Damn it, I've tried updating since the last post, but can't seem to bring myself to finish my thoughts. I started my first draft within hours of posting that last entry, but held off on posting because it was dark as fuck. Many other drafts followed, but they all seemed to follow that formula-- starts cheery and fine, then some word gets stuck in my head and things turn bleak real quick.
Take this post for example, which ALMOST made it but... I killed it because I think I had to go somewhere and my mind just turned off:
Prior to my last post's angry spiel, I had actually been doing better.
Despite the rage I felt at the moment, I woke up the next morning completely fine.
Now? I'm good. Sure, I've had moments of sadness, but my mood/emotional health has been going in an upward trend. It's a very spotty recovery. I notice an improvement in my mental/emotional health, but there will be small hiccups along the way where I just fucking lose my shit for a few hours... or days.
I still think I'd rather feel rage than sadness... although I think my anger's going to kill me one day after I suffer a fucking stroke/aneurism (apparently I'm genetically predisposed to that shit... suddenly dropping dead from a fit before age 40, so say my genetic tests. Ain't that shocking? [no, no it's not] LUCKILY, if I actually make it past that window of sudden death, I'll live to suffer into my 100's. 2085... fuck that shit. Silly genes).
Episodes like these-- where others seem to lack the ability to empathize with me, and instead get angry with me-- happen often.
This whole "going out" thing isn't always a stressful thing for me-- it more than often IS, but there are people with whom I have no problems hanging out.
It's not that I WANT people to "hold my hand" through anything-- something that is often thrown in my face. "I can't hold your hand through it, AnoMALIE!" people have scolded me... and I bite my tongue so as to not scream back "That's the fucking problem-- NO ONE has ever held my hand THROUGH SHIT." If anything, I've spent my life trying to find my way through things on my damn own. The time anyone has ever held my hand through something was Kelley with college. I had NO CLUE what to do... and the folks who were SUPPOSED to, the ones who are PAID to help (counselors) were giving me the cold shoulder (or doing worse shit like my high school counselor who gave me the "you should be happy you're even graduating! Now go plan your... what do your people call it? 'Fiesta'?" speech... you know, because the fact that I was the student with most AP courses under my belt-- all but one passed with an A-- in school wasn't indicative of me doing my damn best to not only graduate, but to make high school my fucking bitch). But Kelley very patiently and diligently held my hand through the entire four years, not once throwing it in my face about how clingy and needy I might have been. She understood I had NO CLUE what to do or where to go, being the first person in my family to venture into college... you know, since both my parents only went up to sixth grade... in Mexico. Kelley understood how fucking clueless I was, and helped.
I'm not going at this thing on my own because I WANT to be alone, it's because I've been FORCED to go at it alone. It's not like I'm sitting here slapping the helpful hands away from me, claiming I can do this on my own, it's that no one EXTENDS that helping hand. Perhaps they think I can handle anything, or they simply don't give a shit if I need help... the fact remains, NO ONE is helping me... I'm doing it on my own.
That fucking shit is taxing as fuck... and so, you get this end result, where I suffer anxiety and mental breakdowns from which it takes fucking months to recover.
ANYWAY, that was a huge tangent.
Back to the point I'm trying to make.
There are friends who can grasp this concept... of me being absolutely horrified by the thought of being thrown into a huge social event on my own. They do their best to keep me from suffering from the shock and anxiety this scene will cause me, and so, they "hold my hand" and guide me towards a small circle of people who are equally kind and understanding, and eventually, make me feel at ease. This results in me being absolutely normal, often ENJOYING the event, and even acquiring new friends.
But then there are my "friends" whose circle of friends isn't exactly composed of the nicest bunch of folk... those are the bigger problem here.
"Then why do you surround yourself with these people?"
Well... I am in that circle because... they are my family. I see first hand how they treat others... I hear them mock others, embarrass others... be absolute monsters to others... and it scares me, because I know I can possibly be on the receiving end of that shit one day (well, fuck, often times I HAVE been on that end... most of my grade school years were spent on the abused side). It's why I'm suspicious and uncomfortable around others... I have seen how nasty others can be, so I'm never fully comfortable. It's why normal people have difficulty understanding where I'm coming from.
"Why is this chick so fucking paranoid and uncomfortable around people?!" Uhhh... because I know how fucking terrible people can be, and I prefer not to put myself in harm's way.
"Then get away from THOSE people." Bro, they're my family, I can't exactly do that. And thanks to this family, I KNOW there are people capable of this behavior... it's a fucking ripple effect-- my family member's a douchebag, then he finds two more non-related douchebags, then those douchebags somehow find two other douchebags... then sooner than later we have an entire room full of mean fucking douchebags... that fucking behavior's contagious.
That's where it ends.
I can't find the correct way to express myself clearly. I no longer know if I WANT to explain myself.
It's difficult to explain the reasoning behind my behavior... it makes me feel stupid and weak.
And it makes me angry... so fucking angry.
The ease with which people invalidate my feelings and my actions... simultaneously saddens me and infuriates me.
The manner in which some people suggest I "fix" my problem just... makes me laugh, maniacally sometimes, because... because it doesn't fucking work that way, at least not for me. It's not as fucking easy as they think it is.
I'm 30... you honestly think I haven't TRIED to be fucking normal? The vast majority of my life has been spent with me WISHING to be just that--normal... average.
Most of the time, whenever I've "tried," I've had shit happen to me that only agitated the PTSD I've acquired over the last... 25 years or so.
But enough about that. I'm still ok. Sure, I have my bad moments, but as a whole, I'd say I'm improving.
The suicidal thoughts are mostly gone... now I'll only occasionally wonder shit like what my lifeless body will look like... some day, not in the near future, of course. That's a vast improvement from two months ago, where I was... well, I won't get into that either... but it was definitely the worst, absolute worst case I've ever handled.
I'll sit and wonder what exactly triggered this very ugly downward spiral, and I can't exactly pinpoint what it was... but my best guess is the whole introspective shit I did on my final days in Athens. Taking mental inventory of my life was rough AS FUCK. I didn't think I could be so fucking mean to myself.
But I'm getting better. Will I go back to being the old me? Hell no. That chick died a very fucking long time ago... like, people worked REALLY hard to destroy all trace of that kind, timid girl (you know what feels very fucking weird? The moment where a piece of you dies-- you can seriously feel it. It's indescribable. But it happens. It's so noticeable. Uncontrollable. You never really knew the piece existed until it suddenly disappears, like a balloon getting popped by a sharp needle). But maybe I'll be able to crack a smile once in a while... not spend so much time staring off into space, wondering dark shit. I'll converse on occasion.
But really, I'm just hoping I can smile effortlessly, sincerely... people take that ability for granted.
Take this post for example, which ALMOST made it but... I killed it because I think I had to go somewhere and my mind just turned off:
Prior to my last post's angry spiel, I had actually been doing better.
Despite the rage I felt at the moment, I woke up the next morning completely fine.
Now? I'm good. Sure, I've had moments of sadness, but my mood/emotional health has been going in an upward trend. It's a very spotty recovery. I notice an improvement in my mental/emotional health, but there will be small hiccups along the way where I just fucking lose my shit for a few hours... or days.
I still think I'd rather feel rage than sadness... although I think my anger's going to kill me one day after I suffer a fucking stroke/aneurism (apparently I'm genetically predisposed to that shit... suddenly dropping dead from a fit before age 40, so say my genetic tests. Ain't that shocking? [no, no it's not] LUCKILY, if I actually make it past that window of sudden death, I'll live to suffer into my 100's. 2085... fuck that shit. Silly genes).
Episodes like these-- where others seem to lack the ability to empathize with me, and instead get angry with me-- happen often.
This whole "going out" thing isn't always a stressful thing for me-- it more than often IS, but there are people with whom I have no problems hanging out.
It's not that I WANT people to "hold my hand" through anything-- something that is often thrown in my face. "I can't hold your hand through it, AnoMALIE!" people have scolded me... and I bite my tongue so as to not scream back "That's the fucking problem-- NO ONE has ever held my hand THROUGH SHIT." If anything, I've spent my life trying to find my way through things on my damn own. The time anyone has ever held my hand through something was Kelley with college. I had NO CLUE what to do... and the folks who were SUPPOSED to, the ones who are PAID to help (counselors) were giving me the cold shoulder (or doing worse shit like my high school counselor who gave me the "you should be happy you're even graduating! Now go plan your... what do your people call it? 'Fiesta'?" speech... you know, because the fact that I was the student with most AP courses under my belt-- all but one passed with an A-- in school wasn't indicative of me doing my damn best to not only graduate, but to make high school my fucking bitch). But Kelley very patiently and diligently held my hand through the entire four years, not once throwing it in my face about how clingy and needy I might have been. She understood I had NO CLUE what to do or where to go, being the first person in my family to venture into college... you know, since both my parents only went up to sixth grade... in Mexico. Kelley understood how fucking clueless I was, and helped.
I'm not going at this thing on my own because I WANT to be alone, it's because I've been FORCED to go at it alone. It's not like I'm sitting here slapping the helpful hands away from me, claiming I can do this on my own, it's that no one EXTENDS that helping hand. Perhaps they think I can handle anything, or they simply don't give a shit if I need help... the fact remains, NO ONE is helping me... I'm doing it on my own.
That fucking shit is taxing as fuck... and so, you get this end result, where I suffer anxiety and mental breakdowns from which it takes fucking months to recover.
ANYWAY, that was a huge tangent.
Back to the point I'm trying to make.
There are friends who can grasp this concept... of me being absolutely horrified by the thought of being thrown into a huge social event on my own. They do their best to keep me from suffering from the shock and anxiety this scene will cause me, and so, they "hold my hand" and guide me towards a small circle of people who are equally kind and understanding, and eventually, make me feel at ease. This results in me being absolutely normal, often ENJOYING the event, and even acquiring new friends.
But then there are my "friends" whose circle of friends isn't exactly composed of the nicest bunch of folk... those are the bigger problem here.
"Then why do you surround yourself with these people?"
Well... I am in that circle because... they are my family. I see first hand how they treat others... I hear them mock others, embarrass others... be absolute monsters to others... and it scares me, because I know I can possibly be on the receiving end of that shit one day (well, fuck, often times I HAVE been on that end... most of my grade school years were spent on the abused side). It's why I'm suspicious and uncomfortable around others... I have seen how nasty others can be, so I'm never fully comfortable. It's why normal people have difficulty understanding where I'm coming from.
"Why is this chick so fucking paranoid and uncomfortable around people?!" Uhhh... because I know how fucking terrible people can be, and I prefer not to put myself in harm's way.
"Then get away from THOSE people." Bro, they're my family, I can't exactly do that. And thanks to this family, I KNOW there are people capable of this behavior... it's a fucking ripple effect-- my family member's a douchebag, then he finds two more non-related douchebags, then those douchebags somehow find two other douchebags... then sooner than later we have an entire room full of mean fucking douchebags... that fucking behavior's contagious.
That's where it ends.
I can't find the correct way to express myself clearly. I no longer know if I WANT to explain myself.
It's difficult to explain the reasoning behind my behavior... it makes me feel stupid and weak.
And it makes me angry... so fucking angry.
The ease with which people invalidate my feelings and my actions... simultaneously saddens me and infuriates me.
The manner in which some people suggest I "fix" my problem just... makes me laugh, maniacally sometimes, because... because it doesn't fucking work that way, at least not for me. It's not as fucking easy as they think it is.
I'm 30... you honestly think I haven't TRIED to be fucking normal? The vast majority of my life has been spent with me WISHING to be just that--normal... average.
Most of the time, whenever I've "tried," I've had shit happen to me that only agitated the PTSD I've acquired over the last... 25 years or so.
But enough about that. I'm still ok. Sure, I have my bad moments, but as a whole, I'd say I'm improving.
The suicidal thoughts are mostly gone... now I'll only occasionally wonder shit like what my lifeless body will look like... some day, not in the near future, of course. That's a vast improvement from two months ago, where I was... well, I won't get into that either... but it was definitely the worst, absolute worst case I've ever handled.
I'll sit and wonder what exactly triggered this very ugly downward spiral, and I can't exactly pinpoint what it was... but my best guess is the whole introspective shit I did on my final days in Athens. Taking mental inventory of my life was rough AS FUCK. I didn't think I could be so fucking mean to myself.
But I'm getting better. Will I go back to being the old me? Hell no. That chick died a very fucking long time ago... like, people worked REALLY hard to destroy all trace of that kind, timid girl (you know what feels very fucking weird? The moment where a piece of you dies-- you can seriously feel it. It's indescribable. But it happens. It's so noticeable. Uncontrollable. You never really knew the piece existed until it suddenly disappears, like a balloon getting popped by a sharp needle). But maybe I'll be able to crack a smile once in a while... not spend so much time staring off into space, wondering dark shit. I'll converse on occasion.
But really, I'm just hoping I can smile effortlessly, sincerely... people take that ability for granted.
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