Sometimes you get so profoundly irrationally sad that you just cry yourself to sleep

I’m an emotional bean. I voice out my complaints, I curse a lot, I squeal when I’m happy, I cry easily, I jump for joy, I am quick to irritation, I get jealous easily, and it only takes a little to rise these emotions out of me. I’m a sensitive bean. Of my own feelings and especially of other people’s feelings. I am attuned so much to other people’s feelings, it sometimes feels like a curse. Perception is both a strength and a weakness of mine. I just care too much about anything and everything and worry too much about anything and everything. I just give a lot of fuck and honestly, it is tiring.

So I try my best to not have these feelings. These emotions. I ward off any potential feelings because when I feel, I cannot stop thinking about it. I wear out the thread of that feeling, of that thought, so much. I end up distracted because I cannot not think about it. Not only does an emotion take over my heart (heh, how romantic and unscientific of me, tsk tsk) but it also takes over my mind. I overthink. I overanalyze. And I hate it. I hate how much I overthink, how much I worry. How much I replay scenes in my head and go hard on myself. This is why my deepest emotions I try to lock tight inside and try not to think about. I make myself busy so I wouldn’t have to think. Which obviously isn’t healthy because I end up repressing them and then I just explode. Not to mention I sometimes end up physically sick from working too hard, not sleeping enough, or being out too much with friends. But explosion I’m fine with. What I dread, more than anything, is when I end up being numb.

It is funny how I spend all of my time trying to not have feelings and then when I go numb I panic. I mean, isn’t that what I wanted in the first place? To not feel? But then it hits me that this must not be. This is not normal. I didn’t know back then that that was depression. Not caring, not feeling. But with a name to it, it grew power. It began to scare me. I didn’t like to be depressed. I mean, who does, right? You can’t get out of bed, you don’t care about anything — be it your job, your health, your friends, your family, your commitments. You just drop out of the loop and lie in bed.

I once took my bouts of depression as being lazy. I didn’t want to do anything. I am actually a lazy person so I didn’t know the difference for a long time. I mistook that irrational sadness for hormones acting up, for my period messing up with everything. I thought me crying without a reason was a normal occurrence for all people. I thought me crying myself to sleep because that’s better than lying awake in my bed until the wee hours of the morning with my negative thoughts running amok was a thing everyone does. I thought, I thought, I thought.

Fuck this. I’m tired.

Ha, as if me being tired of this cycle will magically make it disappear.

Now, going back to crying myself to sleep.

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