I can’t seem to figure out which way is up at the moment, and I can’t even begin to gather my thoughts enough to come up with what’s going on with me, or a way to put in concisely into words for people to understand. No, I need to just write and let whatever words flow through my fingers flow out.
I came home and one of the cats had knocked down a potted plant. There is broken pot all over the living room, along with soil and, well the poor plant on its side. It’s still sitting right there, where I found it. I can’t seem to get myself to do anything at the moment, including helping to put a poor knocked over plant back together.
Speaking of “I Can’t”… There are those people out there who say, “never say ‘I can’t,’ only say, ‘I can.'” Well I have a message to those people who believe that simply by changing your thoughts into “positive” ones, you can transform your life. FUCK YOU. Sometimes you just can’t, and don’t try to tell me otherwise. If I COULD, I would have done it long ago. If I could have a normal existence, I would. If I could go grocery shopping without having a panic attack practically every time, I would. Okay I need to stop.
Yes please, just shut the fuck up. Really. No one wants to hear it. No 0ne. All you do is complain. Complain, complain, complain. Oh woe is me. Poor, poor me. Nobody understands. Nobody knows my life. Nobody knows the pain I’ve been through. Well boo fucking hoo. Seriously.
THIS IS NOT WHAT I WAS PLANNING ON WRITING. I WANTED TO TALK ABOUT MY THERAPIST AND THIS IS WHAT I GET.
You wanted to write a freewrite, what the fuck did you expect.
I DON’T KNOW BUT NOT THIS.
This is your blog after all, write whatever the hell you want to write. Nobody is stopping you.
YES PEOPLE ARE STOPPING ME. MY OWN MIND IS STOPPING ME!
Well, okay let’s go then. What is it you want to say? I’m listening.
NO, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. I CAN’T SAY IT NOW. CAN’T YOU SEE THAT?
Why, because it didn’t go the way you wanted it to go?
Well, things don’t always go the way we want them to. Sometimes we just have to make due with what’s in front of us. If you want to write, go ahead and write. What I’m saying is, it’s not a lost cause. You can still do it. Even though it didn’t go the way you planned, that doesn’t mean you have to abandon your efforts all together.
Alright…. Ugh. Fine. I will write. Even though this has been a big waste of time thus far.
What is wrong with me? I do feel like all I do is complain. It’s true. Complain, complain, complain. GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
NOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooSHUT THE FUCK UP SHUT THE FUUUUCKKKKKKKKKKKK UPpppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp
Ugh i have to pull myself together.
Why, for you stupid little fucking blog? No one cares! No one reads it anyways! Who the fuck are you kidding? You are only kidding yourself if you think this stupid little thing that you write to every day is something that people actually care about, that people actually read, that people actually find meaningful. It’s the biggest pile of meaningless crap and I think you know it.
Just please, shut the fuck up. Seriously. I don’t give a crap. This ISNT EVEN FOR OTHER PEOPLE ANYWAYS. IT’S FOR ME. SO STOP TELLING ME HOW WORTHLESS THIS IS, OR HOW WORTHLESS I AM. I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT.
Fine. Although I just want to say – Just because I may not say it, doesn’t mean that I’m not thinking it. Or that other people aren’t thinking it as well.
UGH. GO FUCK OFF. WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SAY – I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT! WHAT PART OF THAT DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Didn’t realize i could get you so riled up. Haha.
Can I please just start over? UGH. Or maybe I should just give up. Maybe I should give up trying to write about my stupid therapist who I could give a shit LESS about. I DON’T want to go to our session on Thursday, I DON’T even want to talk to her about any of this stuff. I want to act all passive aggressive, and I want her to come chasing after me. How awful is that. Ugh. I can’t believe I just admitted that. That I want to not show up to session, and have her worried and wonder where I am. My true manipulative colors are coming out, aren’t they.
Why did she think it’s okay for her husband to just join us in the entryway? While I was saying goodbye to her? How is that acceptable? How does that promote safety and boundaries? It doesn’t.
In her email back she was very professional, but didn’t address any of the concerns I had written in my email to her. She simply said, let’s discuss this on Thursday. I don’t want to discuss it with her on Thursday. Oh and she spelled my name wrong. Yeah thanks.
I went to my parents tonight. My wonderful lovely parents.
They are wonderful and lovely, aren’t they?
How the hell am I supposed to know.
They are wonderful and lovely. I’m not kidding when I say that. And yet why do I feel like such shit when I leave their house? Why can’t I be open and honest around them? Why do I have to shut myself down every time?
When I was driving home, the world around me began to transform from a strange dream into a nightmare.
STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP. I WONT ALLOW YOU TO TALK ABOUT THAT. STOP TALKING ABOUT THAT.
fine i’ll stop talking about that.
I’m just realizing that if anyone who knows me actually reads this, they will truly think I’m off my rocker. Nothing upstairs. Lost my mind completely. The funny (and ironic) thing is that this isn’t any crazier than I’ve ever been. Now I’m just letting it all come out, in whatever ugly and insane and convoluted way it wants to. My mind has always been this way. There has never been any real sanity there at all. It’s always been a mad attempt at scrounging together as much sanity as I could present to the world, but no I’ve never felt very close to sane. That’s just a facade I put on. Make the world believe at all costs that I am normal, that I have it together, that everything is fine. Don’t cause any waves. Don’t rustle any feathers. Put on a smile and act happy and everything will be fine. Well… everything is not fine, is it. Has never been fine. I’ve done a hell of a job convincing myself of that though for many, many years. Until little bits of “not fine” began leaking out here and there, until I could not ignore my “not fine-ness” any longer.
What is the point. What is the point, truly, of all of this. Of life. Of trying so hard. Of working so hard, of putting one foot after another after another. People say, oh baby steps. One day at a time. One step at a time. But, isn’t that just a way of deflecting the fact that really nothing ever gets better? A way of deluding ourselves into thinking that if we only focus on the present moment, that each moment will gradually start getting better? How do I know that the moments right now, that feel insanely chaotic and overwhelming, are any better than the moments five years ago. Ten years ago. Fifteen years ago. Unfortunately my memory is such that I can’t even answer these questions of mine. I can’t even really recall how my life was five years ago, seven years ago, ten years ago. My inner life, that is. I may be able to vaguely piece together what I was doing, and who I was spending time with (if I’m lucky). So if we can’t even know for certain that things are going to get better, why do we tell ourselves that they are? Is it that we have an inherent optimism as a species? That we refuse to give up, we refuse to believe this is all there is and that circumstances cannot change?
I’m starting to think that this is all that there is. That there really isn’t anything to look forward to, because things aren’t really ever going to get better. I’m never going to feel better. I’m always going to be struggling as much as I am right now. And if that’s the truth, if that’s really how it’s going to be, then I really don’t want it. Because this isn’t a life. This isn’t a life at all.
When you grow up with a mother who ignores you when you cry, who pushes you away when you are sad and angry… You cannot see kindness in the world. I feel so jaded sometimes. Like right now. I am feeling so jaded. And then there’s the fear that I’m sounding like I’m just sitting here feeling sorry for myself, but then I have to just push that aside. If that’s what I’m sounding like, so be it. Sometimes, I almost wish that I was physically and sexually abused by my parents (I apologize if this triggers or offends anyone), because then I could “really” complain. It’s almost as though my parents didn’t abuse me, they “only” ignored me. What really do I have to complain about. And they never once neglected me physically. I was fed well, clothed in cute clothes, etc etc. No, this was an emotional neglect. Being ignored. Being put in a room to cry on my own, and wasn’t allowed to come out until I stopped crying. Tugging on my mom’s shirt sleeve and screaming at the top of my lungs while she literally did not react. Acted as though I weren’t even there. When I would scream and cry and throw a fit, she would say things like, “I’m sorry, but I cannot hear you when you are screaming.” In a very upbeat and cheerful tone. I cannot hear you when you are screaming. Talk about making a kid feel crazy. Making a kid question her own reality. Making a kid come to the realization that no one can or ever will hear her screams, however loud she screams them. But… it’s not “real” abuse, right? “Real” abuse is being beaten, being raped. That’s what our society pounds into us anyway. And maybe I’ve bought into it. Thinking that I couldn’t possibly have had it bad. After all, I was never “abused”….
What am I even talking about. Why am I even talking. And really, who is going to hear it.
Well, maybe some lost soul out there. Maybe someone in the future who I haven’t even met yet. Maybe one day they will come across this blog and it will give them comfort, because they are just like me. They have always felt ostracized, always felt crazy, always felt alone. Always felt like their insides didn’t match their outsides. Always felt like they were screaming inside and no one could hear them. Always felt like they wanted so much for the world to pay attention and no one ever seemed to turn their heads so much as a glance in their direction. Always felt like they had to please everyone else around them, and when they stopped doing that, they ended up completely alone, and purposeless. Always felt like they have so much potential, and yet wasted it each and every day, because surviving was just too hard for there to be room to do anything else. Always wished that there was someone else out there who understood what they were going through. Always felt like that person was just beyond their reach. Always wanted to open up and allow themselves to be seen, to be heard, to be vulnerable, and yet couldn’t bear the thought of one more person misunderstanding them. Or taking advantage of them. Or using them. Always longed for comfort. And love. And care. Always felt like these things were the things of fairy tales. And above all, always felt alone. Completely alone.
I think that’s a lovely note to stop on, isn’t it? (note the sarcasm there.)
What else is there to say, really. Nothing worthwhile anyways.