I thought I was better, but I'm not.
I'm just different now.
I seem to be hell-bent on destroying myself.

Things I Contemplate While Sewing Buttons

Why don’t people realize that we're all affected by our environments and things that happen? It’s naive to think that things have no lasting impact on people around you; that people will always be the same and that nothing can change them. It’s rude, and it's selfish. We’ve all got filters and things get through. Good things and bad things. Everyone processes their environment and is shaped by what they experience. Some people’s filters are really shitty and let a lot through. Some people's are less shitty, but everyone's lets some things through. You’re not the only one without a perfect filter. We all think that everyone else is equipped with some fucking shield that keeps the bad from getting through. And we all think that the good always gets through. It doesn't. Sometimes the bad clogs it up and won't let it get by. It’s all just a fucked up myth that we’ve created to save ourselves from feeling guilty. It needs to stop. Guilt is a good thing. It stops you from passively letting bad things get through other people's filters. We'd all be so much better off if we actually let ourselves feel guilty.

This is something that I would normally write in a journal, but I feel like I need someone to know how scared I am. I feel so alone.
The real reason why I am so terrified about this birthday is because I am afraid that I might mean I'm middle aged. This is not something that I can say out loud. No one I know could possibly understand how it feels to think their life might be halfway over at twenty, and if I did happen to know someone who understood, I wouldn't want to make them think about; it's definitely best not to dwell on it.
It's not that I'm terribly scared of dying, and another twenty years sounds good enough for me, but I feel so strange and disconnected from my peers. They don't think about these things. I don't want to be okay with this; I don't want to think about my life this way; I want to be wrong. I've been told that the statistics don't apply to me my whole life, but I can't believe it.
I'm not special. Nothing ever works out for me, so why should my longevity be an exception?
I have awful luck.
I really just hope I can have a couple more good decades.

my body sucks so hard, and I feel like adding things to it makes me hate it less for not functioning properly.
it's nice to have needles stuck in you for a purpose that you've chosen rather than to give yourself shots or prick your fingers or to have someone else give you shots or draw your blood or stab your fingertips.

thief

have you figured it out?
why I say such stupid things?
it’s because you took my brain
and hid it.

I have an innate unshakeable awareness of my own mortality. It’s interesting how few people acknowledge our mortality. I guess it’s how most of us are able to live our lives free from extreme worry. If we focused on the fact that we are all going to die, how could we focus on living?
Death is very narcissistic. Once the thought of it enters into your mind, it doesn’t want any other lesser thoughts to overshadow it. It wants to make itself comfortable there and stay for as long as possible. It needs plenty of attention before it can be temporarily satisfied and leave. Even then, it always comes back and expects to be indulged.
That’s probably why most of us don’t let it get into our heads. Ignoring it, however, doesn’t make it any less real. We think we grasp the fact that everyone is mortal, but at the same time, almost all of us think we’re the one exception; "death doesn’t apply to me." I don’t feel that way. I know death won’t pass me by; I am going to die. When faced with this widespread denial of mortality, my acknowledgement of death makes me feel lonely and painfully human.
The odd thing is, I would not give up the awareness of my mortality for anything. I think the fact that I constantly feel (at least vaguely) isolated and inadequate makes me care more when others experience the same feelings. We all come equipped with weak spots perfectly suited to trigger these feelings. Some of us have many spots, and some of our spots are very weak. (Mine are broken.) I want to reinforce the spots. Especially for those of us who have a lot of them or really weak ones or both. I am pretty good at guessing where someone’s spots are and how weak they are. I also have gotten pretty good at noticing when they get hit. I try to fix the spots when I find them and repair any possible damage after a I detect blow. It can be tricky, though, because none of us want to look weak so we all try to cover up our spots. Unfortunately, covering them up doesn’t make them go away. Sometimes, it even makes them worse. You have to work to make them stronger.
Although at the same time, everyone definitely needs to hang on to a few reasonably weak spots. If we didn’t have any, we wouldn’t be able to understand how others feel when their spots get hit.

Incongruent

I just want to be better.
I want to stop hurting myself.
I want to stop being sick.
I want to stop being scared.
I just want to be better.
I want to be attractive.
I want to be interesting.
I want people to notice.
I just want to be better.

Do you know what I find curious?
How I would rather feel terrible loud emotions
And not want to exist
Than pleasant quiet ones
And not consider my existence at all.

I feel like I am living my life in limbo. I keep waiting and waiting for things to change. Patience is a virtue. Being virtuous is overrated.
I want things to speed up so I can begin living again. Living seems like a foreign concept to me. My life has been moving in slow motion or reverse for so long. Stick. Stack. Stuck. Now there is plenty of wiggle room but nowhere to go.
The idea of life and space and freedom terrifies me to no end. They are unfamiliar. I want it, need it, but every time I think about it, I am scared shitless.
Goddamnit, I hope things get easier.

syrup

I think it is coming back.

It will be bad this winter. This seems like only the beginning. The dull ache that eats away at me. It can’t come back again. I want to bar the doors and throw the deadbolt, but it seems futile. Self medicating and going to sleep seems much easier than wrestling with the discomfort and unease. I can never quite pinpoint where it starts or stops. I can never quite tell what it is exactly. Constantly nagging at me whispering, barely audible, it breathes out terrible lies. Truths. It flits about; unable to be caught. Maybe I am just too sluggish to grab it, but it made me that way. The vicious cycle it sets off. Self perpetuating.

I wish that I could write about inspiring and insightful things again. Everything just seems so hard right now, and I hate it. I keep assuming that things have to turn around soon, but they don't. Things have been bad for almost two months now, and they seem to have only gotten worse. The "bad" things that happen to me have an impressive way of affecting areas of my life that I already have an incredibly difficult time with. Like how I feel worthless 99% of the time. I do not understand why anyone would genuinely want to know me. I do not give a shit if you say that is ridiculous, and I am an amazing person; it is how I feel. It is how I have always felt. It is probably how I will always feel. When someone enters my life and I actually believe they care about me, it's a big deal. If this person has to leave my life, I fall apart. If this person swears to me they will not leave but then does anyway, it's unbearable. I cannot even describe what happens inside me. It is much more than just being sad; I stop functioning. The reaction is physical and painful.
I thought I was done. I felt so much better. People were acting like they enjoyed my company and needed me. Then I was left alone. A lack of human contact sometimes messes with my head. They're not there so they must not care. I know it doesn't work like that, but someone needs to tell that to my serotonin levels.
Hopefully I will be able to convince myself everyone doesn't hate me tonight. That would be ideal.

Also, I am hoping that my posts will be more regular and less melodramatic after this. I finally have my computer back, and though it is lacking my hard drive, I have regular access to the internet again.

panic

my body--restless

things try to break out from me

they can't escape

clap your hands!

Nobody. No body. Nothing. No thing. 

Wonder what it's like to exist--

Not live life in limbo,

Wait and drift.

Brittle.

Let them make cracks.

Careless. 

Care less.

Fade out.

Exist

I feel like a motherfucking faucet.

I didn't know that this much water could come out of a person. everything about this sucks. even the fucking inkling of hope sucks. I don't deal well with grey; I either want some fucking closure or for it not to end. this is so stupid. things would be so much different if everything had just happened earlier. it would have worked, and I wouldn't need a fucking plumber to keep me from flooding the apartment. I had almost forgotten what it was like to be really truly sad. I stupidly hope that he realizes that we could work some day. I just want to know him. like really know him. I am sure there is something there, and I think he feels that, too. unless he is just lying to make himself feel like less of an asshole which is also very possible. I wish I could know for sure which one it is. I hate not knowing. I wish I could just fast forward and see where we end up. I could move on if I had to, but that is the last thing I want right now. nothing about this was done correctly.

I want a do-over.

fuck everything

of course it would end up like this. things never work out for me.

Things Written on the Wall Next to Me in My Lecture Hall

"Jesus rules Forever"
"S"
"BRIAN SCHEA IS VERY COOL" immediately followed by: "gay"
"vaginal lubrication feels awesome"

oh, college.

normality

this feeling is so bizarre. things feel right. things never feel right. it's a little scary. I'm glad it's not perfect. I would never believe it if it was perfect. who would have guessed that I would feel comfortable with someone so normal. it makes me so incredibly/confusingly happy. being happy feels weird. it's nice though. very nice. like I am bursting out of myself. I am exploding and am sent flying, but I think I am landing only slightly disheveled and with him. I am a mushroom cloud of contentedness.

and glitter.




BAM.

of course.

Everything is so perfect, yet I feel the need to be a neurotic freak and worry all the time.  This is the one time when I am supposed to NOT worry.  And yet here I am, so goddamn worried.
I am not good enough.  If I could accept that I am good enough, I wouldn't worry.  I am good enough.  I don't believe that.
You are.  You are way more than good enough.  You are more than I deserve.  That's why I worry.  It doesn't feel real.  It's too nice for my life.  Nice things do not exist in my life.   I don't believe it.  I can't believe it, so I worry.

I don't know how this will work, but it has to.  I don't want to I think that if I see that it works, over time, I will worry less.  The tension will ease and the chaos that is current constant for my mind will drift away.  Of course the only perfect thing in my life would be so fucked up.  And the sick thing is that it really isn't fucked up at all.  It's all in my mind.
I wish I could just talk to you forever.  Then I would know everything is okay.



I am so crazy.  Crazy people don't deserve things this lovely.

I haven't been feeling inspired to write. Which I guess is a good thing. The only thing inspiring me write now is the feeling like I am heading for a breakdown.

Good things only seem to lead to disappointment.
I am so sad because I am happy. There is no way this can last. Things never work out. Why should this time be any different?
f
u
c
k
It won't work and I want to cry. I am not a real person, so how could anyone have any sort of legitimate interest in me? They couldn't.
I am sad because I am happy.
I wish it worked the other way, too.    I would be happy a lot more often.
I have been thinking too hard. Not thinking, fretting. People must think I am insane. The faces I make when I am lost in these thoughts make me look like I am ready to collapse in a heap of sadness. Maybe I am.

I am made of brittle, brittle glass.
I need some goddamn bubble-wrap.

how strange it is to be anything at all

I did something wild last night.
Someone said something spot on that made me very happy.
"You don't look like the kind of person who would do this. You look like you're going to be a librarian or a teacher or something."
"Actually, I am an English education major. So no, I do not seem like that kind of person. That's a big part of the reason why I wanted to do it."