Everything ends some time, though, and I hate to admit I fell into the same little trap I fall into every time. I have not gotten any help yet. I have done nothing to better myself. Why would that mean I was any better off than I was a couple of weeks ago?
Here's the answer: it doesn't. It means that anxiety comes in spikes and relapses and honeymoon phases and I'm not going to be any better until I get help. I know I've taken the first step. I know I'm going to talk to someone in one week. I only need to make it one more week, and I'm taking the first step toward progress.
I can't help but be skeptical. I'm not saying I'm smarter than other people with the same problems, but I also think that some people are not as aware of what problems they have. I know it is a psychological issue. I know nothing I do is rational, and I still cannot stop myself. It's a self-destructive cycle of internal struggle.
I am tired of being tired.
Mostly, though, I am tired of dragging you along beside me. No matter how many times you tell me it does not bother you, it is never going to console the feeling I get every time I act like this around you. It may genuinely not even bother you, but it always ends in my feeling incredibly guilty and sad because it will never be your problem. And I should just stop if it makes me feel bad, but I can't, because having you to be there for me gives me immediate relief. I've been so involved in this selfish method of coping and I'm not doing that anymore. I kept it inside of me for seventeen years, so I can do it again for another week. You don't deserve this. You deserve me to be okay and I'm going to use all the motivation I have to do that for you. -
One week, though. I just have to get through one week. I have to get through this one week.
In other news, feel free to enjoy this song over and over and over:
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