I am not okay.
I have a good life. A beautiful apartment. A loving and supportive husband. A cat.
I do not have to work. I paint. I am safe, and loved, and live a life that many would feel grateful for. And I am grateful.
But I am not okay.
I feel guilty for feeling this way. Every morning, I wake up – not when my alarm clock dictates, but when I feel like getting out of bed. Some days I don’t feel like getting out of bed at all. But I do. I go downstairs, and fix my self a cup of tea. I look to see what is on Netflix. sometimes I will put something on and watch it for hours. When I don’t feel too horrible, I paint. some days I just drink my tea and stare at the wall.
My phone buzzes and chirps with the incoming notifications from my various apps and social media accounts. “Mary Johnson also commented on Dean Smith’s Status update” says Facebook. But no one has responded to my comment.
“TheSadLlama commented on your photo” dings Instagram. and for a brief moment I feel a rush of excitement, but it disappears as I discover that it is yet another emoji that I do not understand. nobody uses words anymore. I feel as if my language is becoming more and more obsolete. People speak using little pictures instead of words. when they do take the time to type something out, it is with a plethora of words and phrases that makes no sense to me.
I am lonely all the time. I am surrounded by people and I feel alone. My husband is the only person that really talks to me regularly. I love him, but he has his own stresses to worry about with his job, and I don’t want to make it any harder on him than I already do.
99% of my friends were his friends first. They smile and are nice enough, but I feel like they are only my friends because of my relationship with him. Would they really like me if I were alone? Maybe all of these insecurities are in my head. But I will never know for sure and they won’t go away.
I have this feeling in my stomach and chest that wont subside. Like at any moment a burst of energy is going to erupt from my upper abdomen, and I will fall apart, and never be able to fix my self again. I used to have anxiety attacks frequently when I was younger. This is worse. I feel as if I am constantly on the verge of an anxiety attack, but never have one. The pain just stays inside, slowly eating me alive.
This is how I feel every day. This is my life. I don’t think it is ever going to change. but at least everything looks okay on paper. Right?