorry for anyone who happens to appreciate me. I see that behind some kind of emotional restlessness, I keep running away from this self-hate music stuck on repeat. Most of the time, I just don’t allow myself to hear it. I guess it’s just human to fear what is hurtful.
Even though I know how much self-love and compassion are important, I also have to come to terms with the fact that I don’t like myself. It’s frustrating and saddening to me. I can’t help feeling that I’ve been regressing. Though I know it’s not really about progress or regression, but change. And change, for me, comes with slowing down and acknowledging this inner music.
I spend so much energy in being at war with myself while I could use this energy differently. It just doesn’t really say its name and it’s not always obvious to me. My biggest mistake is to keep believing too often that it’s about winning, while victory means that I’d also lose as much as I gain. This isn’t about victory or power. It’s about peace. I know I can find it through that kind of moment of raw vulnerability. Also through rest, breaks, silence. But I have to admit that it feels terrible and unsafe to be with myself without holding any weapon. It feels unnatural. Just like a soft touch tends to make me cry, while it should be a comforting experience. My sense of safety changed sides a long time ago. And whatever takes me away from myself comes close to that definition.
I have learned, by internalizing too often the voices of people who have chosen violence against me, to become my own enemy. Now I know that I hold in my hands the potential to become my own ally. It’s not a revelation, not necessarily something new to me, at least theoretically. Yet today I feel a little more closer to actually feel it, for once. It’s scary, messy, hurtful, an unknown territory. But it feels right.
I want to sit with myself. I’m willing to face myself. I want to cultivate this kind of moment, even if it hurts. I want to rest with the idea that this is how I can change the narrative. Also through repetition. I want to believe that one day, maybe, I’ll start to long for it enough to stay in this imaginary campfire with myself, and never run away from it anymore. Just to be one, complete and messy, at peace and alive.