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The Battle of a Day

Even after all that I've said, there's still so much more.

By Jessica RasilePublished 5 years ago 3 min read

Days are filled with bouts of anger and oceans of tears forming in my eyes. I have no control over my emotions or how they choose to seep through me. The demons inside me lash out at the ones I hold dear, and there's nothing I can do about it. Everyday I wake up in a whirlwind of feelings, sitting at my desk, I weep uncontrollably, for no apparent reason. When the tears have been shed, my hands clench hard into fists until my nails make deep indents in my palms. Again, for no reason that is clear. I'm angry and I'm sad and I'm nervous. I can't stop thinking about things I don’t want to be thinking about, things I shouldn’t be thinking about. Even if I try to focus my mind on something else, the memories still play in the background like elevator music. Still there, still wanting to be heard. I can’t take it anymore. I can feel myself getting bad again, but I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to help myself. The bottles of empty wine are starting to build up in my cupboards. Each one pushing the angst of my soul a little further down. But after the buzz subsides, it come back up flooding my veins and entire nervous system. I know it's not healthy, but anything beats the pills.

I can't let myself be dependent on anything again. I can't. They don’t help the way people think they do. It’s just another thing that I lose control of myself to, and that’s the last thing I need. There has to be another way. I need a way out of my myself. Of my head, my thoughts. This fear of failing, of dying, of losing everything, it's in everything I do. Everything. Even sitting here just typing this, putting the words on paper, it's there. Behind every sentence, every space, every letter. What do I do? No one understands, and I don’t blame them. I mean how could they when I don’t even understand it. I don’t know why I'm like this. I hate myself for it, I do. I hate that I allowed myself to get like this. I hate myself. This is never who I wanted to become. I don’t want to be weak, desperate and pathetic. I want to be strong and confident and in control. But I'm not any of those things. Although, I can play the part very well. Well enough for anyone to believe it. But it's just a mask and at the end of the day, it sheds. Along with my tears, with my sanity. With the sweat gushing out of my pores as I suffer though another anxiety attack. I'm a slave to myself and I can’t break free. I can't I can't I can't, I can see it being repeated over and over as I'm writing this. There is no cure for my disease, and that’s what it is. It’s a disease that is slowly sucking all the life I have left out of me, and everyday I succumb a little more to it. Because I'm tired, too tried to keep fighting. It’s a never ending battle that will never have a winner. How could it, when it's me vs me? Either way I lose, don’t I? I'm just tired and my thoughts are getting louder and darker all the time. I'm suffocating, drowning in the depths of this hell I've created, without even knowing it. Without giving myself permission to do it. But here I find myself, over and over again after all these years. Even after all that I've said, there's still so much more. Yet there's still so many who will read this and not get it. They’ll never understand that for some, on some days, it's hard to even just be alive.

panic attacks

About the Creator

Jessica Rasile

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