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

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.

<p class=”warning”>WARNING: talks of internalised ableism.</p>

I do not know whose feet I should lay blame at, or if there are any, but: I was ablest. Internally. I was never externally ablest, because as a very anxious, depressed person who is sensitive to others emotions for reasons I don’t care about, I actually believed people when they said they were in pain. I did not believe myself.

There is a LOT of work I need to do about that. I pushed myself harder than anybody else ever did, and while I know my underlying issues play a big role in that, they are still my issues. I have to accept responsibility for not taking care of myself, or I will never learn how to.

I ignore. I pretend. I symptom manage. I compartmentalize. I do not say, “I am in pain” to myself, because to do that would mean I know how to take care of myself, and I do not. Self care is difficult for me, and it’s always boring. I do not want to soak in a fucking bath and wear a face mask that helps relax my facial muscles and do goddamn acupuncture. It’s not economically obtainable, and after all those things: the pain is still there. I want the pain to go away. I want the pain to stop. I want the pain to have never been there in the first place, because I now know “worst case scenario” in every arena now, and I’m tired of being aware of it.

I am tired of pretending I’m not in pain. I am tired of making other people feel better about my pain when it’s not my responsibility to do so. I am tired of carrying the burden of the pain, and all the knowledge that comes with it, when Google exists. I am tired of people choosing to tell me something about my pain, rather than listen to me talk about it. I am tired of people making me feel bad for any treatment I choose for pain that doesn’t affect them. I am tired of having the burden of this and still be looked at as the responsible and strong one, when there are days my pain makes me seriously consider how much longer I want to live at all. I am tired of compartmentalizing my pain to be that person to other people. I am tired of no one noticing how tired I am.

I want to stop feeling pain, but I can’t. But I can start to stop feeling bad that I cant stop feeling it.

My parents let me know numerous times people didn’t like what I said or did, or that nobody liked anything about me during a very vulnerable time in my life that they were already mishandling, so that is GENUINELY how I think friends should act?

The sheer lack of self esteem or confidence makes me believe that even if my friends aren’t for me, it’s my fault regardless?

I believe I don’t deserve friends because I think shitty things about strangers just like literally everybody else does, and in some small way you think that karma (something you don’t think is real) WOULD ABSOLUTELY choose the nonbeliever to teach that life lesson to?

Why do I attack the “problems” I see in my friendships like I’m in the military and have been tasked with making a strategy to siege downtown Jacksonville from hipsters? Can’t I just… let it go? Do I have to fight everything that happens to me, instead of just letting it play out?