Pretty much the entire time I've been home for the past several days, I've found myself with my head buried in a book. And whyever not? It's enjoyable. It also lets me get away. I'm trying. I'm honestly trying to be more enthusiastic, more happy, to look forward to things more. To an extent, it's working rather well. I'm in a pretty optimistic mood right now, I've got things I'm looking forward to, and at this moment in time, I'm not dreading anything.
So what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I still uneasy and uncertain and scared to death of just about anything? In a way this goes back to what I was saying yesterday, with regards to whether there are some things better not known. For years, I've lived in a constant state of dread and panic. I'd gotten pretty good at not showing it. Now that I'm working on this whole thing with being more open and honest and all that, how much can I really go on about how afraid I am?
Fine. I've admitted it. Do I stop there? Or do I keep explaining it every time it comes up again? Because this is one of those things that bothers me almost constantly. There is a perpetual foreboding of failure and misery and everything else that can go wrong. Am I supposed to keep repeating that to whoever will listen because I'm trying to be honest? Or is it better if I don't let anybody know and just work to deal with it? That's the real conflict here. Only a part of it is a concern over how I will or will not be treated as a result of the admission. A large portion of it is also wondering if having to talk about it means that I can't do it myself.
I've always been independent and introverted, the two combined leading me to a rather strong sense of self and the need to work through anything and everything without getting help. Trust issues developed by a particular previous relationship do nothing to alleviate this feeling, and in fact increase the need to do it all by myself, without so much as admitting to the problem.
Then again, isn't that the approach that got me into depression? But it's also what's kept me alive through the past five years. So I don't know. The fact remains though, that everything is not rock-solid. I'm still emotionally unstable, mentally confused, and generally afraid. I'm also a firm believer that there are times when it is necessary to put on a mask of being alright for the sake of somebody else in order to help them deal with their concerns.
Having said something about being alright (my apologies for how much this is inevitably jumping around), I might as well continue that thread. I am alright now. Really. If only for the moment, I am. And again, I'm afraid that in a moment I won't be. So what do I say? Do I try to explain it or do I keep it to myself? I know that whether I do or don't say it isn't going to affect what I do; the end result is that I will endeavor to work through the fear and accomplish whatever it is I'm after. Perhaps that makes saying it or not futile and insignificant as a decision. But it doesn't seem that way to me.
My head has been buried in books because I've been trying to avoid thinking about this. I've been hoping that maybe fictional lives will make more sense to me than my own right now (and believe me, they rather tend to). I'm not completely calm about where I stand most of the time, and I'm constantly afraid that my fear of messing up will cause me to do just that. So really, what happens next? I'm trying to get over this insecurity nonsense, but I really don't think there's enough patience in this entire world to put up with the mess I'm trying to sort, and not because it's that complicated, but just because if I start talking about it, I won't shut up.
Everything feels a little bit unreal right now. It seems far removed and irrelevant, and I'm sitting here almost laughing at how stupid this all sounds. When I'm smiling at my own mistakes, I'm happy, I'm amused, I'm entertained. Why is it so hard to do that the rest of the time? I've asked before, and now I'm asking again: what am I so afraid of?
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