MANCHILD
I'm almost 30.
I should have my life together.
I should have a proper career, maybe even a family.
I don't.
In many aspects of my life, I'm horribly immature. I've regressed back to being a child. I'm having trouble, well have been for a while, finding my place. I don't think I'll ever fit. I want to be myself, enjoy the few things that I can and share my passions. I guess I just don't know how to go about it. I come off as weird and put people off. I just want to be liked for who I am and I don't see that happening. Every person in my life wants to change some aspect of who and what I am. I don't know why they just don't let it go.
It didn't really hit me until I went to the cinema yesterday. I went with my little Dollie Pork Chop who pretty much comes everywhere with me. I'm here with him because I didn't want to go alone, but I wasn't able to really communicate that to a friend of mine who I was texting. I got him his own ticket so it wouldn't appear that I was all alone, that I was a loser of some sort, I told her this and she said I came off as a loser for getting the doll a ticket. It cut me in a way I didn't expect. I know Pork Chop is a doll, but he's also very special to me. He has a real presence that so many of the real people in my life lack. I couldn't explain to her the other reasons that I'd brought him, I felt too exposed, too vulnerable. I don't know if she was meaning it to be nasty or just pointing our her thoughts, either way, the result was the same. I feel myself pulling away from her and from others. I don't want to go back to work. She reassured me and we talked. She told me why she likes me and I feel a little better, but I'm still unsure. I feel like crawling under my bed and crying.
Throughout the film it weighed on me, the friendship in the film, the lengths they went through was something I wanted, and something I feel I'm never going to get. Maybe there's just something fucking wrong with me. Maybe relationships like that only exist in film and on dolled up social media accounts. It added to my feelings of isolation. I left the cinema wanting to lie down and sleep forever, hidden away from everyone. This shyness is getting worse. I'm not wanting to get close anymore. I've tried it, it's turned out bad and people have tried to take advantage or me or use who/what I am against me. I can't deal with any more of that. Maybe I really am just better off with an arm's length between me and everyone around me.
I explained to her how the whole exchange made me feel and the significance of Pork Chop because she didn't know, I got an apology, although it confounded me. These damn kids and their new lingo. It left me unsure. Now I don't know what to make of it or anything else. I feel like I'm a low-key joke. I try so hard to be friendly or joking, but I can't really do it anymore. I feel like it's all just a big failure and I'm being laughed at, not with. Relationships confuse me so much. Thankfully with Chubb, it's pretty straightforward since we allegedly share a brain. I know work isn't supposed to be fun, but I get knots in my stomach when I have to go. I left almost wanting to burst into tears. She couldn't just leave Pork Chop alone, despite now knowing what he means to me. Creepy and has dead eyes. Well, a perfect match for me because I'm dead inside. I'm barely alive. I really just want to curl up and die. Actually, I picture a more violent, visually thrilling death for me. At least no ones noticed that I've been cutting more and more. I whacked some of the fresh cuts at work and held my composure as they started to bleed, blood soaking into my black t-shirt. It felt good. It was the stress relief that I needed. I see the box cutters and I'm overcome with lust. I want them to know my fresh, I want to feel the cool blades against my inflamed sin, my self-hatred coating the blades and pouring out.
Throughout the film it weighed on me, the friendship in the film, the lengths they went through was something I wanted, and something I feel I'm never going to get. Maybe there's just something fucking wrong with me. Maybe relationships like that only exist in film and on dolled up social media accounts. It added to my feelings of isolation. I left the cinema wanting to lie down and sleep forever, hidden away from everyone. This shyness is getting worse. I'm not wanting to get close anymore. I've tried it, it's turned out bad and people have tried to take advantage or me or use who/what I am against me. I can't deal with any more of that. Maybe I really am just better off with an arm's length between me and everyone around me.
I explained to her how the whole exchange made me feel and the significance of Pork Chop because she didn't know, I got an apology, although it confounded me. These damn kids and their new lingo. It left me unsure. Now I don't know what to make of it or anything else. I feel like I'm a low-key joke. I try so hard to be friendly or joking, but I can't really do it anymore. I feel like it's all just a big failure and I'm being laughed at, not with. Relationships confuse me so much. Thankfully with Chubb, it's pretty straightforward since we allegedly share a brain. I know work isn't supposed to be fun, but I get knots in my stomach when I have to go. I left almost wanting to burst into tears. She couldn't just leave Pork Chop alone, despite now knowing what he means to me. Creepy and has dead eyes. Well, a perfect match for me because I'm dead inside. I'm barely alive. I really just want to curl up and die. Actually, I picture a more violent, visually thrilling death for me. At least no ones noticed that I've been cutting more and more. I whacked some of the fresh cuts at work and held my composure as they started to bleed, blood soaking into my black t-shirt. It felt good. It was the stress relief that I needed. I see the box cutters and I'm overcome with lust. I want them to know my fresh, I want to feel the cool blades against my inflamed sin, my self-hatred coating the blades and pouring out.
Some days are better than others for me. Some days I can get up, do a proper breakfast, get dressed and go to my regular job like nothing. I'll come home and cook, do laundry and clean. I'm an average adult. Then there are the other days. The days where I don't want to get up, I want to hide in bed and play. I kick and scream about having to go to work and I'm willing to do anything so I won't have to go. I want to play with my dinosaurs, watch Homeward Bound or a cartoon while eating chicken nuggets and then have a nap. This kind of behaviour can end lead me to all sorts of trouble and it has in the past. I know its a defence mechanism. I'm wanting to go back to a time when I could just run and hide; I didn't have to handle things. I didn't have to fight for my survival when I was 6-7 years old. I want to go back and try and fix all these things, all these deficits inside of me, but I can't start over.
I'm not used to group work and it shows. I'm awkward and come off as a freak rather than endearing, which I can be at times. Sometimes I get so goddamn angry that despite me trying, I'm still a failure, still the fucking joke. I was told that I'd grow out of this and I haven't. I'm filled with a simmering rage. People don't realise how hard I'm working to keep all of this under control and not lose my shit and beat someone into a coma or worse. I don't think people see how badly I want to not be on the outside anymore, that for once I just want to fit in. I want them to show me with their actions, not their words. Words lie. Actions lie too, but in a lesser way. I'm not going to try anymore. I can't do it anymore. It's too draining for me. I can't keep coming home and crying my eyes out or being told that I'm being dramatic or over sensitive. When you've spent your entire life being horribly abused and you try to fit in and you constantly just feel like a joke no matter what you do, sometimes banter cuts you deeper than any razorblade ever could.
I'm not used to group work and it shows. I'm awkward and come off as a freak rather than endearing, which I can be at times. Sometimes I get so goddamn angry that despite me trying, I'm still a failure, still the fucking joke. I was told that I'd grow out of this and I haven't. I'm filled with a simmering rage. People don't realise how hard I'm working to keep all of this under control and not lose my shit and beat someone into a coma or worse. I don't think people see how badly I want to not be on the outside anymore, that for once I just want to fit in. I want them to show me with their actions, not their words. Words lie. Actions lie too, but in a lesser way. I'm not going to try anymore. I can't do it anymore. It's too draining for me. I can't keep coming home and crying my eyes out or being told that I'm being dramatic or over sensitive. When you've spent your entire life being horribly abused and you try to fit in and you constantly just feel like a joke no matter what you do, sometimes banter cuts you deeper than any razorblade ever could.
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