Worried

The thing about new haircuts is that they make you feel so good. It’s like a one way cash deposit to cloud nine. The problem is someone always sees your on cloud nine. Once it’s known that you are elated and feeling confident it’s like the universe is just requiring people to knock the chair out from underneath you. For me the chair wobbled at a roommate freaking out at me, a friend being so absorbed in her own drama and incessant need for you to give her 100% attention and my grandma’s insistence that I transfer back to the States. What knocked my chair down though was trying to find clothes to go out in. None of my winter clothes fit me. At that point the chair legs just broke. Losing some of the weight I gained, trying to look nice again, didn’t mean a thing. It wasn’t working. I had nothing to wear in the cold Canadian winter. That’s when it hit me. As much as I tried so hard to not become like my mom, I was becoming exactly like her. I put on a mask and smiled and did everything for all those around me. Yet, no one even reciprocated a quarter of all the effort I put into my social relationships. As much as I vowed to keep the weight off, I let one thing drag me straight back into the fat zone again. I couldn’t maintain a good roommate relationship with either of my roommates. One from being to annoyed with her partying schedule and other for somehow ruining a poor boys image of nerdy girls. On top of it all, no matter how much I reached out for help, it never came. I mean, I get why my mom is stubborn on listening to anyone now. If I was older and life stayed like this, I don’t know how obstinate and insane I’d be. I mean I already feel like I’m drowning in the deep end. A kid walks into a therapist gets ADHD meds right away. I walk into a therapist, get anxiety meds, panic attacks, no ADHD meds, obesity and second guessing. I wanted help not more problems. I already knew I teetered on the edge of madness; I never needed everyone to push me. I wasn’t this bad awhile ago. I had hope, dreams I wanted to fulfill. Now, I’m someone I can’t even recognize. A new form of insanity and madness that I can’t comprehend. I don’t know how I got here. All I know is I want out. Out of it all. At the end of the day, I think I am a good person. I do screw up and make a shit ton of mistakes, but I make the right choices and helpful choices just as much. Why can’t I have help. Why can’t someone else be there for me. Help me became the person everyone says I’m supposed to be and not this insane person I don’t even know.

 
A worried,
I.L. Knight
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