About Me

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I am twenty-four years old, I love to read, write, sing, listen to music, watch theater, open presents, hike, and climb. The number one thing I dislike is lazy people. My goal in life over job, or money, or travel, is to overcome the struggles of the past, and become a whole, happy woman.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

People who are crazy tell everyone they AREN'T crazy

I wonder more often than not about women's hormones. About my feelings. I go through ups and downs quite a bit, and sometimes I wonder "are these thoughts and feeling real? Or are they lies that I am feeding myself to sabotage all that I have that is good?" I would love for my downs to just be lies and nothing more, but how can they be? How is it possible to lie to yourself? Shouldn't I be aloud to question everything? Shouldn't I be aloud to say "I feel sad" or "I feel confused"? Because I do feel those things, quite a bit. But more than any other feeling I get in life, I feel unsatisfied. I know that's a common feeling, but it eats away at me. I can never be too thin, never be too loved, never be too happy. I feel so unsatisfied, that I worry there will never be anything to make me feel whole.
When I felt this way as a child, I would cut myself.
I'm not a child. I can't do selfish crys for help anymore. Or any cry for help. Being an adult means not asking for help. It means you don't burden society with your problems and pathetic feelings. The world has no time for sadness or wanting. It slows down productivity. I search for things that get me "high",but nothing compared to cutting. I never did drugs when I was younger, and alcohol is okay, but never really needed it. I can only image that drugs feel the same as cutting. That it's something you're proud you don't do anymore, but you would give your left arm to feel that rush again (no pun intended). I look at the scars I've collected over the years, and I am sad I no longer have such perfect skin as I did before depression hit. All of the scars on my body are self inflicted with the exception of two. One on my back from falling off a horse, and the other under my chin from before I can remember. The rest, those are mine...those were a choice. And each scar was intended for someone in particular. The scissor marks on my right and left wrists that you would have to squint to see now, those where for my mother. The two on my upper right forearm, those were for "old times sake". The rest all had private destinations for people and feelings.
Right now, my feelings are borderline crazy. It's partially hormones because being a woman, means to be a little crazy; but the other half is that I am coming off of a high that I was on yesterday. Me high? No. Me, cut myself? Yes, well unintentionally. I was carrying a bookshelf by myself when it split into. The half I was still holding, with the force of me pushing up, went into my hand, into an artery and splattered blood everywhere. I told everyone I knew that I was in pain. Honestly I wasn't in pain, I was reliving that adrenaline rush that I have tried to duplicate with punching, exercise, or sexuality. For a few minutes I was panicked about all the blood, but once I figured that I didn't need the hospital or stitches, I was fine. I was great. The high lasted three, to four hours. But like all good feelings I came off of it, and I feel as I do right now. Empty. Sad. Needy.
There must be something I can do that doesn't involve a loss of blood. Eating blow fish? Hunting? I've tried to replicate it, and it just ends up frustrating me. The best thing I can do when I feel this way is sleep. When I sleep there is a sixty/forty chance that I'll wake up happy. Those are good odds when you are having an internal battle.
The battle within is much like a battle you'd see on a movie or video game. Someone wants someone to die, and someone would like to live. Well I would like to live, but part of me just wants to rip me to shreds. This is messed up right? Help me out here, If I'm not alone, I would love to know.
It seems like everyone I tell my feelings to, they nod blankly as if to say they are scared, or that I am being a baby and I need to take control of my thoughts. Thanks guys, love that support.
I'm dizzy in my thoughts, and I can't type as fast as I am thinking the words in my head. Am I rambling? Maybe If I say everything that I feel, I'll have nothing to feel sad about, and I'll be happy? That's not something I have ever tried.
I don't feel comfortable telling friends and loved ones that I think I may be crazy, and I don't think they like to hear anything that isn't smiles and giggles. And damn am I good at smiles and giggles! It's how I got through high school. It's how I broke so many good hearts. Maybe if I had just been comfortable to be more like me, and less like perfect barbie, I might have been happy. I might have hurt less people. I might have told some guys I dated that I didn't know why I dated them, that I didn't like them. I remember I didn't want to date Nathan, I just felt sorry for him, and Matt Hecox I dated him because I wanted to see what the popular crowd was like. I dated Richard because he wasn't in high school, and that was much better than being in high school. I dated Tres for real. He is a lot like me, an asshole, book snob, antisocial, rude. If I spent less time dating and worrying about how all these men saw me, maybe I would find myself beautiful.
I wonder what went wrong with me. and when?
Was there a moment I could go back to? My first kiss when I was in middle school? The first time I cut just a few months after? My first date in high school?
"If I find my way, how much will I find?"

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