Can I be real?

Can I be real with you for a second?

OK, cool.

You’re not gonna judge? You promise? Ok thanks.

I need a hug.

Like a I can fall into you, know everything is going to be ok type of hug.

There’s nothing seriously wrong, and yet….

I seem to be taking things very hard lately. It seems like everything I thought I knew about myself, my very identity is up for question. That whole guilt I talked a while back ago, the whole dark cloud I’ve talked about, the doubting my mothering abilities, the not knowing what direction I need to head in my career, all of my beliefs. I’m questioning everything.

It’s hard to decide what to stand for when you don’t know who you are.

There have been moments for either physical or emotional reasons I’ve just felt like my legs are going to give out on me. All my weight, collapsing to the ground. Fainting like one of those actresses in the movies. But I can’t mother f’ing faint. Who the F is going to be there to make sure my head doesn’t hit the concrete?

No one.

So I have to remind myself to watch what I’m eating, that I eat, that I have enough water, that I don’t have too much coffee. Physically I know how to take care of myself. Emotionally though? I’m emotionally morbidly obese. Or emotionally anorexic. I can’t decide. Either way, I’m a health hazard to myself.

So I need a hug.

Except I close myself off from people. Because I don’t like being touched, because I don’t want to be let down, because because because. Because I have a lot of reasons why I distance myself from people. So I need a hug, but I don’t let people in to be able to give it.

We have this thing where we don’t talk about mental health. And when we do we’re supposed to talk about it like it’s other people’s issues, like there’s something wrong with you if you get professional help, like you should be able to work that out on your own, like we’re only allowed to be happy and have happy thoughts.

Well I’m not always happy, and I don’t always have happy thoughts. And sometimes I want to talk political, sometimes I want to talk about religion, sometimes I want to talk about human suffering, and sometimes I want to talk about how much my heart hurts to be inside my chest.

It literally feels like a 10 pound weight that I’m carrying around. I have to hold it with both hands to keep it from falling into the pit of my stomach. Every day I have to hold it up, just so that I can get myself going in the morning, just so I can make it through another day. But in reality? My body leaves my bed every morning but it feels like my heart stays right there.

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