It’s past 3am and all I can think of is how to be myself. In person, i’m mostly an open book and I wear my heart on my sleeve. But I keep the depression and sadness inside and I end up venting online about my life. I started this blog to write about current events, random news, or anything that piqued my interest. However, I had a wall that blocked me from writing anything, and I think it was just that I was hiding who and what I am and speaking my truth. I hope writing this will hopefully make me start writing regularly. To write the things I want. And that is where the problem lies.
I’m so caught up with trying to please the people I imagine in my head so that I gain some following. In real life, around my family, I can almost fully be myself. But I’m just obsessed with the thought of anyone thinking that what I’m doing, whether it’s writing or streaming, is great and want to follow me.
The problem is I can’t be that person. I’ve been thinking about this for hours. I have so many online pen names that I post under because I don’t want the pain I feel inside to be linked to the real me. I hide my soul while pouring out my soul, so to speak. I wear a mask, but I struggle with my anonymity but wanting to the real me, my real identity, to be heard and noticed.
So, in a nutshell, I’m an extremely depressed disabled lonely person who is trying hard to get their life back. I tried by taking the LSAT to go to law school so I can follow my passion with social justice. However my score was terrible. Looking back, I always used to brag how I do amazing on standardized tests, but on that day, my anxiety was through the roof and I sedated myself so much that I just could not concentrate. I hoped that the things I accomplished in my old life would carry me; it didn’t. I was rejected from all five law schools I applied to.
Rejection. That’s a common word in my life. My fear. When it happens, I sink further into my hole of depression and I wonder why hell I keep trying to get myself out of it.
I hate myself. I don’t love myself. I’m only alive because I wouldn’t be able to deal with the pain that my mother and brother would carry for the rest of their lives.
Pain. I’m in so much emotional pain that I always do my best to make sure that the people around me don’t feel an ounce of what I carry within me. Trust me when I say it’s a lot.
My therapist and I often discuss why I keep trying to climb out of this sinking hole when I know I’m going to fail. I still don’t know why. Or maybe I do. For my dreams.
Dreams. All I want is to find someone and be the best husband and dad ever while helping those who are underprivileged or in pain get the justice they deserve. I hold onto that dream despite telling myself it will never happen. I’m disabled with multiple sclerosis on top of the whole PTSD and severe depression thing. Needless to say, i’m carrying a lot of weight.
To the readers of this site, if there are ever any. This is who I am. This is my introduction, and now I think I will feel free to write about the things that I want. I hope at least, but hope is a dangerous thing.
Regardless, I’m going to write about things that happen in the world that are unjust. Or possibly an opinion on something. I’m going to write whatever I feel like and be myself and hope that it’s good enough for someone to like what I’m doing and maybe make a positive change in the world. Writing is all I can do for now to have some influence on making things better, or bringing to light something that some people might not know.
This is all the power I have now to help others. Writing. I just hope I can change at least one life for the better, but as I said earlier:
Hope is a dangerous thing.