Is it a question of losing it?

Is it a question of losing it?

As I begin to manage my negative thoughts and make the minor step towards a more content life, I fear I’m going to lose the one thing I adore doing in my life, the one thing I believe I’m meant to do. I’m scared that as I step back to a realistic level of contentment my blog will end and my writing will continue to fade into nothing.

I have spent the last few years creating blog after blog trying to inspire myself into a positive outlook of the beautiful world we live in, (which incidentally is where Admire the Beautiful was born.) changing from one url to another desperately searching for my positive start. Trying to encourage myself out of the self-absorbed-anxiety-ridden-utterly-depressed being I was and create an online persona that I could take over and become the fun-loving-happy-go-getting being that I wanted to portray. Yet I failed every time and out spilled my every dark thought and saddened outlook onto a page that was hoping for inspiration, change and joy. With every new post came the same self-destroying downfall I was unable to escape from.  Since falling into sadness, I have found it easy to put pen to paper or in my case fingers to keyboard and create something real, something I can describe intensely and is utterly meaningful without dragging in wands, elves or magic carpets to make the read a little more interesting.

The topic that surrounds every one of my blogs is depression and anxiety, but how can I write about these when I’m slowly stepping away from that intensity of mental health, of course, they will never disappear but I’m scared that as I gather myself into a more realistic mindset I won’t be able to think of anything worth the read. However, throughout my blogging, I have an utterly insane amount of emotion built up and splattered into every word about a topic that has hit me in to a path of averageness that isn’t happy or completely sad which scares me most about the path I have chosen to run with.

Do I hear myself wishing for the worst days, thoughts and anxiety I’ve ever encountered to surround the rest of my days because the only things I’ve written that is even half decent are upsetting, tears in your eyes, lump in your chest kind of sad. The type of ‘story’ we dream to push under the carpet and forget about. They are real, no sugar coating, not even ways of dealing with poor mental health but the days of locking yourself away, crying till your eyes puff out and you fall asleep. Now those days arent as common for me any more and it alls seems like a nightmare that I have made up something I’m unable to relate to anymore.

As I began this journey, I was clutching with the very tips of my fingers to a life I was suffocating within my own words. However I couldn’t control it and they seemed to flow out of me without any warning or stopping. I could string pieces together that felt real, powerful and passionate about my mental health and how I have sometimes dealt or then again let them consume me in the worst possible way which is more likely of the two. My words were fueled by sadness, pain and confusion against the world and myself. No matter my lack of motivation I would always return to the empowerment of blogging, the whole creating, design, and content really helped me focus. No matter if hundreds of people see it or nobody I was truly proud of the pieces I had created and the pain I was able to improve because of it.

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