Anxiety

Sometimes I wish I could accurately describe my feelings to people so they understand better.

It’s not that people can’t sympathize with me or anything. Sometimes I have a very hard time speaking or conveying my thoughts to people in a way that makes sense. I spend hours upon hours dwelling on that, beating myself up over the fact that I am not as articulate as I know I really am. There’s some sort of disconnect in my head. There must be.

So I come off as a dense air-head sometimes. It makes me feel terrible. That’s not who I am.

But then if people knew exactly how I felt, they’d feel the displeasure of living day-to-day as I do. I don’t want other people living with the inner monologue that makes fun of you.

I’ve been bullied. But being bullied by yourself is a monstrous experience.

The lies my brain tells me. They’re only lies.

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