I know changes are inevitable, but to me they’re a death sentence.
If I haven’t already stated this to you all… I have Borderline Personality Disorder and it involves issues revolving around abandonment. So when I know changes in my life will happen, I experience an overwhelming amount of dread and anxiety… especially when losing someone is a possibility.
To me the idea of losing someone feels like my entire world is being wiped away. I feel like I don’t know how to function knowing they’ll be gone and that there’s no point in living without them in my life. It’s basically like an appendage has been forcibly removed from me and I’ve been told to just move on… like a metaphorical amputation. đ
Now I’ve done the homework, the therapy, all the bullshit… and no matter what I tell myself… I struggle. I fucking struggle over and over and over… And now I’m here. Struggling once more.
I know (I fucking know) I need to worry less about being abandoned and focus more on trusting people to stay in my life… but pushing past the intrusive thoughts is seemingly impossible.
I guess what I really need to figure out is how to trust people to stay with me… Even though I feel underserved of that privilege…
What happens when you’ve found yourself stuck in some kind of limbo of satisfaction with who you are?
I’ve repeatedly found myself torn between completely loving or hating myself. There is rarely an in-between for me. There are moments when I’m so proud of the work I’ve done, where I’ve gotten, and who I’ve become. In those moments I truly and wholeheartedly love myself… But those feelings don’t tend to last very long.
I just don’t know what to do to fix this anymore. The only thing I feel like I can do at this point is let it happen, ride it out, and hope the self-love lasts longer than the hate.
Time heals… I get that. Personal effort and growth is key… Yeah sure. But will time and effort really be able to invoke complete love for myself? Or do all of us just learn to tolerate and cope with ourselves enough to survive?
Sometimes I feel like I’m just not supposed to be here.
I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely sure if my idea of ‘here’ means this lifetime, world, or body… but at times I just feel so disconnected from my own reality. I can’t seem to figure out exactly who I am or where I want to be, but somehow know that my life is screaming mediocracy.
Part of me believes that I could be living some exceptional life if I was anywhere else. Like if I had just played my cards right… if I had followed my dreams… maybe I could have been extraordinary. It’s like I’ve personally somehow robbed myself of having a more desirable, purposeful identity. I mean don’t get me wrong… I’m grateful for everything I have in my life… but the part of me having an existential crisis right now is also pissed that it all feels so meaningless. I sit here alive and thriving, yet still considering myself a pile of confused nothingness. Meh.
So… yeah… that about wraps up my rant about my existence possibly being a mistake. Thanks for taking the time to read my dissociative thoughts. đ€
Some nights I like to have deep, thought provoking conversations with myself. I tend to do this while in the shower until the water runs cold (this gives me approximately twenty minutes to figure my shit out). So anyways, tonight I was thinking, “What is the point? What in the fuck is the point of life?”. Because with all do respect, unless we do something completely outstanding, does anything really matter?
I’m assuming that if I died tomorrow, I would be missed for maybe a year and then remembered until those in this lifetime are also gone. Harsh? Yes… but that’s honestly the truth. And that’s the truth for most of us. Say you don’t have children, your belongings are disposed of or sold off when you die. Everything you worked your whole life for is auctioned off to some weirdo in Kentucky or something. Those knick-knacks and trinkets you worked so hard to collect… either garbage or the newest addition to Good-Will. And unless you do something exceptional in life, you most likely won’t pass anything viable on to the next generation. I’ll tell you what… those dreams you had of being featured in a middle-school history book definitely won’t be fucking happening. The gold-plated statues and plaques carrying on your accomplishments will just frankly never exist.
I won’t have children, I won’t be featured in any history books, and most likely won’t pass anything viable on to the next generation. So why is life so stressful?
Tonight I think I’ve decided with myself that the end-goal of life is basically pointless. We’re all going out one way or another and eventually the Earth will just shit out and die too. However, I do believe that life is meant for three things: strong relationships, overall happiness, and bad-ass experiences (surviving life is obvious and doesn’t count for this list). We have one life (unless you believe in reincarnation and that’s a whole other rant). Therefore, I believe we just need to pack in as much bull-shit as we can within the years we have and find some damn good people to share those experiences with. That’s what life is all about.
I haven’t just blasted out my rambling thoughts for awhile, but I have something on my mind…
Recently, I had a conversation with a coworker/friend whom I’ve gotten closer to over this past year. He asked one question and there I went… spewing out five years of personal information that rarely leaves my mouth. I vented and he listened as I spoke about my sexual assault, relationship drama, and quarter-life mental crisis. He ended it with the usual “I’m sorry that happened to you” and facial expression that hints at feelings of pity. However, I realized that I had ended it with something new. I said, “It’s okay…. well not really fucking okay, but I’m happy now”.
I’m happy now…
Sure. I still have my bad moments… days… and mildly disturbing intrusive thoughts… but I can truthfully say I’m okay now. Generally I’m still moody as all shit, but my mental health is manageable, my relationships are healthier, and my confidence is back (most days). I’m actually fucking happy…
So, if you’ve made it this far I just wanted to say thank you. Those in my WordPress community (whenever you have joined along the way) have given me a safe place to vent and share pieces of my life without backlash or criticism. In all seriousness… I don’t really know if I would be here today without this.
Now I will continue on with my moody poetry and amateur photography. đ
Sometimes I feel like life is just some sick joke on all of us.
The purpose of humanity is to do one thing right? We’re supposed to survive. Yet here we are… spending our entire fucking lives trying to do everything and anything we can to make it to another day… still knowing that we will eventually die.
But besides just surviving for however long we have… I feel like everyone has a desire to leave some sort of mark on this planet. Maybe it’s children, relationships, ideas, music, art or just something miniscule the next generation might have a use for or remember… anything at all.
And I don’t know about you, but I have this deep desire to leave something behind for this world after I’m gone… to make my own mark.
I just worry that I won’t have enough time to figure out what that mark is before I’m gone…
So… I haven’t just written and vented for awhile. Lately it’s been hitting me more and more that I need to make a decision with my life. The decision being “kids”.
I keep questioning my purpose in the world. Am I really meant to procreate? Or is being childless best for my mental and physical health?
Basically I’m having a fucking quarter-life crisis on the daily at this point and I’m terrified.
One part of me loves this independent, free, and mildly careless life. I mean shit… I’m free to travel, work, and enjoy life without any real commitments (And I kind of like that.)
Another part of me is craving some sort of purpose… some sort of mark to be left on this planet… a reason to be alive…
I guess right now I’m just hopeful that time/fate decides it for me (Because I apparently can’t decide 100% either way and it pisses me off).
If anyone gets to this point of the post… thank you for being here to read my thoughts. đ
This year has been nothing that I could have imagined…
A year filled with bushfires, an awkward election, racism at it’s finest, and an unexpected pandemic. And although all of that has been super fucking great… I am so damn ready for this next year to begin.
Although I wish that the majority of this year hadn’t happened, I can also appreciate what it has done for me. It has shown me what gratitude actually is. I look back and realize how stupid we all were for taking all those little things in life for granted. Socializing, loved ones, concerts, traveling, celebrations… and just life in fucking general. Personally I think I’ve learned enough life lessons/gratitude in this one year than I ever thought I’d learn in my entire lifetime… but I made it through. (Well almost… there’s still 15.5 hours left and we’ve all learned by now that anything can happen.) HA!
Mild rant over. R.I.P 2020. Let’s all work our asses off to make 2021 a better world for us all?
Recently I was given the task of writing my story for Kate Duff’s magazine ‘Audacity’ (links below). So now that it’s published… here it is… I am currently sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at a blank grey wall, wondering how I even begin to tell my story. Honestly, Iâve been trying to think of how to start writing this mini-autobiography for days. Iâve now come to the conclusion that the best place to start is after high school, when I think my life really began. I was always the fat kid. Growing up my parents told me Iâd grow out of it⊠you know because puberty fixes everything. Well⊠it didnât. My anxiety and depression slowly got worse throughout the years and so did my weight. By the time I graduated high school, I had become the class fat girl pushing 300lbs. I didnât fit into desks, I couldnât wear what I wanted, and I didnât fit into any groups or cliques. I was bullied like every other fat kid in America and was mildly scarred over the years because of it. Eventually, the name calling and stares got to be too much for me and shortly after graduation… I snapped. In 2011 I went to college, met my now husband, and was on a mission to lose at least 50lbs. I didnât want to keep on living as the quiet, suicidal, fat girl with no friends so I began exercising, eating healthy, and holding myself accountable for my actions. Then wham⊠two years later I was 140lbs lighter (literally half of what I used to be) and feeling really really good about myself. After two skin removal surgeries (believe it or not your skin doesnât just snap back into place like a damn rubberband) and some new clothes, I actually started getting compliments, winks, and flattering stares for the first time in my life. It felt so damn good to finally be seen as the beautiful confident, fun, person I always knew I could be. I was genuinely happy and loving life as I got used to my new shell. Then it all changed.
I think everyone has that moment in their lives when they know their world shifts. Like something happens (good or bad) and life is just never the same. Well⊠mine was bad. It happened one night in September 2018. LIke any other Friday night, I had been drinking with my husband and his coworker (by that point he was a friend to both of us) and we watched a movie together. At some point I started falling asleep so I told my husband I would be fine in the basement. Wrong. That night ended with me being raped in my own home while my husband slept directly above me. That was the night my life changed. I never felt so many emotions all at once. I was disgusted, horrified, shocked, embarrassed, scared⊠so I kept it a secret and began tormenting myself with questions. Did I want that? Why didnât you yell? Why was he ever trusted? What would my husband do to him? What if he fights him at work and loses his job? This went on and on for half a year until I broke down and told my husband everything. He handled it better than I had hoped (he didnât kill him or lose his job) and stood by my side. However, the damage had still been done. I had felt so dirty and broken after that horrible night that I began to see myself as this disgusting, ugly, contaminated, tormented person that didnât deserve love or affection. I felt like everything I had worked so hard for was just snatched away in an instant. So I became distant and more depressed than I ever had been before. I began to drink more and do risky things while drinking to cope with the trauma. Other menâs compliments and actions gave me a sort of high to counteract all the pain and ugliness I was feeling. I wonât go into details, but I basically spiraled and did some regretful things which caused me to lose my best guy friend (we became too close) and almost my husband.Â
However, even though I was going through some dark shit, something good unexpectedly came out of it. I began to write. I started my blog, âAnonymously Halâ, during the peak of this rough period on a random night in August 2019. I was basically out of ideas to cope with my emotions, stumbled across WordPress, and thought, âLetâs tell strangers about my deepest darkest secrets and most horrific life eventsâ. So I made myself an anonymous, online diary with the intention to keep it incognito from everyone in my personal life. I just wanted (and needed) to be able to vent and write without any judgement from those who actually knew me. I never ever imagined my writing would connect me with so many beautiful strangers on the internet⊠and change my life.Â
Now here I am. I am a 27 year old woman from Wisconsin who works as a nurse by day⊠and becomes poetry writing âHalâ at night.
Anonymously Hal 
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