i'm frustrated. very frustrated. everything is very dead-end-y. or it seems that way, you know? i don't seem to do anything right. but i don't get yelled at as much as i used to, which is nice. but today. lectures. constantly. it's not as easy as just hiding. it's probably all in my head. all of this. nothing seems overly real to me. just all these things. events. people. places. it's so complex and large and i just can't handle it, or else i don't want to.
i want to break out violently. i want to burst. i want to yell and scream. i want to hit things. i have wanted to throw things, too. hear the clink and clatter of pans falling on the floor, flying against the wall. i don't want to be bothered but i don't want to be left alone. but i'm not a violent person. i hate violence. but i want to be violent, even for a few seconds. but i know it won't help me. not today. not ever. i'm afraid i'll take it too far. i'm afraid once i let my violent side out, it'll never go back under the bed where i left it. and i don't want to take that chance. it's just not worth it.
so i just tell myself i need to lose weight. take the focus off my inner problems, and focus on my stomach. i just want to drop a couple pounds...i want to look good. i dunno. maybe it's not that easy, but i wish it was. and i don't want to ask for help. but i don't want to be left alone.
it's a horrible middle of the road place to be. i want company, i want help, but i don't. i don't like having people mad at me. i think my mom has mood swings. or split personalities. or both. or maybe i do. but i don't want to go to a counselor. it's not that easy. i can't always just go talk to someone about something that bugs me. just...anything. no. i can't do that. i can't just say 'hey, this is something that i've had a problem with since i was three' which is kinda what she wants. i have to have a reason. i don't want to waste someone's time. i know that there are plenty of other people who legitimately need help. why can't i help myself? maybe i don't want to.
people blame a lot of things on their parents. i could. i could try. but that would start something i'm just not prepared to go through. it doesn't matter what i think about my parents. it doesn't matter. what matters is who i am and what i do to myself. this is out of their hands as far as i'm concerned, and this has nothing to do with how they raised me. this is me. not them. not a reflection of them. so why bring them into it?
yeah. so i'm in my mom's house. sorry mom. i really am. i can always go live with my dad or just bum around on the street. but that would kill me. that would not be good. but i dunno. what else will i do? i hate my job. i hate my job. but i don't. i hate what my job has me do. i enjoy some of the people. people who don't know me and will talk to me anyway. people who will never get to know me fully, and will talk to me anyway. people who just came to get breakfast and will talk to me anyway. but i still hate my job.
maybe i'm just not me yet. i haven't got it quite right. maybe i never will. i'm probably not ready. i've screwed up enough as it is...maybe i got lost.
it's fun, having a mom who simultaneously telling me just to revel in my flaws...but also tells me to learn from my mistakes and fix myself up. but that's all me. i need to just learn that the world doesn't make sense. maybe the point is to be miserable while we're alive, so death seems so much more fun. who knows. certainly not me, and i should stop trying to figure it out. i have enough to do as it is.
flaws. screw ups. i can't cook. i don't like science. maybe my writing really sucks. people hate me. that's life. i'm not perfect, and i don't try as hard as i could. it's true. and again, the woman who tells me that we all do our best in the moment also tells me i don't do my best, and i don't try hard enough. maybe i'm too literal. maybe i should just be taken out back and shot.
i don't know if i want to die or not. there are too many risks associated with such a thing. what if the atheists are right? what if i don't die, and end up living in incredible pain for a very long time? what will i miss? what should i be doing otherwise? it's not so easy as 'okay...look at me! i'm not longer living!' because if it was, well, i'd have killed myself a long time ago. and it's not for lack of trying.
it's not for lack of thinking, really. my imagination -- cultivated by movies and books and things of that nature -- is overly graphic. i kill myself hourly, and all in different ways. who knew hari-kari looked so cool using a fondue fork.
i don't always imagine dying. no. usually its just a maiming.
my train of thought was cut off. my sister picked up the phone on someone i can only assume was a debt-type person. or a telemarketer. i think i want to stab something. and i lost my groove. my writing groove. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
ANGER. ANGER. ANGER. ANGER. ANGER.
ANGRY. MISERABLE. DEPRESSED. REPRESSED.
MANACLE. CHAIN. HANDCUFFS.
IMAGINATION. IMAGINATION. IMAGINATION.
REPRESSION. REPRESSION.