I’m feeling scared to write today. Scared of failing at yet one more thing. I feel so set up—so bombarded on every side about how shortly I’ve come up. I know. I know these are only feelings. But today and especially yesterday, they felt so true. Those voices I hear when I look at my messy house, or in the smudgy mirror at my not-enough-face and too-much-body. All the messages stuck on repeat in the messed up CD player of my mind: about how no one really likes me, and how I’ve never been anything except average and boring. Yes, I know… mental illness, much? It just feels extra hard to push back against these lies lately. I want to send them packing and replace them with truth but I’m struggling with where to begin.
And that’s where I am. For now.
Anyone out there stuck here with me?