#thioughts

Everything I’ve done in this past week I’ve done for someone else. I have yet to do anything for me. I am constantly worrying about others, trying to be the caregiver of a group of people that don’t need to have a constant reassurance.

It’s odd because every time I stop thinking, it seems as if the second before I begin to ask myself how I feel or what I want, my brain quickly makes sure everyone in the room is okay first. I don’t do this out of duty, and in some ways I believe I do this because I don’t want to have to think about myself. I’m worried that if I do, I’m going to be sad and miss home and every opportunity it had to offer. I’m going to remember my fleeting childhood that had its end stomped off by toxic relationships. I’m going to feel the pain that comes with leaving a family and being in a new, disorienting place.

I’m afraid to be selfish because if I’m feeling this way, everyone else must too, and if I was in their shoes, I would want to have someone there making sure I was alright and being taken care of. I know this is unhealthy, but it seems like getting that info to my brain has the same effect as doing charades to wake someone up.

And the one time I do get to think about myself is when I sleep and I dream selfishly. I dream of kissing and cuddling boys. Different ones, ones I shouldn’t be thinking of in that way as well. I disregard my real problems and try to cover it up with the idea of being with someone. I avoid my problems with relationships.