Mental illness feels like

for me, at least, the constant desire to be physically immobile while your mind is in a constant race. It feels ungrateful, negative, heavy, and confusing. Like I’m two steps from snapping but three steps from clarity.

I just want to lay down. I just want to cry. I, i, i, me, me, me — selfish. So I beat myself up for not feeling up to life. I berate myself for not owning my accomplishments and learning from my failures.

It’s so complicated. You need to pray, they say. You’re in a funk – that’s a good one. One step at a time. One day at a time. One loss. One win. I’m tired.

So I keep moving forward because I have to. Because there’s a shred of dignity that doesn’t permit anything less. But I am tired. I am worn. I feel negatively about many things. This, I assume, is because negative things happen.

You are only to speak positivity over your life!! That one is my favorite but I don’t think that is the answer. The brighter side of things still feel incredibly dark.

Scraped knees, shattered heart, bruised ego. It’s the smallest detail that weighs the most. Deep sighs to relieve the heaviness of all this. And still only for a brief moment.

Loud music & sing-a-longs mask a deficiency in happiness. Really I just want to feel better.

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