Didn’t know why I wanted to lie in bed as a kid and just vibe to my music. Didn’t know why I couldn’t stand living in the real life, waiting for time to tick by in an imaginary world instead of enjoying and exploring the very cool and vastly more complicated world I was actually living in. It felt like I didn’t have anything, even though objectively, I was EXTREMELY privileged. Loving parents and extended family, good friends, understanding teachers and other authority figures who just wanted to understand and help me.
But I couldn’t help them understand because I didn’t understand. Nothing felt good or okay even when I wasn’t physically ill or hurt. Something was broken and I couldn’t do ANYTHING and I didn’t know WHY. It was a constant frustration. For all of us.
So I started faking it. And that… went about as well as one thinks it does.
I thought I had anxiety for most of my young adult life, but it turns out when you hold shit in and fake a bunch of crap, you body… REALLY doesn’t appreciate it! : D