I haven't been writing a lot lately, sometimes because I've been exhausted, a little because I haven't had much to say, and sometimes because I don't know how to say what it is that I'm feeling.
In the past, I have shocked some people with the insight into my thoughts - perhaps for a few reasons. Maybe they didn't expect it; they didn't understand; or because they thought that my thoughts were rubbish. The last statement I agree with, because yes, sometimes my thoughts can be utter waste. But, I think when I try to censor my outpourings, I run into problems - because when I'm not truthful, it means I'm obscuring things - and this gives the hidden parts a chance to chatter in dark corners. They have been chattering, and I have been listening in, and it has been ugly.
I have been told, by what I would call a reliable source (a Psychologist) that we all have an internal monologue - that is, without sounding 'crazy' - a voice, in your head, kind of commentating or observing. I think some of us are more in-tune to it than others; I hear mine a lot and it is not a particularly nice monologue, because mine is paranoid, frustrated and mean. Perhaps my sensitivity is a consequence of spending too much time on my own - there hasn't been anything to drown out my doom radio.
Today was quite a rough day. There weren't the usual amount of distractions available - some members were missing from the workplace, and there was ample quiet time. My work struggles, and people struggles are well documented here; I always feel that I am ill-fitting; I don't belong; I'm not wanted.
Despite whether these thoughts or 'observations' are real or truthful is beside the point - because I hear them so often that I believe them. My doom radio is like an investigator, or a bad P.I. at the very least - because any behaviour, or occurrence that might support these notions, just becomes further "proof" that I am lonely, that I am not wanted - that I am all the things it tells me I am.
People that know what I speak of will nod their heads in agreement, others that haven't experienced such things - I suspect I lost somewhere around the "we all have an internal monologue". But it is all very hard to explain, because it is not in the real - rather, it is the imagined space that sits atop our shoulders - dense and isolating.
I am Brad Pitt and Edward Norton, "Fight Club" style - it is 'feeling' me and 'doom radio' me, punching it out. It's all harmless play fighting... until it's not. Until the bruises hurt, and the bones break. I feel like I'm breaking today.
Today I am alone, I am not good enough, I am easy to forget, I am a thorn, a raincloud, a fifth wheel, I am invisible and an eye-sore, all at once. In my head, all of this is plausible - because the lunch room goes quiet when I'm there; because I'm told about after work drinks after everyone else is invited; because everyone has tickets to an Anzac day event that I didn't know about; because there is cosy laughter in the room until I enter; because it's all take, take, take and hardly ever any give. Nothing feels genuine and everything feels wrong. Round pegs. Square hole.
I think about wanting to come off the depression/anxiety medication - because I think I'd rather go it alone. But if I feel this now, on the meds - what will it be like amplified - without armour?
I cry, because I want the hurt to stop; because I'm not ok inside, and I'm tired of smiling on the outside. I think it's unfair that I have to live, feeling the way I do, while everyone else gets to switch off their voices.
There is my doom radio voice, and then there is me - and we inhabit the same body, and sometimes I don't know that I can win.