When I Turned 20, That’s When My Anxiety Worsened

Peter Pan

I’m twenty now.

I should have figured out my life by now.

 

I should be at college finishing my majors, but I just feel like I can’t because of the constant anxiety that I am feeling. I should be enjoying my life, but here I am carrying so many regrets.

 

I should’ve created more art during my teenage years. I should’ve played less computer games. I should’ve tried to learn the guitar because I always wanted to play the guitar, but I didn’t persevere enough during childhood. I could’ve been the writer who plays the guitar.

 

How can one cope up with the loss of opportunities? And also the loss of time?

 

Maybe that’s why I am so anxious about the concept of choosing. And time running out like there’s none of it left to be who I want to be. And I am still not yet the person whom I want to be. My mind is a mess, and therefore my life is a mess.

 

I don’t believe that I deserve to suffer but ninety percent of my days I do and that is why I feel like killing myself. I feel like suicide is my ultimate real choice that will end this dark stream of thoughts that releases a burning sensation all throughout my body.

 

The only thing I believe in is the moments when I feel like I am getting better no matter how deceptive and untrue they may sometimes be. Because when it gets better, it gets worse again and it’s an annoying thing honestly. To feel hopeful only to feel hopeless again. But I guess that doesn’t mean that I should stop keeping at it.

 

I guess that I should just use everything that I have now to obtain everything that is meant to be mine. Because I still believe in fate. I still believe in destiny. And it is my dream to recover and be the best writer, the best son and the best human being that I can be.

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June 19, 2017

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How can I fix my mind if my mind is where the problem is in the first place? It’s getting hard to live day by day when all I could think of is my death. Along with a negative stream of irrational thoughts that haunts me minute after minute after minute.

Do I have free will? Does the butterfly effect cause alternate realities to exist where I could’ve been perfect? Is choosing death the ultimate real choice to freedom?

I’ve been walking around my room back and forth back and forth several times a day feeling very restless and angry. Contemplating about my death. Smashing ice cubes and hangers on to the wall. Arranging and rearranging things. Shouting occasionally.

It isn’t enough that I am understood by the people who love me. I am suffering and there’s no cure to my thought process. Some days I don’t even feel like anything exists. Some days I don’t even feel like I’m the real me.

I am powerless. I am flight. I am panic. I am anxiety. I am a soul that would eventually be set free from this world.