the broken record

I am miserable.

I spent the whole first half of the weekend dodging calls from friends. In fact, I felt so stressed out about the accusing tone of my phone’s vibration, I turned it off. I feel slightly relaxed right now, but can already feel another wave of anxiety building up.   

I don’t want to believe that this is just the way my life is meant to be. It’s been like this on and off for so many years, I’m scared it’ll never change. I won’t even allow myself to hope for a lasting change, because I’ve disappointed myself with so many failures.

I’ve set many goals for myself, but I’ve always given up before really getting into them. I always feel defeated from the get-go by this persistent fear that I’m incapable of success.

I don’t want to be miserable anymore. This isn’t who I am. I feel trapped in the body of a girl who is sabotaging herself and her life. It makes no sense to be this way.

All I want is to feel happy.

I want to fall asleep at night at a decent hour, without a thousand insignificant thoughts racing through my mind. I want to drift off to sleep without the fear that my anxiety will jerk me back to consciousness, while my sleeping body lies paralyzed.

I want to wake up early in the morning, well-rested, and go for a good work-out at the gym. I want to run across the threadmill, speed through the elliptical, pedal furiously on the bike, pump some iron, and go home sweaty and elated. 

I want to go to work with a good attitude, pass my eight hours in stride, eat well and keep myself hydrated. I want to utilize the massive amounts of free time I have to grease the wheels in my mind and make significant progress on a project that means a lot to me.

I want to do something active after work… anything: write, run, dance, paint, whatever. I just want to leave work and go pursue a hobby that makes me happy.

I want to go home after it’s all been said and done, sit with my parents, converse cheerfully, help my mom around the house, and go to sleep with a good conscience.

That’s it. I just want that for now. If I could have a couple months of that… I’d be so happy.

 I’m just going to have to struggle for it. I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom, again… and it’s taking so long for me to get up. I’m not feeling sorry for myself… I’m just scared to give myself another chance.


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