DUMPLINGS
I'm even late uploading this.
I meant to upload this 2...3 days ago, as well as a blog from
3 weeks ago. Maybe I'll get to that one as well today. Who knows? I don't.
Things still aren't finalised for Florida as of now. I'm running about like a chicken with
no head and no focus. That's one of the worst symptoms of depression; you know you
have things to do but can't be fucked to do them. It's the same with my writing lately. I've
got tonnes of ideas that I want to share, projects that I want to get involved in, but I've got
no energy or no pazazz. All I did for the past week was stay in bed and watch documentaries
and Sherlock. Much productivity.
I still find myself to be stripped of any true sense of emotion.
I'm drowning in a sea os sorrow, doubt and self-hatred and there is no coastline in sight.
As time slipped away, I laid awake at night consumed by negative repetitive thoughts and toxic
anger. I thought of him, the event that's drawing nearer and how it's the end all-be all. My mates
don't understand. How could they? They've never been in a situation like this before and never will be. They all tiptoe around everything like children afraid of the wrath of their parents while I live on
the edge. I find myself questioning every little detail, imagining hundreds of scenarios, questioning
what will happen on that fateful day. I feel a storm in my bones, the hurricane drawing nearer to the shoreline each moment. I've imagined, envisioned and questioned everything from the good, the brutal and the purely fanatical. Why does my mind race so? Normally this is never really an issue. I think of a few things that could go wrong, prepare and move on, but this- This has caused an upset that I never thought possible. My entire world has been rocked and I'm still feeling the residual shakes from the initial impact.
I want this meeting to occur, I've been dreaming of the possibility of one happening for ages, but after it became real, tangible I suddenly became fearful of it. The idea of further rejection is unappealing to anyone, but I've thought of ways to avoid it all together that go beyond normal escapism. Breaking my own arm so I wouldn't have to go, smashing my head into a wall so I'd be in a coma and couldn't possibly go. My mind has wandered and explored all kinds of ideas and notions. It's like wanderlust gone wrong. I know why it's so important. I've reached the age where I feel that I need something true. I'm sick of being the one who's ignored, ridiculed and left, no made, to constantly feel worthless and unloved. (My brain does a great job of forcing that upon me on its own.)
I know that I'm not able to handle another rejection without a complete collapse. I've been rejected each time I've approached a relationship, laughed at, humiliated. I'm painfully shy about things of this nature, being a rather closed off person in many aspects of my life, allowing thoughts and emotions to be expressed in my work or privately in a journal. I find it hard to express feelings of love, adoration of fondness and have no trouble expressing feelings of anger and rage. I know it's a large a part of my upbringing that's influenced these reactions to these emotions, or rather the expressions of these reactions in a face to face manner. Being painfully shy doesn't help things much on the matter. I've always been rather shy and self-conscious but years of systematic abuse have worsened that so much so that it's almost crippling.
Knowing that I'd be unable to tell him everything that I want to, I condensed it and wrote
him a letter. It took 7 months to edit it down, to find the words, to say what I wanted to say without
coming off as creepy, odd or some sort of psycho. It was a constant struggle that I ran over in my mind daily. I'm hoping that he doesn't read the letter in front of me, but rather reads it without me there. I might just die if he read it in front of me-having him see the one behind the emotions. I'd be paralysed or I might vomit. All this thinking is giving me a migraine. A little over a week to go, then I'll have my answer and I won't be obsessed by questions and my imagination can settle back down and stop distracting me from other tasks at hand.
I meant to upload this 2...3 days ago, as well as a blog from
3 weeks ago. Maybe I'll get to that one as well today. Who knows? I don't.
Things still aren't finalised for Florida as of now. I'm running about like a chicken with
no head and no focus. That's one of the worst symptoms of depression; you know you
have things to do but can't be fucked to do them. It's the same with my writing lately. I've
got tonnes of ideas that I want to share, projects that I want to get involved in, but I've got
no energy or no pazazz. All I did for the past week was stay in bed and watch documentaries
and Sherlock. Much productivity.
I still find myself to be stripped of any true sense of emotion.
I'm drowning in a sea os sorrow, doubt and self-hatred and there is no coastline in sight.
As time slipped away, I laid awake at night consumed by negative repetitive thoughts and toxic
anger. I thought of him, the event that's drawing nearer and how it's the end all-be all. My mates
don't understand. How could they? They've never been in a situation like this before and never will be. They all tiptoe around everything like children afraid of the wrath of their parents while I live on
the edge. I find myself questioning every little detail, imagining hundreds of scenarios, questioning
what will happen on that fateful day. I feel a storm in my bones, the hurricane drawing nearer to the shoreline each moment. I've imagined, envisioned and questioned everything from the good, the brutal and the purely fanatical. Why does my mind race so? Normally this is never really an issue. I think of a few things that could go wrong, prepare and move on, but this- This has caused an upset that I never thought possible. My entire world has been rocked and I'm still feeling the residual shakes from the initial impact.
I want this meeting to occur, I've been dreaming of the possibility of one happening for ages, but after it became real, tangible I suddenly became fearful of it. The idea of further rejection is unappealing to anyone, but I've thought of ways to avoid it all together that go beyond normal escapism. Breaking my own arm so I wouldn't have to go, smashing my head into a wall so I'd be in a coma and couldn't possibly go. My mind has wandered and explored all kinds of ideas and notions. It's like wanderlust gone wrong. I know why it's so important. I've reached the age where I feel that I need something true. I'm sick of being the one who's ignored, ridiculed and left, no made, to constantly feel worthless and unloved. (My brain does a great job of forcing that upon me on its own.)
I know that I'm not able to handle another rejection without a complete collapse. I've been rejected each time I've approached a relationship, laughed at, humiliated. I'm painfully shy about things of this nature, being a rather closed off person in many aspects of my life, allowing thoughts and emotions to be expressed in my work or privately in a journal. I find it hard to express feelings of love, adoration of fondness and have no trouble expressing feelings of anger and rage. I know it's a large a part of my upbringing that's influenced these reactions to these emotions, or rather the expressions of these reactions in a face to face manner. Being painfully shy doesn't help things much on the matter. I've always been rather shy and self-conscious but years of systematic abuse have worsened that so much so that it's almost crippling.
Knowing that I'd be unable to tell him everything that I want to, I condensed it and wrote
him a letter. It took 7 months to edit it down, to find the words, to say what I wanted to say without
coming off as creepy, odd or some sort of psycho. It was a constant struggle that I ran over in my mind daily. I'm hoping that he doesn't read the letter in front of me, but rather reads it without me there. I might just die if he read it in front of me-having him see the one behind the emotions. I'd be paralysed or I might vomit. All this thinking is giving me a migraine. A little over a week to go, then I'll have my answer and I won't be obsessed by questions and my imagination can settle back down and stop distracting me from other tasks at hand.
The sadness the cloaks me is new, yet it knows every inch of my body.
It wraps itself tightly around me, almost like a second skin.
I'm probably just going to get a Chinese takeaway and tuck into watch Spirited Away.
I can no longer focus on anything and I'm so exhausted despite sleeping for nearly 11 hours.
I'm sorry this blog was so depressing and stumbling, I'll have something better possibly tomorrow. No promises though. Fingers crossed.
I can no longer focus on anything and I'm so exhausted despite sleeping for nearly 11 hours.
I'm sorry this blog was so depressing and stumbling, I'll have something better possibly tomorrow. No promises though. Fingers crossed.
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