#internal narrative

This is the first time I’ve been able to express how my anxiety and depression feels. Second paragraph are thoughts I have daily. S this is an anonymous account, I figured I’d share it to let other people dealing with this know that they are not alone.

Please reach out and get help. Working on this stuff is so important.

The thick air around me becomes denser and my breathing shallower. Strangled by my own insicurities and the self critic with in my mind, I silently crumble into the broken girl I always knew I would end up as. Shapeless figures claw their way to the surface relentlessly and singe my face as they roll down my checks. My hair acts as a curtain to cloak the slowly revealing mess that I am internally. The overwhelming thoughts assault the inside of my mind unraveling the once upkeep and composed standard that was my self image.

You will never be good enough. People only like you because they can use you and walk all over you, yet you smile and act like everything is fine. How can you be okay with that? Your pathetic. Your weak. Stand up for yourself, why dont you? Oh because you can't, you're too scared. If you do you'll just look stupid. You know that, it's happened before. Listen to me. You're nothing. You barely even count as a person. You're just a waste of space. You don't know anything. Everyone knows that you're dumb. Look at you now. Normal people don't do this to themselves, what's wrong with you? Do you hear me? What is wrong with you? How can you live like this?

Ebrupt contact from a loved one put everything on pause. Scattering back into hiding, I am pulled out of ther drown abiss that is my depression and am given a raft to cling to. My sister pulled me into her side and threw some sheepish remarks about how her dog wanted to cheer me up by licking my face. The laugh that comes from my chest is barely audible but it's enough to have a mental effect on my waking nightmare.

I can't skim paragraphs easily when I have an internal narrative because if I miss a word, the sentence doesn't necessarily mean the same thing

Sometimes, I think I have an entire sentence planned out, but when I go to say it, I realize that I haven't thought of a single word

Trying to think with both a narrative and imagery gives me a headache

Fuck this essay 

Fuck this world 

Why? 

Ooooh I want to eat your face. 

Ooooh I want to sit on you. 

I want a hug. 

I want sex. 

I want a cookie. 

I want rough sex. 

I said a bang bang bangedy bang 

Wish people would stop moaning at me 

Why do I attract jealous people? 

BANG WOULD BANG

My review got a little long, so I wanted to put my thinky-thoughts about this episode in a separate post.

[Spoilers]

There's an experience of which I can only describe as an internal narrative state that all people now and then find themselves bewildered in. Our poets, writers and philosophers consider this state a most precious serum. At times it's quickly turned on and other times difficult to descend into. For some, lapsing into "inner dialog" requires a gateway; drugs, alcohol, music, long walks, romances or seclusion in nature.A good writer, by whichever way they desire, develops this skill so that transfixion becomes easy and conjured on command; it becomes part of their narrative process. This state can bring a flooding of ideas and if left undammed one finds them self in over their head and off-course, like a red hot preacher on Pentecost stunned by uncontrolled outbursts of the tongue. Your only danger is finding an exit out of psychosomatic tantrums, a possible route to insanity. Luckily there are medications; in the past I would pray but now choose to write.