I can't really explain it, I never can...it doesn't happen often but when it does words escape me leaving me a heap of useless emotions that I can't quite comprehend or understand let alone express rationally so that anyone else can get a glimpse of endless noise screeching in my head and the weight pressing me down while fighting to tether myself to anything that feels permanent so I don't float away.
This feeling is both something familiar and scary at the same time. I suppose the two are not mutually exclusive from each other, something can be familiar and terrifying at the same time I suppose.
But is it really terrifying? Is it really that scary? Death would be a very big adventure, so yes naturally that would be scary, plus despite the thoughts about it I am far from that level of depression. I just have a more constant feeling of melancholy. I'm an upbeat person so this is hard for me...it makes everything seem off, and I'm afraid of others around me becoming concerned so I try my hardest to be upbeat and positive as much as I can. I have so many blessings in my life and I hate the thought of any of them to think they have in some way caused me to feel this way or could or should be doing something to change the way I feel.
The truth is no one made me feel this way, no one wasn't there for me, no one hurt me, or let me down in any way. I have pain deep rooted that still hurts that occasionally contributes to my endless pursuit to be enough, but I don't think that's it either. I can't explain it, the way I feel doesn't make any sense and is maddening. I care both to much and not at all about the future. I'm so ready for it to be here but I'm petrified of growing up when I still feel so childish sometimes. I am so passionately in love and so completely loved by the most wonderful man I will ever know but despite the security and comfort he makes me feel, I'm so afraid of making a mistake or driving him away with how dark my head can be. I hate how afraid I am, I hate fearing the darkness around me. I hate knowing it might not be as dark as the inside of my head. When did the monsters under our bed become less scary than the ones that live in our head? When did the fear of not being enough and simultaneously too much start controlling my life? And maybe when or the why is not nearly as important as how to get away...
So melancholy at best, but at least I can take heart knowing this will pass just rather lonely waiting. How can it not be if I can't even understand it myself, but I am ready for sooner rather than later.
Enough late night rambles