On my way to Disneyland for 5 whole days but I wasn’t as excited as I thought.
No, I was so excited.
But I wasn’t.
It was weird.
It’s like I mentioned previously. I was sitting on the Eurostar knowing full well this time in five days I’d be sitting in this exact position on my way home and back to reality. I don’t know what got to me more, feeling this sadness or the fact that my brain wouldn’t let me control this feeling of sadness. Maybe if I knew I was in control, it wouldn’t have such an impact on me?
Just take a moment to imagine feeling so down and dark and trapped inside your own head, with your brain telling you all the worst things you think about yourself. Then imagine your brain telling you that all the people around you think them too. Then imagine this feeling of claustrophobia because you know no matter what you are stuck with these thoughts forever and nothing can stop you from thinking them and no one will understand and
Then it started to hit me, I arrived at the station and heard the screaming kids, the fairy-tale music and saw the tip of the castle roof in the horizon.
Okay. I’m here. I’m here.
I am away from reality.
I am away from everyone and everything.
One thing about me, I love to hold on to memories of the past. I have trouble with change and moving on. I am obsessed with Disney because it represents my childhood, no cares, no worries, no depression, no anxiety.
So now I’m here. In a land dedicated to childhood, to having no worries, to having no cares in the world.
I’ll never forget my boyfriend’s words.
“You’re like a completely different person here, I’ve never seen you so happy”
This was happiness. Wasn’t it?
I seemed happy to him, so did this mean I was? I mean, I was.
I was very, very happy.
But it was a different happiness. I was happy in this moment, I was happy because I was here. I was happy because something good was happening.
Was it true happiness?
Happiness is defined as ‘the state of being happy‘. So yes, in that moment, I guess I had happiness.
But what about when I came home? I wasn’t. I wouldn’t say I have happiness in life because my day-to-day life is not filled with princesses and castles and candy apples.
The reason this is so significant to me is not to brag that I got to go to Disneyland.
It was the start of me realising I wasn’t normal. Something wasn’t right. I came home and dreaded everything. Maybe I had realised what I was like when I was happy, and now I know that I don’t have that in my life.
It wasn’t me thinking that I can only be happy if you whisk me away to a far away land.
It was the fact that I now knew how I felt when I was happy, confident, positive blah blah blah.
It was the fact that I now knew I did not feel this. Ever. I hated everything. It was the fact that Disneyland showed me what I should aspire to be like in my life.
I should view my house the same way I viewed that castle.
I should adore my boyfriend the same way I adored Mickey and Minnie.
I should be grateful for every step I take on this earth the same way I was grateful for each step on those tiles I walked everyday.
But I just couldn’t.
I went to work the day after I returned home. No one really likes work, we would all much rather stay in bed. But I got on with it. Yet, that day was unusual. I felt very exposed. People were looking. My confidence was down. A lot.
I didn’t want to serve customers. I was scared. They intimidated me. I felt alone with a shop full of people. I felt like I forgot everything to say, to do.
Writing this now still brings back those feelings. That is how strong they were. I cannot explain how vulnerable I felt and I had never felt like this before.
I’ve been singing for ten years. I’ve performed in front of hundreds of people, all eyes on me, yet this was the most exposed I had ever felt.
I had been working there for two years, why did I feel like I had only been there for two hours?
The day ended.
I went home.
I hate my life.