Tightrope Days

You know, mental health is a tricky thing. One minute I’m completely worn down, exhausted, like I’m walking a tightrope and hanging by a thread at the same time. Every sound, every thought, feels like too much.

So, I do what I need to do to make it through the day. Today that meant taking a Klonopin before facing people. I don’t love needing it, but I also know pretending I don’t, helps no one. Not me, not the people I have to talk to.

And once it kicked in… I felt lighter. D a r e I say optimistic?

Like maybe the world isn’t such a heavy place after all.

So, I’m sitting here wondering...

is it depression?

is it anxiety?

or is one just feeding the other in an endless loop that the universe refuses to explain?

Maybe it doesn’t matter.

But I know this much about myself:

I like concrete, solid answers.

Ones that leave no room for guessing. No room for the kind of ambiguity that drives my brain in circles.

Still, even without clear answers, I keep hoping.

I hope for a day where I can show the love I feel consistently.

I hope for a day where I can be the kind of person I’ve longed to be for some time now.

I want to be good.

Kind.

Sincere.

Honest.

Passionate.

Bold.

Brave.

Ambitious.

Quirky—but confident.

The kind of person people can feel secure with.