I hate the ever living fuck out of emotions. Emotions make me feel weak, they make me question why I bother doing anything ever. No one seems to really care about if I’m feeling horrible. I know that that’s probably not true, but considering that everyone I know has something going on, big or small, my emotions don’t matter. Why? Because I’m got lucky in so many different aspects of life, and almost everyone I know didn’t get lucky.
It sucks even more when you can feel a friend or two that you used to rely on heavily slowly drifting away, and you don’t know what to do. Or if you can do something.
Emotions and anxiety suck. They like to collide and cause you to slowly start breaking down at work. And when you do break down once you’re in the safety of your room, it’s not something that happens once and it’s over. Oh, no, that would be too easy for me. No, I have to break down into tears several times over the course of an hour, sometimes more. I can do nothing to stop the flow of emotions, or the clogging of anxiety. All I can do is hope that, if and when I see someone about my anxiety, that they can suggest a way for me to deal with it. If not, I’ll just keep dealing with it the same way I have for years; by breaking down in privet and hoping I don’t get to a place where I feel self-harm is a real choice. So far, it’s only ever been a thought. It scares me that it may became a reality.
Fuck, I hate emotions. Just thinking about them gets me thinking about my imperfections. I suddenly become horribly insecure, and no matter what a friend could possibly tell me, it doesn’t go away.