Another legacy post, from April 2016.
The current state of mental health awareness is saddening, especially across the generational gap, and I want to add my own anecdotes to raise awareness to all those who stumble upon this.
I have this strange feeling that, despite my greatest efforts, people aren’t sure how to deal with me as a person. Despite my somewhat simple philosophies and outlooks, I can be… difficult… an enigma. Allow me to explain.
For as long as I can remember I’ve portrayed myself as someone who can be trusted; someone that other people can turn to in their hour (or, hours) of need, and, 99% of the time, that’s genuinely how I like to be. Being kind comes naturally to me as I’ve no reason not to be kind to people who pay me the same in return. Yet, that quality, I believe, is becoming somewhat of a rarity as we all grow older; some of us just stop caring, and that’s completely up to them. I can’t be like that. That’s just me. Contrary, though, my enthusiasm to be of assistance to people’s life problems can be extremely detrimental to my own wellbeing. As such, kindness comes at a cost.
Beneath my layer of mild mannered-ness there dwells the emotional form of a raging, yet controlled, fire; something that surfaces rarely when I can’t feel any other emotion; something that surfaces when there’s very little happiness and peacefulness to keep it at bay for even a second, or two. Having anger built up like this is a recipe for disaster. It’s dangerous to contain for so long and extremely toxic to your thoughts and ideals. Sadly, for something that I’ve only really noticed recently I’m not doing a tremendous job at controlling it when I’m alone. What’s frustrating is wanting to turn all of this negative energy and fury into something I can channel into those who deserve it; those who make me feel sad, hurt, abandoned, pushed out and inferior. But that’s not me, not currently, at least. I wear a great façade behind which I can hide my true feelings. If I didn’t I really wouldn’t have anyone left in my life.
This is what makes me difficult. People can rarely distinguish between my genuine claims of wellness and the false ‘OKs’ I put on just to avoid talking about how awful I feel. Disappearing for weeks on end and avoiding being social helps for a while as I find my feet. It helps to shelter those who don’t deserve it from the collateral damage of my own self-inflicted implosions. Yet, above everything, watching things I can’t control change right before my eyes hits home hardest; not my own implosions, or emotions, but simply the actions of others. When the wrong wheels have been set in motion what can you do? You can’t stop the machine from turning. All you can do is look, and reflect. I’ve seen the what was; I’ve seen the unbalancing of something so tentatively strung. Now I await the snapping of the threads holding it all together. That’s how it’ll always end. Is it wrong to say I prefer it that way? I’m not too sure, honestly.
What I do know is that you shouldn’t keep your thoughts and feelings to yourself; it doesn’t do well to dwell on these things when your mind is forever twisting and turning your thoughts into new, worse perspectives. Before you know it you’ll end up writing about it on the Internet.
I’m doing OK.
Until next time…