A summary of what has happened in the past week or so, in regards to my outlook on life and opinion of myself:
Prior to the past few days, I had been perpetuating other people's image of me. They expected me to cry often, be indecisive, shy away from daunting tasks. It was comfortable in the sense that I was so used to it. Any attempts to change myself at that point were unnatural. I was afraid of fear of rejection by my peers. The people I knew would be surprised, shocked. What if I come across as too aggressive? What if they don't like my decisions?
It seemed like I was afraid of every single person judging me, but looking back, that was not the case. I was only afraid of the judgment of two people. Everyone else didn't seem to care what I did, they only liked the good things.
One of these people had a very positive impact on my life. She offered advice and tried to help me get better, and I really do appreciate it all. But I needed to be able to do things on my own.
I guess this was the starting point in my journey away from self-hatred and disappointment. She basically opened my eyes to the necessity to change my current way of doing things. And it's not bad, it was true. At the rate I was going, I would have ended up an opinionless doormat.
I went wrong right here. I looked into her suggestions, branched out and entered into a new territory. I tried to apply the worst situation to my life. I guess I figured that would equal more help? Other people around me were legitimately going through the worst of things. And they were getting help for it. So I guess I needed that, too?
Why, though? I'm still trying to figure that out. Why did I kind of want myself to be depressed? Why did I want to seek professional help? Why did I want to have anxiety disorders? I felt like harming myself just to be able to feel like I had an issue. I felt like going on websites to compare and contrast my "symptoms" so i could get that label.
That was so idiotic. I wasn't looking for attention. I was looking for help for a problem I didn't have. Because I was trying to live up to the suggestion of that one person. If she was offering help, I might as well take it. But I kept looking for more help. And yet I didn't have it.
I was addressing the wrong problem. I had to stop pleasing others so much. I had to stop trying to have issues. It wasn't fair of me to take away the value of those who actually had those issues.
This is not an attempt to blame, but part of the reason I was so caught up in this was the persistence. "Are you okay? Are you sure you're okay? You don't have to be okay, you know." So maybe I was being reluctant.
It was a mess. I convinced myself that I had a mild form of anxiety and whenever something upset me in the tiniest way, I would choose to dwell on it. My problem was wanting to make things more significant that they actually were.
Couple that with the need to fit into the mold I had already built. Here is where the second person comes in. She would make a lot of jokes about my over-emotional attitude. She would reference crying and breakdowns in a humorous manner, because apparently that is what friends are supposed to do. She brought me even lower into this mask of self-loathing. And I couldn't distinguish my actual feelings from what I thought I was supposed to feel.
But this past week, everything flipped. It wasn't painful, but eye-opening. The second girl said more things about my emotional tendencies and meant it this time. But I didn't connect it to the core of myself as I usually do. And it didn't hurt. Because I realized that wasn't me.
I don't have emotional breakdowns. The two points that someone could argue against that would be the time I cried in the bathroom after being told off by another student after skipping a class and that time I tried to get drunk to suppress my "bad day." Both incidents had coincided with, surprise, that really vulnerable time of the month, and they were at the end of long days.
While it is true I do not like judgment and would rather not have it directed at me, when it does happen, I do not actually let it ruin me. It was only at this point in the year, after I thought I had an extreme mental issue, that I took that and amplified it. Explaining it to people made it even more elaborate and intense, because they were there to listen and I was getting "help".
The only events in my life where I expressed true agony and pain were spent on my own. One, when my mother moved out of our house after the divorce. Two, when my best friend moved schools in Junior Year. The most recent one was when I didn't know where my brother was. I handled those much differently.
I cried without caring and I cried without feeling the need to show others.
I do have a huge soft spot. But none of the other events were emotional breakdowns.
So I've accepted that. And this is the happiest I've ever been in a really long time.
Because nothing is wrong, but things are still getting better. I like myself a lot more and I just feel... stronger. I don't feel like anything can hurt me. Bad things still happen and all, but I see them differently, they don't bring me down anymore, they're just there. And I can try to fix them instead of having to work in how others see me and how I'm supposed to fail their expectations.