What do you when writing feels conflicting?

I enjoy reading, but I struggle with writing. Writing feels conflicting because it asks me to be honest in ways I am not always ready for.

Some of the things I write embarrass me. I think they expose thoughts I would rather keep hidden. And I think writing makes them permanent; this is because I worry too much. I imagine someone reading them someday and being shocked by how dark and twisted parts of me can sound. I worry about that future reader.

I worry about myself.

I am going through what feels like one of the hardest things I have ever done. Close people know I am struggling, but they do not know the full extent of it. They can see that I am not butterflies and rainbows, but they do not know how much of my joy is performed. I smile and hope that one day I will grow into the happiness I am pretending to feel.

There was a time not long ago when I almost slipped into a deep depressive episode. I could feel myself descending, very fast, like I was in quicksand. I wanted to hold on to someone for support. I wanted to talk about it, but I did not know how say it in a way that was socially acceptable. I wanted to write about it here, but I was afraid that someone who knew me would read it and see too much.

I told my mother instead. She scolded me. She told me not to think that way and asked me to pray, to ask God for mercy.

I believe in God. I trust Him as a father. But sometimes I think faith should also allow space for pain. Sometimes I want to tell God that I am hurt. That I am afraid. I do not understand what is happening to me.

I am very scared now. Everything feels wrong, strange, foreign. I hesitate to write because I imagine myself years from now, rereading these words and feeling ashamed. And yet I also know that if I survive this, I might someday be able to guide someone else walking this same road.

That thought stays with me.

It is lonely, but this place I am in, I am frightened not only of what I am living through, but of what comes after. Of the permanent changes. Of the person I will become.

These days I feel like I am disappearing.

They say acknowledging the pain makes it slightly more bearable. Because maybe this is how I hold on to myself.

I hope one day all of this will make sense.

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