I need someone to agree with me. I need people to understand where I’m coming from. I need affirmation that I’m not crazy and that I’m not wrong. I also feel like I’m doomed to always have no one to understand but me. No one really gets it when I freak out about things. People think I’m “overreacting” to things and that I just need to suck it up and deal. I resent those people. They make me feel stupid and like my feelings and life experiences are invalid. Well, THEY ARE VALID!
I am not the type of person who can ignore my gut. If something bothers me, I can’t just shrug it off, because it will bother me again 5 minutes later, and every 5 minutes for the next year if I don’t acknowledge that something is wrong. But when I bring my concern, whatever it may be at the time, to someone, I get told “it’s not a big deal.” I get told to stuff it and deal. Then, I get sick. Physically ill. I have anxiety attacks, vertigo, cold and flu, you name it. My body rebels against me when my soul is in anguish. It’s not my fault, but even in this state, I feel like people think I’m just “overreacting.”
Some days, I wish I would get so sick that I’d be hospitalized. I wish I’d pass out in a public place or fall down a flight of stairs as a result of the feelings everyone around me told me to ignore. Then, I’d be vindicated. Then they’d know I’m not crazy. Something really is wrong. This job really isn’t okay. That person really wasn’t a save person. I was right! I was freaking right!
I look to God, and I ask him to help me. I ask him to help me cope with the feelings or to show me a way out of the presence of the offensive situation that is giving me no end of grief and no sign of peace. I need peace. I need peace. I need it. Sometimes he helps, but I still feel like I’m screaming inside my scull and no one can hear me. I still feel like nothing is working out for my good. I feel like I’m the wrong make of person for this life. Like I am broken and not even God can make me function in this existence where intuition is made light of until it kills you. I know it’s not true, but it still hurts as if it were.
Because of this struggle, I don’t know how to make decisions. I took a job I thought would be good for me because “I need the money.” Because “I need to be working.” And now I have no peace at all, only panic. I feel like I shouldn’t have taken the job. I feel like I didn’t pay attention to the signs that this wasn’t a good idea, but also that because I haven’t really seen or felt what it looks like to follow a ‘good’ idea, I wouldn’t know the difference. An opportunity is an opportunity, right? But I hate this job. And I hate feeling like I have no choice in the matter anymore. I hate feeling this way. Is it too much to ask to have joy? God doesn’t seem to think so. So I think I’m right to reconsider this job. I think I’m right to pursue peace and joy and life and to shrink back from the living death of dread and anxiety that wells in my chest at the thought of setting foot into this job. I think I’m right.