things are falling down on me, heavy things I could not see.

I feel so awful; stressed to the brink of insanity.
that should not be a reason to not write.
that should be a reason to write.
just I don't want to complain on here.
if I complain, it's real. I'm different. people will throw me pity parties. I don't do pity parties. I keep up the facade and paint on a smile. cheese.

I won't talk about that.
                                                                               

am I really special? I think I am. I deal with my shit and still keep up appearances. I still am a real person despite dealing with my shit. that can be hard. being a real person. I usually forget I am one. actually, I don't really think I am. I know I am, but I don't think I am. my friends tell me I have specific mannerisms that they have picked up and I am bewildered by that thought. I probably got them from other people.

me? I don't have any unique, definable qualities. I'm just a body. a chameleon who doesn't know who she is. a stupid chameleon. adapting to the current situation in the best way she can. you like sports? me too. you like art? me too. music? same. the thing is, it's never a lie. I really do like everything. it makes things confusing and convenient. I can get along with most people. I only have one real dislike:  militant religion. especially christianity. it skeeves me out. keep your god to yourself, please. you can like him all you want. just leave me out of it. other than the super religious, I like everyone. the sluts. the prudes. the stoners. hippie. preppy. frat boy. anarchist. they all have qualities that I can identify with and love. some of the other stuff that I don't identify with (though there isn't much), I find fascinating. I'm not a real person. they are. if I learn enough about them enough, maybe I'll be a real person, too. that's my goal. to become real. to have someone recognize that I have my own qualities (even though I don't) and to like them. I want to be a worthwhile real person. though, I think everyone is worthwhile. (other than those crazy catholics.) I guess a real person would be enough. I would settle for being real. being real would be very nice.

spinning

I am actually dizzy from thinking too much.  That does not seem normal.  oops.

Slippery Snake

My grip on reality and my sanity is usually tenuous at best.  I am not very strong (I really should work out more), and it feels like it is covered in grease.  Someone needs to distract me for just a second, and I forget I am supposed to be holding on tightly, and it slips away rather quickly.  whoosh.  And it’s gone.  whoops.  It keeps sliding further and further away until I remember that I need to grab it.  Sometimes it’s a far reach and I need help getting it back. 

I am easily distracted which doesn’t help matters.  I get fixated on stupid things that really don’t matter.  The small things that push the right (wrong) buttons do it the best (worst).  Logic says I do not care.  But, if I think about it too hard, this stupid little unimportant thing could be interpreted to mean that I am not worthwhile.  whoosh.  And that I am not pretty enough.  whoosh.  And also probably fat.  whoosh.  And stupid.  whoosh.  And boring.  whoosh.  Then it’s gone.

Oops. 

I didn’t mean for it to happen.  It just does.  If someone could throw it back to me, I might be able to catch it and be okay again.  I have fairly decent catching skills.  And throwing skills. 

But really, could you please toss it back to me?  You distracted me and made it slide away, so it’s really the least you could do.  You could try just telling me that I’m wrong.  It wouldn't be very hard for you, and it would probably do the trick.  It might even make it less slippery and easier to hold on to. 

I would give anything for it to be less slick.  I could get distracted and still hold on.  That would be lovely.