2.laryngitisHi, to those still listening. It’s been a while.

In the past, I’d made parallels to the original story of The Little Mermaid and my life, how starting to write this blog was like the pins and needles she felt stepping on land for the first time, etc. The thing that’s gotten me now is how she felt giving up her voice. She couldn’t even cry, as “mermaids have no tears”.

I just turned a year older, and I’ve realized that my life seems to have stopped. I’ve just been surviving. All thoughts about higher purposes or hopes have been locked away in a box somewhere at the bottom of the ocean. “What’s the point? What difference would it make? The end result will be the same.

I can’t abandon this blog. It’s important to me. It’s the only way all the bad things I’ve lived through would be worth it. If I could help people with what I’ve learned, it’d be worth it. I could live. I also seem to have lost my voice. I’m not sure where to go, what to do, to get it back. As much as I don’t want this blog to get as personal as it did for sake of accessibility, the best I got is writing something like this, and actually hitting the “Publish” button, swallowing my pride or whatever. Maybe it pays to be vulnerable. I don’t know.

My stomach’s in knots over this. I’m not sure when I’ve felt this helpless, as an adult anyways. So far, I’ve dealt with it as I did when I was young; ignore it. Facing it hurts.  I realize I can’t ignore it forever, as much as I want to. I’m already paying for it more than I can afford in more than one sense. It’s starting to hurt more keeping my back turned than it does to face it. I realize this kind of avoidant behavior is common for those with PTSD and depression. Doesn’t mean I like it, or want to accept it.

A friend recently told me in a separate topic that thinking that way is somewhat egocentric. That’s a new one, and somewhat refreshing. Some people are just mean, or would sugarcoat. This friend isn’t mean, yet didn’t pull punches. I did feel a little hurt by the use of that word, but then thought that I could take something from it. Another, gentler friend would say how depression often makes one get lost in oneself, in the pain he/she feels. Seems in line with what this other friend said. He, this other friend, would often tell me to reach out to others, turn outward. Blossom. To whom? and how?

That’s all I have for now. I’m hoping I can write more soon.

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