I was really angry the last time I blogged — I even cried afterwards with my door closed, because I didn’t want to upset my niece or worry anyone — and it did help to express some of the anger I still battle with. But I also looked at it later and realised that while my anger may never leave me, it doesn’t define me, and I wanted to write more positively.

Writing about myself has always been hard for me — am I talking too much? Am I giving too much information? Am I only giving out weird anecdotal facts, rather than anything of substance? Then I found an app — called Gratitude — that used small journal prompts to help with mental health (and gratitude, of course). It gave me the idea to use some journal prompts to answer, rather than providing anything I think to be interesting.

Some of these are from the app itself — which I recommend! There’s no character limit, so making the answers small or big isn’t the actual goal — and some are from around the internet. I’ll credit all sites I’ve used prompts from at the end of the post.

If I fast forwarded to thirty days from now, what would I tell myself?

Be kinder to yourself: you are trying, and that’s all anyone or anything can ask of you.

What music do you listen to, and why?

Jesus, I never should have taken this one, but whatever, I already typed it out: everything besides country? It honestly depends on my mood, and what I’m doing. I like listening to rap, R & B, and pop music when I’m coding or using my computer. If I’m relaxing or just in the mood to listen, I go for all kinds of rock, metal, and folk music. If I’m trying to calm myself down, I’ll pick whole albums, like We Are Not Alone by Breaking Benjamin, or ARTPOP by Lady Gaga. I’ll even throw in an album by Enigma or Moby‘s weird crap.

If you can travel back in time, what do you wish you can tell yourself?

I’ve often thought of this, and I honestly, for a very long time, drew a huge blank. How can I possibly sum up my experiences now for younger me to even grasp? What if I scared younger me into living even less than I did? And I think now I know:

Have fun. Please? Things have happened, and things will happen, but fun isn’t always in demand, and there are times where fun is presented to you temporarily. You will still suffer, and you will mourn, and you will grieve, but have — fucking — FUN. Join your sister at Warp Tour; go fishing with your Dad; paint your nails with your Mom. Tell Matthew you love him and can’t imagine a world that doesn’t have him in it. Tell Alex you love her, too, and that she can confide in you without judgement. Be in the moment when these things happen, and not in your head.

How are you different from others?

My severe lack of confidence or self-esteem mixed in with some pretty killer insight. I’m also a walking lie detector with the hearing range of a hound dog. (Seriously, I can hear really well. It’s incredibly off-putting, and oftentimes overwhelming.) Let me put it this way: while IN A PSYCH UNIT, I was considered “high functioning”, and was consistently complimented on my foresight, intuition, and listening ability. All greats things to hear, but maybe not in a psych unit?

What can you not imagine living without?

Other than my loved ones — duh — I’d say my animals. They’re one of the only species that gives unconditional love and doesn’t care that you’re a hot mess. In my experience, their love can almost be unmatched.

What color would you say best describes you? Why do you think so?

I’m known for loving all colors and being difficult when having to choose even less than five. However, if I did have to choose, I’d say pink. I’m calm most of the time — thanks, medication! — and I know my last post did not exemplify this, but I’m slow to get angry. Once I’m there, though, I run that shit into the ground before I’m ready to move on. I use weed and anti-anxiety medication simultaneously because if I don’t, I’ll get anxiety attacks that leave me showering in the dark and then never using a light again because in my mentally ill mind, if people can’t see me, I’m not technically there, and for reasons I won’t look at, it makes my anxiety better. And I think that that kind of energy — slow to anger; can cut a bitch with my tongue alone; happy, anxious, hyperactive, and/or high otherwise — says pink. Like a soft pink, maybe between a salmon and bubblegum shade?

When do you feel the happiest and most content?

At my happiest, I have a joint in hand that I’m sharing with my sister, while we watch Detroit Rock City for the 159th time, and we’re drinking a light beer, while eating street corn and corn chips. Bonus points if there’s a heating pad or CBD cream involved.

Credits

64 Journaling Prompts

80 Journaling Prompts

110 Journal Prompts

Before mid-2017, I had no problems putting words to paper, or typing up an essay to a friend. I’d apply every thought, idea, emotion I had when I blogged in the past. Once the chronic pain started, that got harder; it never went away, I kept writing, but I found other mediums that didn’t include hitting the “Add New” button.

And it took — very sadly, so you don’t have to point it out, I know — almost 7 years to realise that what I was blogging about, I had blogged about before. Anything I blogged from 2008-2011 were curated versions of the blog posts I’d done from 2003-2008. I blogged about things that may have seemed unique to some, but for me, was just a recycled version of another idea that failed.

What I realised, 7 years later AUSTIN, was that I had never blogged through pain. Other than a few online friends, I had never even seen a lot of representation in my own blogging community about pain, because we hide it. We were all scared to talk about our darkest thoughts and self-harming, there was no way we’d find a way to the top-level tier pain: the kind that lasts forever and never goes away. No medication, yoga pose, meditation app, aromatherapy, eastern healing will take away from your body what your body gave you. The pain is there, and it’s there to stay, and I do wish I had heard those words 7 years ago. It would’ve stung, but I wouldn’t have kept getting surprised and disappointed by everything I tried not working.

Another thing I never blogged about was dating and then the aftermath of dating. I’m pretty private when it comes to those things, and it always felt so superficial to talk about the hurt after the fact, but none of the good before. And because I let myself believe that, I let a lot of good stories go to waste. I’ve tried writing them, too, but they just don’t have the same ring if I’d done it, like, immediately. I did a lot of voice recording, and whether you’re writer or a talker or both (me), those kind of journal entries can help yourself. I don’t have a lot of friends, and I didn’t always feel comfortable talking to them about my problems, but maybe if I hadn’t been, they’d have given me some burns.

Sometimes my body sweats profusely but not in a way that’s relatable. I once had a friend describe “sweaty palms and feet, while feeling like I’m running from a giant ball that’s always behind me no matter where I go”. Accurate and relatable! Mine?

I feel anxiety all the time, and probably was born with that shit. I don’t have a thought that isn’t immediately followed by, “but [insert fake scenario here]”. When anxiety is a constant state of being your whole life, that ball looks easy. That ball can run me the fuck right over, because right behind the anxiety is the depression, and the pain, and the PTSD you sometimes like to think you’re adjusted to until you have a trauma response at 9:24 in the morning at work. If all those fail, I will immediately feel nausea that won’t dissipate for another 4 days.

I use my anxiety. I use my anxiety to put up boundaries nothing else can give me, I use my anxiety to stay alert, I use my anxiety to level myself out from overwhelming myself.

If I had to use a metaphor, I think it would be this: I am sitting on a rock in the middle of the ocean. It hurts, because it has rock growth, and I’m bleeding from the cuts it gave me. The salt water burns, and that’s my chronic pain: I overworked myself on purpose, and am now seeing the consequences. The ocean isn’t my anxiety, it’s my depression. And I know it best, but what if there are sharks out there? Or this is the Pacific ocean, and there’s piranhas? There’s a wave coming and I have a choice now: do I leave the rock and let the wave take me and stop fighting anything I do not have the answer to yet, or the power or tools to fight? Or do I hold onto a rock that’s cutting me for fear of those answers? Or maybe there’s more options, and I’m seeing two options because it’s from only my own perception?

My constant state of being is anxiety. Of course I’d come up with an elaborate way of saying, “this is never going away :)” instead of just saying that, because I’m anxious about appearing stupid when I I’ve worked very hard not to be.