I've tried talking. I've tried listening to songs. I've tried laughing at silly photos. I've tried spending most of my time on my guitar. I've tried to focus less on myself and more on others by providing words of encouragement anonymously to some people. I've tried drinking more water. I've tried to control my thoughts. I've tried not to blog like how I used to do.
I guess that's the problem.
The more I suppress it, the bigger it gets. The more pretentious I become about my emotions, the harder it fights back. I no longer recognise this monster that I've been feeding all this while.
It allows me to laugh when I'm extremely happy but the time it allows me to do so is short-lived. It allows me to talk to my friends but it restricts so many areas that I used to share. It tells me I'm strong enough to paddle my own boat, but it sends me a continuous series of small waves, insignificant reasons to cause me from being unreasonably afraid of falling into the ocean that seems so ready to swallow me again.
I now have five spots of eczema on my right hand, which I fear is being the clear indication that my stress level might be higher than I think it is. One is even very close to my fingertip, which has never happened and it worries me that I might not be able to play guitar for a while if it worsens.
There's a very thin line between exaggerating stuffs and being worried that I feel that maybe I'm just exaggerating after all.
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