Hard Truths and Soft Lies – The Stories I Tell Myself to Keep Going

I’ve been trying to give myself some hard truths over the last few days. Not as another form of self-berating but to try to make an impact on where, how, why there has always been this nagging sense of dread in me. Something so deep that it really doesn’t want to be found. It sits like a parasite in my stomach, always sucking the life out of me. Taking all my nutrients, taking everything, I need to feed myself and using it for its own growth.  Why is this parasite there, was I born with it or did it just crawl into me like bacteria sliding up your nose?

When did I start hiding and masking myself? Why did I start hiding and masking myself?

I have answered many of these questions repeatedly through my books and blog writing. Sometimes I come up with varying answers that satisfy me for the moment, like a granola bar when it’s still 2 hours until lunch time. I’ve tried to use all my resources, everything that I am aware of to try and fight the dread. Medications, TMS, journaling, reading, yoga, meditation, OCD apps, therapy from psychologists and psychiatrists, therapy from a chat bot, lol my last attempt at trying to find some peace. I don’t know if I ever truly find it, if it will just keep coming and going for the rest of my breathing days or if possibly one day just the right sprinkle of water will reduce the fire I have inside my brain.

So hard truth number 1. With my writing and book publicity, who am I trying to help? Yes, there may be a person out there who sees my story in their story and for some moments in time, they feel relieved that they are not alone in their struggle. Does that actually help me? On some level, yes, the connection of that is powerful in my understanding as well that I am and was never alone in my struggles.  Does the mental health awareness piece help me? On some level it feels good to possibly hope that someone may not live the same way I have lived and will get help sooner based on reduced mental health stigma. However, do these things actually change how I feel about myself? I’m super sorry to say that I don’t think they do. How many people would it take for me to help to fill me up so that I could accept myself? Would it take 10, 20, 100, 1000, 10,000? Where is the spot where I say, ahhhhh, my work here is done, I feel so empowered and alive by all the good I have poured out to the world.

Hard truth number 2. If there is no end game of where success lies for me, have I just created an unachievable goal, that I can now never measure up to.

Hard truth number 3. There is some void I am constantly trying to fill. There is never enough dopamine for me, never enough of the feel-good drug, never enough of the reward, never enough to fill the hole of dread.

Hard truth number 4. I have felt alone since I was a child because no one knew who I was. The person that anybody thought they loved or thought they knew was a version of me that I created. It was this version of me that I believed was the only version that could be loved, admired, respected. I feel deceptive. I feel like a liar. It makes me feel like a homeless person, dressed in a fancy suit. Everyone now just wants me to stay in the fancy suit. I would be a disappointment if I went back to being homeless, so I keep the suit on, hoping one day I will feel like I belong in the suit. 

Hard truth number 5. This is not a sprint I am completing; it is long distance running. No quick fix, no magic solutions, no get out of jail free card.

Hard truth number 6. I have had enough of hard truths, soft deceiving lies to myself are much easier. 

Chat again soon,

Michelle