Snails Don’t Give A Fuck

I am aware I have lost most of my followers due to silence on my end. It’s ok. I’m doing this for me now.

There are so many thoughts in my head. They buzz and buzz. I’m trying to unwrap the crime scene tape that is tied in a pretty bow around my head.

I’m honestly quite scared.

Can I even undo the amount of damage that’s been done? Am I strong enough? Who even am I? My identity is my mental illness but is that all I am? Am I always going to feel like this? Is there any hope left for my future?

All I know is I’m fighting like hell to stop from drowning.

Yes, I know I’m dramatic, dad.

This is what goes on in my life on a daily basis. I cry, I cry some more, and then when I’m done crying I hear a song that makes me cry again. I can’t even control when I’ll cry or over what. Do you know how hard it is to leave the house and then cry in public because something triggered you?

People don’t want to be around sadness and negativity all the time so I’ve lost out on potential friends. Don’t get me wrong. I want to be happy. It’s not like I enjoy being this way. I’m just missing some of my important pieces.

I know I’m not the only one who deals with this to the extreme of it being disabling. Maybe I’m meant to know how this feels so later I can appreciate those rare joyful moments. Maybe I’m about to be born into a Phoenix and rise from the ashes. Maybe there is no meaning and shit just happens.

Is life really just shit happening? Could that be the mystery? that there is no mystery?

I’d like to imagine that everything has a purpose or reason.

Snails give no fucks. They just slime along not questioning their place in the universe, and they seem to be pretty self assured when it comes to snailing.

Why can’t I be good at humaning?

It’s been this way since I was a child. I would cry in school all the time. I was referred to as sensitive.

I even have a memory of my first sad thought. I was about 5 and I remember sitting on that ugly 70’s itchy couch and looking up into the sky. I hoped beyond hope that the Care Bears would come down in their cloud car and save me. I waited and waited but they never came. I remember how a little bit of me died that day. I wasn’t the same kid after I realized no one was going to save me.

This grief has been with me since I lost my childhood at an early age. Imagine being a helpless child and not being strong enough to advocate for yourself.

I can’t even begin to describe how scary that is.

It’s that fear that leads to weak boundaries. Can’t set boundaries you aren’t strong enough to enforce. Then that leads to low self esteem which attracts more abuse. Do you see this vicious cycle?

I have to find my way out of this pain. I have to heal.

It’s all come full circle and I am facing this trauma again. My heart is still that of a scared 5 year old. Only the reflection is much older.