I don’t know what it feels. I mean I know how it feels but I don’t know what to name it. I am scared of giving it a big medical name because that would mean I am clinically sick, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to be the one who is lying there on the bed for the most part of the day and feeling miserable about my state. I wouldn’t mind doing the same while working my time around.
Somewhere my heart knows this is everything I have invited. Or probably my mind has been a breeding place for all of this. However, all this doesn’t change the fact that this is not the best thing for me.
I have been overthinking, feeling miserable about myself and just aimless for the past month. I don’t go through this every day. Its just all those times when I am either alone, or in bed trying to not stay awake, or both.
There’s a feeling of a reckless messy storm that arises in me everytime I am sitting with nothing to keep my head engaged. And if someday it isn’t there, I feel incomplete- as if a part of me had gone missing completely from me. This is the time when my mind should be at peace and comfort with everything around me. But somehow, I end up being uncomfortable even then.
That’s the beauty of a disturbed mental state – it makes you feel loved; so loved that you feel your identity is incomplete without it. I don’t mean to sound like an oversensitive brat but I am behaving like one. I am not ready to believe that I can be so weak a person that it practically affects every walk of my life.
I wish all this had a meaning and an end. But it doesn’t. And that’s the beauty of a messed up anxious state of mind- it remains forever, no matter what.