ON THE WAY TO HAWAII (6/9)

I thrive, shine when I feel independent. It’s easy. But then it always stops being so easy.
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When I’m low and need help, it conflicts with my ideal self identity, the Sabrina that I try so hard to curate. That’s why I always say I feel like 2 separate personalities. Every time I reach a good place, when I finally feel like I’m enough, it feels like I’ve surpassed, erased all the bad that preceded it. But that’s not true. I have yet to fully come to terms with my weaknesses, with all of me. I’m always shoving the flawed, scared bits deep down, trying so hard to hide and forget they exist. But it’s all a part of me, and people don’t come in compartmentalized parts. As long as there’s a glossy happy side of me, there will always exist a depressed messy side. And I’m slowly realizing that it’s not my fault when the bad parts resurface.

​I don’t know how to handle myself when I’m a mess; I keep thinking “this isn’t me.” I’ll be the first to open up because I crave understanding, but I’m terrible at accepting help. I have a hard time with the concept of trust even in myself. I don’t like to rely on others. It makes me feel weak, vulnerable, desperate, pathetic, and so incredibly uncomfortable. I think the premeditation of these feelings only intensify them when they come. To mitigate, my conversations are littered with defensive disclaimers and “I know’s.” I’ll be the first to bring up everything that’s wrong with me, because God forbid someone assume I need their assessment, that I’m not self-contained enough to figure it out myself. I’m tired of micromanaging my feelings, my life. It’s exhausting. I don’t know who I’m trying more desperately to maintain this pretense for: them or me?

I get so fixated on self-improvement that I often find myself frustrated with anything that reflects all the traits I hate in myself. I guess I’m unable to separate my identity from my context. I often feel like a product of my environment, lacking any real agency. In these situations I feel bitter and mean. You’d think that I’d be empathetic, but instead I react in the same way I’d react to myself. The anger comes from embarrassment and the inability to “fix” what makes me uncomfortable whether it be the situation or the feeling.

I struggle so much with my perception of independence that I have yet to actually attain it. I think true independence has to be predicated on self-love and the capacity to accept my flaws instead of reject them. I need so badly to be able to tell myself that I’m going to be ok and to actually believe it. I am not there yet, and this realization makes me feel paralyzed, stuck.

I’m working on being better, coping better, instead of just imagining what “better” should be. I’m stubborn and impatient. I hate that it has to take time, but I have to just let it happen or else I will continue to float in this limbo. Reality isn’t romantic or sensational. I’m just trying to grow up.