No good reason…

There’s a lot in life I’ll never understand. Quantum physics, the McDonald’s lobster roll, common core math…just to name a few. 

The one thing that truly baffles me, aside from fast food mystery meat, is my generations obsession with sharing and posting about their drug usage online. 

I’m not even talking about weed. Though I think you should keep your smoking habits to a minimum for your online audience, that’s not my concern.

What really makes my blood boil is my generations obsession with taking Xanax and other very similar pills. 

I just don’t understand the fad. I don’t understand why you need to flaunt the fact that you’re recreationally taking drugs. I don’t understand why you would want to take these pills. Is it to make you seem cooler than you actually are, or is it because everyone else is doing it? Or is it because the songs you listen to tell you it’s alright?

In less than 5 years, I have taken Prozac, Zoloft, Trazodone, and more recently, Xanax. My doctors prescribed me these medications in hopes that I would become more mentally stable. I’ll be the first to say that they are quite possibly the worst things on this planet.

I hate talking them. I hate remembering to take them. I hate the fact that I need them to feel somewhat normal. I hate how people look at me once they find out I’m on them. I hate the stigma around it. I hate that how after awhile, they don’t do much anyway. They’re quick to turn me from a normal, functioning individual into a straight zombie. 

And yet, despite knowing how dangerous it is to consume them, and how addictive they may become- people choose to take them anyway.  Perfectly healthy people take these pills for fun and I have yet to figure out why. What does it do for them that it doesn’t do for me? 

I usually end on a cheerful, positive note- but I can’t this time. There is nothing positive to say.

I would do anything in my power to never be prescribed any of these medications again. There’s not much I wouldn’t do to never feel anxiety again. I can’t fathom, from a healthy perspective, why anyone would want to poison their body with these drugs. There’s no good reason on Earth. 

Stop being a fucking fool. Worship your body. You only get one. 

trapped 7.7.17

For a majority of my life, I have felt trapped. I have good days and I have bad days, but both lead back to an indescribable feeling of smallness, insecurity, and worry. Compared to others, I have felt minuscule and silly. It’s something that has plagued me for a couple of years.

Even now, I still feel trapped. Trapped in my own mind, trapped in my location, trapped financially and professionally. I work really hard, but not much to show for it.

I know I’m young and I have plenty of time ahead of me to worry, but that idea alone won’t stop me from stressing about my career and moving out and living my own life. I always felt different from most people my age, and I’ve always hated it. There’s very few people I can be my true self around, but I’m grateful for those people. 

I want so badly to move into my own small apartment, and own a small piece of freedom with it. I want so badly to have a career in my field. I want so badly to make more than $9.50 an hour. I want to get out of the debt I’m in. I want to live comfortably. I want to have a sustainable savings, a happy life, good social relationships. I want, I want, I want.

Everyone keeps telling me that I’ll get there someday, but that day is hard to imagine. It’s difficult to dream of days I don’t have to worry about where gas or phone money is coming from. I think money is the one thing that really holds me back, but I guess I’m not alone. I just feel alone. 

I do my best to work as hard as I can, and I’ll continue to do so. I don’t have much to show for it, but maybe one day I will. Maybe one day won’t be so hard.

I want to thoroughly enjoy my youth, and going out with my friends and having fun. But I can’t have both comfortability and a good time. I have to choose. 

It’s easy for me to think I’ll never escape this feeling. But 14, 16, and 18 year old me thought the same thing about different feelings. I overcame them, with difficulty, many times before. What makes this so different? Why must I feel the need to change things overnight?

I’m in a rush. My mind races and my anxiety kicks in. My prescription doesn’t help. The only thing that helps is sleeping, which I don’t really get enough of. It’s dramatic and disgusting, but I think things like “what if I die tomorrow? What if I lose my job? What if, what if, what if?”

It’s like my mind jumps from bad to worse automatically. No rational thought, just the deplorable.

Maybe one day things won’t seem so heavy. 

At 15

When I was 15 all I wanted was to be wanted. Platonically, romantically, emotionally. I was going through that angsty, coarse period of teenage bullshit and it did not spare me. 

I had friends, but those I felt the need to compete with. I was the lesser of the pretty. I was chubby. I didn’t come from money. I couldn’t relate. I wasn’t this. I was that. No one really understood me– which I guess still stands to this day. No one really understands me now, except maybe a few people. I thought I had to impress people, I thought I had to make them want me and work harder to make them stay in my life. I had to put a mask on to shield who I really was, so they couldn’t see the actual me. I pretended like I knew what it was like to be effortlessly cool. I used the money I had received after my dad died for shit I didn’t need to impress people I didn’t really even know. I wanted so badly to be someone I was not meant to be in a world that suggests we conform to one standard. The friends I did have made fun of me behind my back, but respectfully also to my face. I didn’t have their body type, my parents didn’t have money, I wasn’t in high school teams or clubs or whatever. I made decent grades but I wasn’t an honor student. I was different.

It pains me to say out loud that I looked for company in people I thought could fill the void the events in my life had given me.

At 17 I constantly felt the need to have a boyfriend because I didn’t have a father figure in my life and I needed a guy to appreciate me for who I was, though that never happened because I was in high school and nothing in high school ever really lasts. I wish I knew then what I know now. I wish I knew better. 

At 18 I opened credit cards and racked up a balance on expensive things that also didn’t fill the void I knew I had. I thought name brand items would impress my friends. It didn’t. I didn’t know that I could have friends that would love me for me and not for the shit I was wearing. Who knew?

At 19 I met someone that appreciates me and gives me the love that I know I deserve, every single day. But that wasn’t the cure. The void was still there, the anxiety still driven, the hole dug deeper. I tried pretending like it didn’t bother me. It did. So I tried medicine, I tried Xanax and Prozac as per the suggestion of my doctor and ended up tired and zombie-like. I still haven’t figured this one out. Maybe I never will.

At 20 I realized that there are no answers and sometimes life just has a way of doing it’s own thing and maybe you’re just supposed to go with the flow. Or maybe you’re not. Who the hell knows? 

The void I keep trying to mend is perhaps meant to be there to remind me that I am real, I exist, and nothing could possibly change the past. Maybe I should stop trying to fill it and start trying to embrace it for what it is.

Maybe. 

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