Depressed, anxious and narcissistic rant about me.

I feel depressed, and unproductive and like no one should care about my writing. Or me, for that matter. Of course, I’m aware of the cliche. A self involved, depressed, self-proclaimed writer with “so much potential”, who thinks they’re the only one who’s ever felt that way. Bonus points: a privileged white lady who could swim in her white guilt.

I feel bitter, grumpy, and like being alone is the best I could do for all fellow earthlings. I feel like everything I do is a mistake. Even if I’m doing a good thing. Or trying to. I feel like a failure and a self-fulfilling prophecy after the other.

I fucked up because I feel like shit and I feel like shit because I fucked up.

I’m not talking about a life-changing decision that could have or not ruined my life or someone else’s. I’m talking about the narrative in my brain and the way it must dissect every second into right or wrong; and way too often, I get it wrong.

Woke up late. “Yeah, shocker”. Made my bed way after 11. “You know you should make it first thing in the morning.” Dishwasher’s full. “You really should have a better schedule for this.” The kittens I’m fostering don’t want to cuddle with me. “They’ll never love me.” And on, and on it goes until I can’t take it anymore and I get so high I don’t even exist in this version of the multiverse.

I miss writing. But I don’t think I’m any good. And “practicing” is a very violent activity if you live in my brain. I used to be good, right? Some people said so once. Will I ever be as good as I used to be? Am I better? I feel like I got too proud about my relative successes in life made with what I think was very little effort and I got cocky and now I can’t do anything right and I just fake my way through life. I feel like the existential crisis of every privileged person who is financially supported by someone else.

I’m burned out, and I have imposter’s syndrome. I’m depressed and anxious. I weaponize food against myself on a daily basis.

I’m talking about lying frozen in bed because I can’t bare doing another task wrong. Tasks became intimidating when I formally learned about my diagnosis: fronto-temporal lobe epilepsy. Among several things, symptoms include: low brain function on the part of the brain that regulates executive controls. Things like planning, doing, finishing tasks. Or remembering you have a task. Or building consistency on a daily task. Like writing. Like becoming a certified yoga teacher. Like my plants, my worm farm, my turtle, my fishes or my new foster kittens. Like taking time for myself. Or giving my husband alone time. Like chasing my dreams or maybe just doing something useful.

I feel like shit most of the day. Then I feel stupid for caring so much about all these things. How can waste so much time thinking I’m so important? In the big scheme of things, my feelings are not only fleeting but also meaningless.

I want to share and create art through my trauma, breaking generational curses, living my best life and all that but I’m way too intense and sensitive for clickbait and content strategies. I want to be good in the business part of being this neurodivergent explosion of feelings but I really don’t want to practice, or be vulnerable, or be viral, or take courses about how to do things. I want to create content that helps people, I want to raise awareness around mental health, I want to grow financially and I want to do all those branding things but I instantly feel unmotivated and depleted when I start moving towards achieving it. I don’t want to try new things, I don’t want to be resilient, I don’t want to play the game, I don’t want to fail.

Yeah, write 100 words everyday.

I can’t do that.

I’m very consistent about not being consistent.

And I hate myself for it. I hate how this massively digital age has made everything so important, so real, so thirsty, so productive. I hate how everyone else make it seem so effortless, so damn easy.

I just wake up and record a video. I just write before bed. I just read 20 minutes everyday.

The worst part for me is knowing that on a neurological level, people with healthy habits are right. Consistency is key. Baby steps every day is the way to go.

I just wish my brain would let me.