Catharsis

I wrote this about five months ago. Today, I found it and reread it. It was something I wrote for myself without ever having the intention of sharing it with others, but my anxiety has started attacking again and I am trying to fight it off. I think it might help me somehow to post this.

I've spent the majority of my life trying to made sure I look good to colleges. I guess my anxiety mixed with my love to learn in order to form a horrible concoction. I HAD to do good in school. I HAD to be perfect. And because I couldn't, I hated myself. Time and time again I pushed myself beyond my limits. I still do. It has become habit I suppose. I've gotten better at stopping though. Better at keeping up. I know my limits, and while I still choose to continue to push them, I know when to stop. 

The next portion of this I wrote a couple days later, but it is essentially a continuation of this.

I wish I could have kept my anxiety from affecting anyone else. I tried as best I could, but it seeped through every action. I kept myself at arms length from everyone because I was scared of what they would think. For some reason I didn't mind that they disliked the person I let them see. That wasn't the real me, so it didn't matter so much. As strange as it sounds, I didn't even let myself see the real me. I was afraid of what I might see if I did, so instead I floated in a lack-of-existenceness. I told myself I could be happy someday. After I did what I needed to do. After I got accepted to college. After I got accepted to grad school. After my PHD. In truth, that day never would have come. I would always have to do more. I still fear that drive. That need to accomplish. But now, I can put down my work to go hang out with friends. I'm not silent anymore because I'm not constantly questioning everything I have to say.


I continued on, but the rest of it kind of morphed into me trying to decide what I want to do with my life  so I won't continue it. 

There isn't really a point to this post. Mostly, I think when I finally manage to push that "publish" button, I will find some sort of catharsis in it. I feel bad for anyone who accidentally stumbles upon my blog and gets sucked into the inner workings of my mind. It is a scary place, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone one.  I hope someday this might be a blog that someone wants to read, but that comes secondary to the main goal of helping to heal myself.