There are two things that have been preoccupying my mind lately but neither of them are particularly easy to write about, as in neither of them really seem to go anywhere or are of enough substance to devote an entire blog post too.
I often find my self questioning why I am the way I am, and it wasn’t until recently that I started reflecting upon my childhood and realized that worrying and anxiety has permeated my life from a young age. The youngest memories of this I have centers around whenever my mother would go out without me and I would simply cry and be difficult to settle until she returned. One fun little family story involved me running into the sea trying to follow her whilst she was on a banana boat, not stopping even when I was chin-height in water (aged three). As I was a little older, I remember refusing to go to bed unless I knew someone else was also upstairs with me; rather annoyingly for my loving brothers who were forced to wait upstairs until I fell asleep. Sleepovers were also a real struggle for me and I remember often faking illness and being asked to be brought home when at a friends house, although I cannot remember why I felt this necessary. Upon reflection, I still find myself behaving in similar ways; often dreading meeting up with a friend to the point of cancelling plans and relying on my Mother as a main source of comfort in my life. Perhaps, these aren’t wholly unusual but the psychology student in me finds this interesting in terms of whether this is innate within me, or whether something in my early life triggered these sorts of things; a question I’ll probably never answer.
The second problem on my mind is how often I struggle with the feeling of helplessness. I’ve always placed a lot of pressure on myself to solve the problems of people around me, to fix whatever may be wrong and make them happy again and I continually struggle to face the reality that often, this is impossible. A very good friend of mine recently found out that their father was diagnosed with terminal cancer, a genuinely heartbreaking story. Logically, I know there is nothing I can do to help this situation, other than attempt to be supportive. My problem is, my efforts to be supportive never feels good enough; it is as if I expect myself to be able to take away all their unhappiness and of course, I know this is unrealistic, yet I blame myself for not being good enough to do so. Again, I don’t think this is particularly unusual, but at times, this feels so overwhelming that I myself am in a state as if it was myself who was directly suffering from the problem; which of course is then exaggerated by how selfish I feel for upsetting myself. Linking to my first point, this friend of mine lives quite a distance away and so I do not get to see her often; the idea of travelling and staying with her, feels impossible to me even though I desperately miss her company and want to make sure she is okay. This again, causes me to feel both useless and selfish and- I am beginning to see a trend of negative cycles.
Both these two musings of mine are short because I simply do not know how to elaborate on them and commit them to a blog post but they both felt important to me so consider this a fleeting look inside my mind- maybe you’ll notice a similarity.