I think about my friends’ experiences a lot and think why I have not developed into a fun-loving, clubbing, spontaneous person. It’s not accurate to assume it’s all self-restricted, it’s not accurate to boil it down to lack of interest.
It’s possible that I’ve spent to much time trying to come off as ‘well-adjusted’. But my entire demeanor screams anxiety and insecurity- so I haven’t even done that properly. I think I’m no good a lot. I think others think it too.
I’m not well adjusted. I can’t even say what or who I am.
I want to be like them so bad. No, you’re not reading some angsty tween wallflower diary entry. I’m in my twenties, I have two jobs, a blossoming career, and a healthy relationship.
Everyone loves to say ‘nobody is ‘normal’’ or some dumb ass quirky bullshit like that.
Im not the only adult living with mental illness and trauma. I’m not under any illusion that my case is special or unique. But man, I would love it if those people knew what this is like.
Everything I do is calculated, there’s not a grain a spontaneity left in my body. I’m always tip toeing, weighing outcomes, looking for the exact verbiage, timing everything.
Im depressed.
I want to be like my fun-loving friends. I want to , for once in my life, but the fucking reins down and enjoy myself and not be afraid of what might come of it.
It doesn’t seem like it’s gonna happen any time soon. And I hate having alone time because I contemplate all of this bullshit and wind up in a spiral. Idk this was nonsensical and incoherent it’s fine.
I should really get back to my paper but typing on this keyboard is so satisfying especially because im doing it in public, like they’ll think wow what is she writing she seems really passionate about it- maybe its a blog post or a novel shes working on or an angry email and its like nope just stream of consciousness okay bye
Uh, also I should be writing this paper but I keep thinking about how my entire family is going to mexico without me and i get incredibly bitter lmao I hate all of them i didnt even know my dad was going for christmas until like two days ago like its cool i dont have aging family there either lol whatever yall dead to me
I think I kept a lot about my past relationships to myself. In the spirit of Thank you, Next, i’ll vent about it lol
I don’t know if I can attribute my sexuality to DID but I am so freaking confused. There absolutely a time where I was exploring the different avenues of gender and sexual identity. It became apparent that i was completely straight.
I VERY attracted to men physically and emotionally. This still remains true. I love men.
At the moment I’ve been trying to unthread what I’ve been feeling lately. I’m not sexually attracted to women, I can’t see myself in a romantic/sexual relationship with a woman. But it’s difficult for me to determine if that is because I don’t allow myself to truly explore that.
I know for a fact I’m not gay, I’m not even bisexual. SO what the hell is this? It’s not even curiosity.
Why have I been feeling like there’s a small percentage of me that might be? Is it because everyone thinks so? I don’t fuckin know dude, I thought I sorted this out ages ago.
Diego was in my bed sulking with his face in his palms. I approached him, pinky in my ear, I was fishing out what felt like water from the shower I had just taken. My demeanor was definitely not that of /concerned older sister with readily available anecdotal advice/. Truthfully, I wasn’t too concerned.
My brother is 12 years old, I don’t think that needs further explaining.
However, we share the same previous 12 years. Divorce, abuse, poverty, all fresh just in the last TWO years. What I’m trying to say is it hasn’t been easy for him and this sight, though sad, wasn’t surprising.
‘Whats wrong?’
He explained that our dad had taken them to the movies, he got emotional about it as he was thinking about it in the car, my dad didn’t like it, and he threw his toy out the window.
That, too, wasn’t surprising. My dad has an unpredictable, explosive temperament.
I tried to comfort him as much as I could with something I wish I would have known about my dad at his age, ‘how other people choose to act is not your fault. Some people are just angry at themselves.’
‘You don’t know how it feels.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Has he thrown your toy out the window?’ He looked up at me earnestly.
I remembered the time I came home and my cat was missing, the time I came home and found out my pregnant dog was missing, the time I came home to my room torn apart, the Time I came home and my posters and art were in the trash, the time I told him I was depressed and he told me to kill myself, the time I told him I was sexually assaulted at the age of 4 and told me to get over it, the time he threatened to kill my mom, the time he threatened to kill himself, the time he told me he grew up with no one, the time he told me my grandma shunned him from the family, the time he told me my grandma would beat the shit out of him on a near daily basis—you get the picture, it’s nothing revolutionary. I have daddy issues.
I debated what I could and couldn’t say to this impressionable preteen that already harbors resentment for his father. He knows my dad grew up under difficult, life-threatening circumstances but I don’t think he can correlate how that affects his ability to parent. I have so much fear, anger, sympathy, and love for my father. Maybe I haven’t figured out how I feel about him, maybe I never will.
I just responded, ‘Yes, he threw my toy out the window.’
The last two years have really whipped me into shape. I’ll spare you the pseudo intellectual, cringey fake-deep poetry and just share this moment of introspection with you.
I drove past my old roommate Ken’s house this morning. Five-hundred dollars a month plus utilities for the most perfect space I’ve ever lived in. It was a comfy art studio with the most kind and compassionate roommates I’ve ever had. There was nothing to complain about, it was the quintessential quiet, white neighborhood.
During this time my life was on track. I was finally working on my Bachelor’s in English, making steady money, got my first car, and had a healthy relationship.
I stayed for less than two months and took the sharpest left turn of my life so far.
It didn’t occur to me until this morning that Ken’s house was a mediocrity trap. The bills and obligations sucked me into a routine that would ultimately result in a meager, substance-less life. (By the way, I’m not shitting on those who idealize or are confined in this lifestyle- I’m sure many would escape it if they could and many would be grateful to have it.)
Leaving Ken’s, dropping out of school, surrendering my future to /an idea/ was absolutely of the craziest things I’ve ever done.
I’m proud of myself for doing it.
If you would have told me a year ago that would become a tattoo apprentice and piercer, I would have laughed.
It is corny but sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith and hope things turn out okay.
Granted, I am working my ass off but luck had a lot to do with it.
I’m loving where I am, I’m so grateful. I’m doing things i never thought in a million years I could do. If I hadn’t left Ken’s, I wouldn’t be where I am now.
I haven’t posted on this site for a months. It doesn’t seem to be a relevant part of my life anymore. I’m having a hard time abandoning this blog though, probably because I’ve clocked in most of my adolescence on it. But I don’t have time anymore. I don’t have time to sift through my feed for HOURS to encapsulate what I’m interested in at the moment or what I’m going through or whatever the hell. My best attempt at reconciling those differences is to simply repurpose this blog. This is going to be an open journal for anyone to read. I’m not under any illusion that I’m interesting or i have something new to say, but I’m sure I have friends that could find this and catch up with me as I’ve been absent from their lives for so long.
Idk take this with a grain of salt, I am.
Given the circumstances, those outside of my control, I’m surprised I’m still here. Every turbulent year tests and shakes all the principles I held close. I guess I am too idealistic. People don’t value their own word and sometimes its confusing to me. Truly I feel as though I’m an alien observing humans for the first time, I really just can’t wrap my head around it. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know absolutely nothing. Seeing people morph and twist before my own eyes has been astonishing. I have been coddled by friends who are guided by principle, I expected everyone to be similar in some way.
Today was one of the most difficult days I’ve had in a long time. I’ve been stowed so deep in my mental illness for years, I forget I am a real person. There was an investigative podcast on NPR describing the kidnapping, sexual assault, and murder of an 11 year old boy in Minnesota. It was graphic, I knew it my gut I shouldn’t have listened to it, it was going to unravel me- and it did. I remembered a photo where a small, doe-eyed, six to seven year old girl in pink sweatpants stared back at me with an empty gaze. It never like felt me, I was never a child- not until today. That photo was taken in the same year I was sexually assaulted. During the time I felt grown, I felt knowledgeable and mature. Today I realized I was a just a baby. Who could ever look at someone so small and take advantage of them.
I went through the motions, went to both my jobs, did some studies. Watching my coworkers interact with such a thick facade felt especially strange today. Listening, once more, to their bickering and trash talk struck a weird nerve. I felt disconnected and isolated like I don’t know myself. I can’t explain it.
Its though I was on the verge of a major collapse. I buried that lingering sensation deep until I saw something at work that perplexed me and hurled me into an endless existential loop.
It sounds hyper-sensitive to be completely devastated by arbitrary observations of people’s interactions. I’m straying deeper and deeper into this fictional timeline- I can’t make sense of anything anymore.
More than likely the podcast I listened to triggered a chaotic domino effect in my brain and the last one to drop pulled the plug.
I’m not ready to go back I don’t want to see anyone ever again.
Yes, I idealize suicide because for my personal situation it feels like the only solution. I consider Anthony Bourdain’s circumstances often. I grieve but I’ll admit I romanticize it as well.
If death is anything at all like sleep, I’d rather sleep. I am so tired, I’ve had enough.
I don’t carry that inflated notion that its me against the world, or that I am misunderstood, or that I am right and everyone else is wrong. I am admitting right now, I am wrong I always have been and I cannot adapt to it. I need to omit myself from all of this and this is the most clean-cut way to do it.