I wish I could write this peacefully. But there are quite more people than I would like that do not know the meaning of personal space. However, I’m not sure if it’s because I’m tinier than most. Then again, I do live in New York, where personal space does not seem to exist especially in subways and large crowded areas like Times Square.
Okay, moving on from my rant, I’m still going to try and write this.
I have begun to feel embarrassed. The past few years I felt the need to defend myself. I felt as if I needed to prove to myself and others that yes I can handle stress. I had to tell them that what happened to me was not because I had collapsed under the stress but rather all the crappy things I had ignored in my life had caught up with me.
Although it was true…partially.
However, I can’t help but be honest now. I shut down these days when something throws me off more than I can predict. When I have to rethink everything, the “stress” gets to me and I just disappear. I call out from work. Skip school. And just hide away in the dark recesses of my room…my safe haven.
I feel shameful to be so unprofessional or “smart” to know better. I should have my shit together. Yet, instead, I sound like the immature, unknowing of the world 19-year old that I am.
But again. I should know better. I should expect more from myself.
So, the words she tells me each time echoes in my mind. “It’s okay. Just remember to catch yourself before you fall further down.”
It sounds so easy. So reassuring. Yet, so hard. And of course, embarrassing that it even happens at all.
I mean, how many times can one fall and get up before they choose to just give up?