Mental Health

How I Stopped Caring

Growing up I was always independent but still selectively needy, as my mum says. I was always taught that my worth was never defined by a man or anyone else for that matter – I was Lucy, and Lucy was absolutely brilliant as she was. Yet, despite all thins, I somehow seemed to validate it within myself that I needed people to like me or at least not loathe me entirely. I had always hated the idea of being hated for false images or wrongful words, I would neglect myself as a consequence, almost like a punishment for things I couldn’t control. Until one day I just stopped caring – I felt okay with being disliked, my stomach didn’t turn at the thought of not knowing what was said, because no matter what it was, it still was. Whether I liked it or not, I couldn’t change it.

For a very long time, I cared so much about what people thought to the extent that every decision I made, there was a “what if” or some kind of grand scheme attached, holding the interests of others as a priority above my own. Before I went on medication and got into the right kinds of therapy, my anxiety was crippling to the extent that being near others made me physically cringe. Combine the anxieties and other mental health problems with the almost compulsive need to please was a rubbish cocktail for some rather disastrous teenage years. Ironically as soon as I turned 20 that need to please vanished with my tween years, I literally just stopped giving a shit.

Since my last break up, I lost the need to be attached to someone or, well, anything really. I no longer wanted to be dependant on other people to the extent where it became unhealthy – I was tired of mourning the loss of people, places, feelings and memories that would be so irrelevant or insignificant if I actually had the backbone of stable mental health. So I changed it, I tried therapy again, but properly this time. I actually took my medication and actually looked into mindfulness – things I had previously mocked due to ignorance and a general stubbornness to accept the reality that was, in fact, my reality.

I suppose what I’m trying to say, and probably failing to do say is, that it is absolutely fine to take care of yourself. You can cut people out of your life that bring nothing to you and you’re allowed to want more for yourself. Yes, what people say or think of you can be hurtful, but as long as you are being a good person, whatever definition of that you want to use, and you’re being true to yourself then live life as you please. Do not back down from what you want. Regret nothing.

Stop wearing your wishing bone where your backbone should be. 

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