I force myself to write because historically writing has helped. I'm off a night shift, I watched the sunset and I watched the sunrise. I sat in the garden at 2am and realised I don't have many words of my own right now. For someone who never really got poetry, the songs I like are because they have words that fit the moment. On my way home from work I thought about doing something with them, but I shunned that idea.
I plaited my hair for work, channelling Pippy-Long-Stockings I told a colleague when she mentioned that she liked them. I don't take compliments well, it seems. A simple thank-you suffices, Erin. The plaits are falling out now, and my cat is looking at munching on one of my plants. He has his foot in the soil, this won't end well.
I'm slowing making a playlist of Good Words (they need to be capitalised because they are).
I texted the boyfriend at 4am at work, asking him if he'd help me with an idea, I'm also plotting on hiring him out to paint backdrops for people to instagram, he doesn't know this yet. I'm excellent at seeing the potential in others, I was talking with a colleague at 4am on how she could create a business that works for her and plays to her strengths. If you were wondering, (you weren't, I know) unrealised potential looks good on me. Sometimes I think I'd make an excellent motivational speaker, if it wasn't for the hatred I have for myself dripping from my every pore.
And I know this, I know that in my demeanour, if you look out the corner of your eye and don't try to focus on it you can see the level of disgust I have for myself. It puts people off and it unnerves people. It's unhealthy to despise yourself, I know, but I can take myself out from her, from Erin and, I don't know.
(For someone who said she didn't have words, they flow so well sometimes).
I don't even know how I can go about changing this hatred, and I'm unsure of where exactly it came from. I was bullied at school but it seems weak to pin issues 28 year old Erin has on events that happened to 12-16 year old Erin. That Erin exists, of course she does, but not in me who I am now. None of this sounds healthy. Shit.
I know none of this is particularly inspiring or positive but that is the face of mental illness is it not? It's dirty, grimey and and a bit pathetic at times.