It seems my mind is running to Cambodia and back, and yes, I am an American. They cross the Pacific Ocean. They cross the Atlantic Ocean. They come here. They go there. Some are good. Some are bad. They fly so fast that I can’t catch them.
The general consensus is that I usually feel misunderstood. I feel like I am wrong more than I am right. At least that’s what others tell me, or used to tell me. Maybe that’s what my depression tells me. Things hurt more than they should. Maybe it’s from years of pretending I was invincible. It was my only saving grace from my social anxiety. But I am an ambivert, not a true introvert. I need to be needed, I guess. That is my conclusion.
I give up on being “even-keeled” or whatever. Naturally, I am not that way. And why live in a world where I can’t be myself? It would make me miserable. I was happiest when I was myself, 100 percent. Now I feel sort of uncomfortable with the “socialized” me. I walk on egg-shells sometimes around others. I guess that is from an extended period of time where I was getting blown up at whenever I breathed wrong. Or being on the wrong side of an argument or being misunderstood. Emotional and Mental abuse are bitches.
I guess I am craving a sense of belonging in this world. I guess I need others to depend on me. I guess I need to be perfect to be happy. When I had the words to say, I was happy. When I felt creative, I was happy. When I could turn a sow’s ear into silk, I was happy. Now I run out of energy, but I am slowly getting it back.
I guess I will learn that my mood swings will pass. Sorry, my thoughts are zig zagging again. I guess I am craving understanding without judgment. I know I am not alone, but I feel lonely in this endeavor.
Xara Nahara O’Connor