A Scary Thought

“There must be something wrong with me.”

For all you know, this behavior isn’t normal. Your thought process isn’t as it used to be. It’s 4AM and you feel drained but can’t sleep, there’s work to do but you can’t focus, there’s reasons to laugh but you can’t even smile. Ergo : there must be a problem.

Evidently that’s normal, for people to have problems. Which is funny because of how much we hide it, or how much we place the problem on others’ perceptions of us. “Blameless” – a term that everyone shoots for but is only focused on under the Christian doctrine. And we all know how much the world likes that idea.

So it’s not scary to find out something is wrong, what’s scary is that seems to be it: no tangible solution, no undo, no rhyme nor reason to this madness. The desire to change but the inability to follow through, the call for help that no one can hear, it’s all frankly… maddening.

Thus the circle commences and never ends. Or perhaps “spiral” is a better geometrical term for the process that sinks you lower as your mind turns through the same path over and over and over again. Because there’s only two things you can do when you face a seemingly unsolvable problem: ignore it, or confront it. Ignoring it doesn’t work because it’s always at the back of your mind, driving you passively insane until you finally decide to confront it. But confronting it doesn’t work because it is now actively driving you insane, so you try to push it to the back of your mind to return to it when you’re more functional.

Rinse, and repeat.

If memory serves, the confronting bit always happens more successfully when in the presence of good friends. Friends who are patient and loving and understanding, yet are not afraid to throw a wrench into the cogs of your thoughts for the sake of your personal well-being.

But alas, those friends are not awake at 5AM.

The first time it occurred to me that I’m being faced with a solution-less problem was last semester. I think I wrote a post about it… or at least I meant to. I mean to do a lot of things that never get done. I’m hoping that one day I’ll be able to say that I don’t do that anymore. It’ll probably take a while.

It was  scary last semester because it was the first time I had seriously considered the idea. It got scarier over the winter break because it was confirmed in relation to my father. It got scarier at the beginning of the year when it felt like there was no hope, but it became okay because I found hope. I talked to people. People talked to me. I was able to say things out loud and see them for what they were and confront them with people who would hold my hand and tell me everything is going to be okay.

It’s scarier now because, despite it all, I’m still here. And there’s no one to hold my hand here. No one tangible, anyways.

At the same time, I know that this is not the end. If there’s anything consistent in this life, it’s Time: the second hand will always keep moving, the sun will come up eventually, I will have to get up and move forward and turn in assignments and do research and it’ll all be okay. And then eventually, I’ll come back here. Because if I’m here after all of that before, all the highs and the smiles and the love and the “do-good-feel-good” awesomeness, that means there’s no way to avoid this.

I just have to remember, to believe, that I’m not alone. Not even here.

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