I was on a bus going from Washington, DC to home last night. This past weekend should have been amazing, and for the most part it was. I saw friends, I saw family, I saw monuments and national cemeteries, I even got to see the inside of the Pentagon. It was everything I could have dreamed of for a trip to DC (except the Jefferson Memorial, that thing is the bane of my existence right about now!). But one thing I didn’t count on was thinking about a guy all weekend. Or having an existential crisis. Or having what might have been a small panic attack in the middle of said national cemetery. I didn’t think I would have thoughts about jumping in the Lincoln Reflecting pool at 10:00 PM while walking next to it. I didn’t think I would come to the realization that I need to get help. I need professional help.
I know I’ve talked about my moods a lot in past blog posts. But as much as I like to complain about it, I never really did anything about it. I never went to go find the help I should have gotten when I was 13 and making cuts on my skin. I should’ve gone to get help when in college I told my baby sister that I hated myself so much, but the only reason I wouldn’t kill myself is because I love her too much, and I never wanted to put her through that pain of losing me. Well, now that baby sister is a grown woman, and I’m starting to think about it again...
The thoughts aren’t always there. Sometimes I’m really super happy and things are going really well. Other times, I’m just content with how things are going, like life sucks sometimes, but I can pull through. And to be completely honest, I don’t know where these thoughts are coming from. I have a great job that I love with amazing benefits (like a free education) and have a chance to get a raise in, if not a promotion one day. I have a house that will one day belong to my sisters and I. While I could be doing more to save a little bit of money, I have the opportunity to travel and go places that I never thought I would ever visit. I spend money on tattoos that are beautiful pieces of art. I have every reason to be happy. And yet...
I realize the times I’m the most unhappy are the times when I’m alone, when the chance for my mind to wander is greater. When I’m not hearing about other people, or thinking about work, my mind thinks about all the things that, if I changed them, my life could potentially be better. If I wasn’t overweight, if I didn’t drink so much, if I exercised, if I went out more, if I actually used the dating apps I have accounts on, if I had a boyfriend, not just guys who call me when they want to have sex with me, if I kept in touch with friends more. There are so many ifs that I could change in my life. When I have nothing else going on (like right now while I’m typing this blog post) my mind harps on it. And it’s not like I can think it, go “You know what, grow up and be happy with what you have,” and actually move on. I can’t move past some things.
I think that’s my main problem. I can’t let things go and move past them. Every pain that I’ve been caused, every hurt and injustice that’s been done to me, seems to linger heavy on my soul. I don’t know how to change that. I don’t know what to do.
On December 1st, I will have my own insurance (through my job and not under my parents’ plan), and the first thing I’m going to do is find and go make an appointment with a psychiatrist. I really do think I’m at that point where if I don’t do something about this, I may end up doing something stupid. I need to get my mental wellbeing in check, and if that means giving up some vices and sacrificing some stuff, then so be it.
I cannot live another year of my life like this. Especially if I’m going to be by myself while traveling.
That’s it for this post. Until next time - I’m Charlotte Carmichael and thanks for reading.
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