For the sake of...

I get so annoyed with humanity. Hating for the sake of hating it seems. You can't even say what you like anymore without someone shooting it down with such disdain. I miss the days of, "I didn't really care for that, but I'm glad you like it." I miss when that was genuine. 

It makes me think about all the awkwardness of youth. Of the desperation to fit in. I never went to as drastic measures as some of my friends did to fit in. I didn't want to fit in with the popular. But, the crews I did want to fit in with, I would long to be accepted so much that I would do whatever I could to appear more charismatic, more funny, more well read, more open minded, whatever was needed to fit in. Whatever was needed to be accepted.

And that is the root of it all, and what I still struggle with as an adult, really, isn't it? Acceptance. I write. I submit to editors. I hope they accept my work. I'm very unattached to what people think of my work. People often will tell me their interpretations and I don't know how to kindly say, "I don't really care what you think, you're totally wrong" nor do I know how to not get upset when something I write is horribly (and often inappropriately) misinterpreted. Do men really need to sexualize everything a woman writes? *gag* But of course I'm happy when I'm accepted for publication. Not being published never stopped me from writing but of course it feels good.

Acceptance of people (friends) is hard for me most likely because I don't fully accept who I am anymore. I'm always on the edge of every group setting hoping to bond with that one other lonely person in the room. Or the outcast. Or the one no one seems to like. It's not like in my younger and social days where I wanted to mingle with everyone. I rarely attend social functions ever and if I do it's usually a family event or like I said I'll stick to the corners. Speak when spoken to. I'm glad my husband isn't such a social person too. The times we do go out are more enjoyable because we don't feel obligated to go out all the time. (And neither of us have any in real life friends aside from each other.) 

I feel like I do accept who I am, sometimes. When I'm balanced. When I'm good. I do practice self care and I do love myself. I just don't love what I have to suffer with that I can do nothing about. I don't accept that I'm too tired to do ____. I don't accept when I'm too depressed to get out of bed. I don't accept when it's too hot to function every summer. I just don't accept when I have bad days so I end up miserable and grumpy most of the time because I've had such a slew of bad pain days/bad mental health days lately. And I definitely loathe that.

I need to work on accepting my new limitations. I'm always grateful for the wonderful things in every day. Even on the worst days I can think of at least one thing about the day that made me happy. I make it this way. It's hard work. Sometimes I can't make my day happy all day. So I let myself cry and do whatever I have to do to feel well again. And I have shame associated with it. Fear from being a "repeat offender" in the psych ward. I'm afraid to feel some days because if I feel "bad things" they'll "come and take me away again." It's horrible. The mental health system in two different states screwed me up very badly. I had trauma on top of trauma for those experiences. I'll always toss around the idea of seeing a counselor again but what can they tell me that the six others I've seen haven't? I practice the skills they taught me. I have writing as an outlet. My husband will listen to me. I have a few family members I trust enough to talk about things with. I'm not afraid to reach out if I really need it. I just absolutely HATE that it's like this lately. I wish every day wasn't a battle. I wish that the past decade of my life hasn't been a battle. I hate that I will probably be fighting one illness or another every day of my life. 

So, I have to learn acceptance. Again. Another awful burden that I have to carry and do my best to live with. 

But I want to. I want to live.