And I do try. What I think is perfect is different from commercialized ideals of perfection. But I do have a standard... an impossibly high one. the more broken I am inside, the more important it seems to be to act and look perfect on the outside.
I've also learned from experience that I can be hard to read, people often miss the nuances of my mood. I just don't make big gestures and I don't speak loudly... I think that for those who have met me but haven't yet figured out how to read me I can come off cool, intimidating, reserved.
But I'm not. I'm broken. My mind is broken, my identity is broken. My emotions are raw and I just. can't. control them anymore. Sometimes I'm rocking and crying on the floor, sometimes I'm shaking. I feel as if there's a man in the room with a gun and somehow I just have to ignore him and pretend everything is normal. I panic, I struggle to get out of bed. I feel like I can't trust my mind. My very thoughts, emotions and actions are sometimes beyond control and I don't even know why.
I have PTSD.
I'm writing this because of a conversation I had with a friend today around mental health. We discussed how sharing a story helps others talk about their own struggles: how so many people, when they feel safe enough, express feelings of isolation, of loneliness.
So I'm writing this. Because despite what you see, what you might think you see, I'm broken too. Maybe we all are. Like you, I feel alone and afraid. At the moment, the thing that I'm most afraid of is that I won't be accepted for who I really am.
I'm scared of rejection, but I don't want pity. I don't want to be "saved". I want to be loved for who I am right now and to still be considered equal, in thought and ability.
But I'm scared, I've been hurt, I've seen others judged and hurt... so instead: I fight to control the mess, claw for perfection. I'm desperately trying to hold it together...
For 1 more minute, 1 more hour, 1 more day
Until I break again.
