One of Those Posts

I hate writing posts like this, but there's an irritating part of me clamoring to express itself and will not cease until I relent. You've been warned. I'm so sorry.

I cannot express how much I wish I could just relax about things. I'm so hard on myself. Everyone tells me I'm too hard on myself and I realize in more sober moments that it's true, but that doesn't stop me from doing it.

I wish so badly that the most insignificant things didn't make me tear up. I wish I could take things like a G, suck it up and soldier on. But the least little thing that doesn't happily follow along with the way it's supposed to happen in my head makes my eyes water. It's so annoying and spoiled and just ridiculous. I am too old to react to life this way. When is it going to register in the depth of my being that the last time I was a 12-year-old girl was a little over 16 years ago? What is it going to take for something to slice through my constant formulation of impossible expectations to reveal the fleshy, raw fact that it's never going to happen the way it's "supposed" to? It's just exhausting, but most of all, utterly unnecessary.

I suffer from an irrational, debilitating fear that springs upon me like a panther that I will never be satisfied. That the idea that I'm going to finally arrive at this golden place is a fraud. That I'm sinking deeper and deeper into a self-fulfilling prophecy that I'm afraid of never being happy therefore I never will be. Like I'm watching a train wreck about to happen from afar but at the same time, I'm in it.

I hate that I can't seem to sit still. I flit and flutter and rove and wander. I hate that I consistently second guess myself. I hate that I can't see the forest for the trees because I'm so blinded by the present.

Please. Open my close-minded eyes. Please. Lift me out of my complacent egocentrism. Please. Give me a desire to choose life every day. Please.