Lofty

via Daily Prompt: Lofty

They said my goals were lofty. They said I was being unrealistic and needed to remember my age. I ran for executive positions in clubs anyways, and I won. When I listened to them, I was held back. I was told to speak less, and to only be friends with very specific people. For a while, I did this, and it nearly cost me my true friends and who I was as a person. I needed to be more confident, but not too confident, because then I might be intimidating. They wanted me to be perfect, and I finally said no.

I am insecure and afraid, and I find security in leadership positions. If that sounds backwards, it’s because for most people, it is. I know I am a mess, and to rely on myself to help me is just disaster waiting to happen. I say I don’t trust people, but the person I trust the least is myself. The strange thing is, the second another person comes into the picture, I’m willing to step up to do anything because I can help them, and that gives me a sense of purpose.

I don’t do very well on my own, and when people are around me after I’ve had a little too much time to think, they see how much of a mess my head is, and suddenly they think I’m incapable of anything, but I am. I am capable of anything, just like everyone else, and if I have a reason to do something, then I’ll do it. When I’m on my own, things head south. It’s like there’s a constant war between two voices, like a shoulder angel and devil. Both of these voices are mine, but one thinks I should die, and the other thinks I should live. I think and hope the angel is the one saying I should live, because she’s the one who always wins in the end. The shoulder devil will throw out a reason to die, and the angel will either directly counter it, or throw out a reason to live. Most days, this works pretty well, and after a few hours, the angel wins.

Sometimes, the angel runs out of reasons. All she can do is just scream “Don’t do it!” but the words stop carrying any meaning when her argument is gone. At this point, I’ll call a friend to distract myself, but sometimes no one answers. If I’m in a car, I’ll grab my arms so tightly it hurts, and I won’t move until I’m home. Once I’m home, I either cry myself to sleep, or I watch YouTube until the angel has had time to come up with more reasons.

My mom doesn’t understand this. She thinks depression and suicidal thoughts always have to have a direct cause. They don’t. Often times its a culmination of so many little things that trying to explain it would just make me sound petty. Perhaps I am.

I am going to get better one day. I want to be a journalist and do boardsports in my free time. Eventually, I hope to go into politics, while still doing boardsports in my free time of course. This is the stuff that everyone tells me is lofty. They say I’ll never make it, but they’ve been wrong before, and they’ll be wrong about this too.

 

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