Here is the truth of Me.
All things said, dropping the ridiculous comparisons I obssesively bring up. I’ve lived an extraordinary life.
I’ve done nearly everything I’ve set my mind to, and I’ve experienced everything I ever hoped to experience and then some.
My depression tells me I’m not good enough, and my mania tells me I can do more, be more, and I spiral into an endless insatiable quest for more. The icing on the cake is my neverending fear of abandonment fed by my borderline personality disorder. I push people away because I don’t want to be abandoned. I’d rather do they abandoning. Hippocrital I know, never giving people the chance to go against my paranoia.
The disorders I live with impact my daily life, and they influence my thoughts and actions, but even then they don’t win. They don’t control me, at least not completely. I understand what’s wrong with me and I’m always aware of it’s control. I’m not free, but I’m also not ignorant of my issues.
This post has taken a different turn. The point in all this shit, is that I live, I breath, I smile and I cry. I am alive and successful in my own ambitions. I’ve always known to perservere for what I want even if the obstacle is my own mind, but I’d never acknowledged that taking it slow is okay too.
I never stopped to think I could enjoy gardening with my mother, cleaning my house, or simply living off the grid, in a place I never chose.
I guess you could say, I never stopped to realize that I can be happy even in reliquishing my control. I can be happy even if I didn’t choose this life, the present one.
It’s always been a competition in my life. A competition with imaginary competitors who always beat me and rules that say I can’t be happy unless I win.
I’ve never known how to stay still and be content. Success, Adventure and Knowledge have always given me a home. They’ve been my stablity and happiness. I’ve never known how to happy when Idle, when bored, when found in the perfect stability that most others find contentment in.
For someone like me, always jumping from extremes, it’s hard to be content. Content is foreign to me, it’s scary in it’s stable and neutral nature. My aversion to all things content and normal is the same aversion most people feel towards being alone in a foreign country without money, it’s fucking scary.
Being content is fucking scary, it’s like losing my identity, it’s like admitting defeat. To be content is hard, it goes against my nature, but slowly I’m learning to be content, to be appreciative for the things I didn’t wan,t but have anyway. Like living with my mom, It’s embarrasing at my age, but I know one day, I’ll appreciate the extra time I have with her now, because no one lives forever.
People like me, we get caught up in our ambition, our problems, and our lack of control, and in so doing we forget the little things that matter like breakfast with mom. We forget to see the beauty outside of our own alphabet of plans. We tend to let our loved ones pass us by.
So, I want to stop that now. Because my life is perfect and I’ve been too goddamn blind to appreciate it. My family, my friends, and I, we all deserve better than my empty ambitions. I know I’ve been lacking….