So I’ve decided to change the title of my blog. I’m no longer going to be ‘well this is my messed up mind’ because I don’t feel like it suits me any more; I don’t want to automatically come across as a negative blog, I want to try to be positive, I want to fill others with positivity. Of course, there shall probably be the odd negative post about how I’m feeling, but that’s normal for me because I have a mental illness, and I shouldn’t be ashamed to admit that any more, nobody should.
So I got the title ‘Living Between the Gaps’ from a book I have to read for my Literature A-level named The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. It was just any ordinary sentence, but alike many random sentences, this one just seemed to get stuck in my head. It just resonated with me, and so the decision came into my mind that it had to be the new title for my blog; if I am going to accept my mental illness and try to live the best life I can I need to stop filling not only myself with negativity, but also my social media, including this blog.
I can’t wait to be on my own, you know? To be able to do what I want. To be able to eat what I want. To be able to sleep when I want. To be able to lay there all day if I want to. To be able to do pilates all day if I want to. To watch every episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians if I want to. To have a shower ten times in a day. You get the point; to be me.
I find comfort in solitude. Yeah, sometimes I still get a bit scared when a neighbour stomps up their stairs late at night, but I’m never going to get over that; I’m a highly anxious and paranoid person. I want to have my own house. I want to have my own space. I want to have my own success. I want to have my own house.
And yet at the same time I don’t want to live. I’m scared of life. I’m scared of the future. I’m scared of failure. I’m scared of being alone. I’m scared of humans and I’m ashamed to be one. I’m so unmotivated and sick of being me with all my disorders that make my life so difficult. I mean I can’t even function without doing the smallest of things and yet I think I could possibly have a future? I didn’t even expect to get to this age. Even my mother didn’t expect me to get to this age. And that hurts. It hurts that I’m not the only one who thinks that I’m not going to last much longer. And at the same time, I’m glad that that’s not another thing that adds to my totally insane and irrational thoughts.
I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m blabbing and contradicting myself here. I just feel that I need to get the thoughts out of my head and onto somewhere to make me feel better,even if I don’t deserve it. And maybe, just maybe I’ll find someone that actually feels the same as me, because apparently I’m not alone, and I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not.