I want on the outside what's in the inside

My survival instinct is extremely high. How amazing that is. People tell me I am strong.
But my survival instinct is just my huge fear of embarrasment and need to conform. To control things. How would I look like in an ambulance...somewhere I can't control me

But.
All I've ever wanted is to lose this control. To let it go. To let myself fall. To make mistakes. But I can't cause I'm not allowed.

I want to bleed from the outside too!!! I want the pain to be visible.

I'm strong and keep going. I've always kept going. Was sick with the flu, kept going to school. Was laghed at, kept going, was feeling horrible inside, kept going, was feeling out of place, my boundaries were violated, my needs not met, kept going. Always a little more self help. And no one knows I am dying inside.

They tell me, keep going, you got so far.

But don't you get it? It's exactly why I want to stop. Because it's a torture. They want to drag me back into a life that's not lived.

I just want to crash. Really. Really. I want that now. Please. I want to be seen, to bleed. I still keep going. Please make this stop.
I don't want to anymore

I've been at work these days, felt so disconnected that I've bee constantly bumping into stuff, went to a different floor istead of where are office is, was not doing absolutely anyhing, but keeping up the appearances. Everything feels surreal and feel like people are watching me. I guess they are not but feel it constantly. I'm forgetting my thoughts the next second after I thin them Spent half a day in the toilet. From tomorrow I'm on holiday and should travel home to see my parents and friends. Some freaking inertia will do that to. What s wrong with me? Why can't I just let go

I'm just going to write here, I don't care. I need to. Even when I feel guilty to do this. Or just completely inept and whatever.
I basically forgot again what I was thinking a second ago. Anyway.

Yeah, so I wanted to say that I discovered that this aloneness has always been here, outside and inside me, and I've always been running from it, even now, but now I can see it and it's suffocating and it's unavoidable and there is basically no escape from it.

Why am I always censoring myself. Just deleted two lines. Because I think I'm selfish, that I'm not good enough, what I write is selfish and hurts people.
If I am myself that hurts people, so I need to be someone else.
I used to work so much to love myself. And I have. But something came up, I felt I'm bad if I do that, if I live based on that.

Words are torturing me and helping me in the same time. Words are hiding me and lying to me. Words are me because I'm lost.

Oh, yeah, and I can never have a community IRL where I'll feel connected to others, that will never happen in this life. I wanted things which can never happen and now I'm angry. But I know many have the same issues, so yeah...Sad

I'm always telling myself stories about the future but that future (or another dimension or whatever) will NEVER happen. I know, I should be living in the moment and such. I have been, maybe this was it. Maybe this is the moment of realisation. I don't know.

And then again I'll be left alone with my thoughts as always have been because this is how it is. I have enough thoughts to live in them, it's not real anymore but has it ever been?

It's funny how much of a self fulfilling profecy life is. Vicious circle.
When you feel the most alone you are proven that you really are.

You're not alone here ..

Thank you Fuzzy

I have ... and sometimes still do feel as you do ... please post ... don't be afraid ... we are here for you ...

Thank you

your ability to express your darkest vulnerability is uniquely captivating. you have a gift, the ability to transform your pain into something so real.

((((((( subtle lights )))))))
How are you feeling today? I've been thinking of you. )

(Agree you have a gift with words )

Thank you

Though my inner critiques are torturing me lately, shouting at me the opposite of what you've said and that it's never good enough.
I believe you though, I'm trying to

Thank you Fuzzy
You're always so nice and warm and comforting

I feel better now, I've been feeling very detached from myself, which was good for me ironically, or sadly. Now, I still feel detached, a bit dizzy, and every noise hurts.
I'm a bit out in fantasy land in my mind and that helps.
I know I'll be back soon in that dark place though, it's lurking in the background...

((((((many hugs))))))
I find your posts very beautiful to read…

Thank you DaX15, that means a lot

When it comes to creativity, Inner critique is a good thing. It prevents us from becoming complacent. and Complacency is the enemy of creativity. The day your inner critic stops critiquing, will be the day you'll give up working relentlessly to be better and exceptional, and start settling for mediocrity.

Yeah, I guess it can be good in limited amounts, but right now I cannot work anymore or do anything without constantly hearing the shouting in my head of how incompetent I am. It's transformed now into an automatic violent angry outburst against myself every time I might make a mistake. Or even when not.

you know i used to write too. it used to feel like i was communicating with the universe. it was like a stream of this indescribable energy that' id suddenly had found access to, have infiltrated my senses and this surge of unknown, unfamiliar feelings, that didn't exist before, have suddenly came to life out of the dark dead corners of mind and i can feel them so intensely, like for the first time every cell of my body is in synch and is trying to commune with this unknown entity that has awoken inside me, until i cant take it anymore and then i'd let go, let this thing take over me, and thats when the words, would appear and start stringing together like little beads of pearls, scratching and clawing under my skin, wanting, demanding to be let out. And id write and write until i had nothing left to write and thats when i felt it, that euphoric bliss. It was like every word that left me, left an empty space in its place, and by the time the last word left, my mind would become an empty space. No thoughts. Just peace.

I havent felt connected to universe, or whatever it was ever since i got mentally sick. Depression and anxiety took the best thing i had in my life. My reprieve. I miss it so very much. Reading your threads, felt incredible, it stirred that dormant passion inside me that i had completely forgotten about. Thank you for that. You didn't let mental illness take away your ability to express. its inspiring to me.

You know, this now made me cry And I can't really cry because I'm in a train sorrounded by people (brrr)
I think I'll re-read this again when alone...
What you've written here is so beautiful and raw and alive. Which makes me believe that all that you've decared lost (and I cannot even imagine the pain of this ralisation), is actually still there, still alive in you. I've just experieced it.

It's funny somewhat that yeserday I've found a few sheets of paper with my poems written still in highschool. The time of the rise of my inner emotional storms...And I felt something similar to what you've been describing. Those poems were full of passion but they also made sense...And I've been writing in my native language then which is kind of lost now for me...Now, on the other hand while I still feel that "trance" state you're describing so beautifully, I feel in the same time that my mind doesn't let me express myself fully anymore...Sometimes I'm afraid that writing would just drive me towards getting more lost in my head...
You on the other hand really inspired me to keep up and don't give up. And I'm so grateful for this.
Thank you

Yeah maybe its still there. But its like a person buried underneath an avalanche, barely alive, dying.

Like you said, youre afraid you might get lost in your head. I feel the same away about writing. There is just so much pain, and despair inside me at this moment that i'm afraid what i'll write will be so dark, it'll create this black hole that'll swallow me whole. Like this one time, when before i got sick, i wrote this piece about how we don't know anyone in this world, not even remotely. I wrote how, people project a version of themselves, a version that's pre calculated just so to create a particular desired emotion in the other person. Like a guy wants to create an impression that'll cause the girl to believe he is a gentle, compassionate person, in order to make the girl like her, he'll project a gentle compassionate side of himself, often exaggerated, and even fictional, and hides anything and everything that can be seen as uncaring, when he talks to that girl. its like he'll a wear a mask, designed to make the girl like him. At the same time when that guy wants to fit into a crowd of other guys who are say uncaring womanizing bunch, so this time he'll put on a different mask, one that projects I am a guy, and i don't care if i hurt women.

by the time i ended writing that piece i realised people have so many masks, all designed for a specific purpose, that they chose from to suit their own needs, that we can never truly know what the real face of a person looks like. It was like i dug up a rabbit hole and fell in and its a bottomless hole. I started thinking, what if my parents wear a mask in front of me, a mask that projects them as a kind caring human beings but in reality there is another side of them, the real one that i dont know, coz they choose not to show it to me. What if the real version of them are people who like and enjoy inflicting pain upon others. I just couldnt stop myself from stop digging that hole deeper and deeper. At the end i felt so alone, like i don't know anyone in this world. I ended up deleting the whole thing, cause it made me depressed. This is the same reason i stopped writing, after i got mentally sick. Coz i didnt know if i'll be able to handle what i create with all this endless darkness looming inside of me.

I see what you mean now...It's easy to get lost in the mind, especially for us who already have got the predisposition towards this.
I can relate somewhat, in my case it's more that feeling that in my stories I can make everything true or false, in the same time, and there is no limit, it comes from an emotional place, not from a logical place..Which is fine, because I love to use my words to express emotions, and that creates a surreal world where everything is possible. But then this fear appears that I'll start losing touch with reality in the outside world as well..
And it's scary because I feel like there is nothing stable and certain in this world anymore, there is no "handle" I can hold on to. There are those people who have their concrete, unshakable opinions about things. If I express am opinion, the second after I'm starting to think seriously why the opposite of what I've just said is true. And so on.

It just came to my mind that maybe there are different type of writing "states". There is the one where you are smewhat lost, trying to focus but getting more and more nauseus and cofused, but there is also the one where you let it go, no expectations, sort of "let the univers flow through you" kinda state.
I think it's not possibe to stick to one or the other all the time, but if they alternate, that's healthier I guess.
Writing can be healing and can be torture. Interestingly the result can be beautiful in both cases. I've been thinking if I need to stay in pain, just to be able to write...

I could write a lot about this topic...I think I'll stop here for now but if you want we can also talk outside this thread.