Yet more negative crap.
Clearly I'm using this journal as a means of unloading negative crap from my mind.
So be it.
I'm sitting here in the computer lab at school...I came here to waste time, and also to blog.
I had class today, but didn't attend. I had a discussion today, but didn't attend. In fact, I arrived a half hour late for my hour-long discussion (which are mandatory for the class) and I said "fuck it" and came here instead.
I've been stressed out. The whole first week of school was stressful. What I wonder, though, is why? Why am I experiencing so much anxiety?
I need to write out my thoughts. All of them. So they can stop crowding my brain and making me anxious and, worse yet, stuck in neutral as they fight each other.
It's like I have so many worries that there isn't room for them all, and my brain is getting overloaded.
Of course now that I'm thinking about it, having spent the weekend trying to calm down, I probably won't be able to articulate them all.
I stayed in bed today. I could have gotten up. But I didn't. I pulled the covers over my head, and just stayed in bed. Awake, asleep, it didn't matter. I dreamt about my past. Weird stuff. Random day-to-day stuff that I hadn't thought about in a long time. As if memories that were repressed and buried were surfacing.
Yeah. I suppose that's it. I dreamt of my dog, Star. She's dead. I dreamt of my father. He's dead. I dreamt of my sister, mother, my teachers at school, my grandparents, their house, etc. They're all alive. Don't mean to imply otherwise. I just mean...I dreamt about social experiences with my family and school teachers.
Been thinking a lot about my social life. Well. My lack of one.
I'm guarded. Someone mentioned that. He's right. I am. I'm distant. I'm afraid to get too close to people. I have many, many ways of distancing myself. One is that I come off as arrogant to people who I haven't let in. Arrogant...detached...as my mother says, heartless. Cold.
It's ironic. I consider myself to be such an open person. But I'm not, really. Not at all. I'm quiet, distant, and emotionless on the surface. Sometimes, anyway. Most of the time.
When I'm not acting like that, I'm nervous and scared and awkward. I guess being calm and detached is a way to not feel afraid. A way to feel in control.
I'm always surprised...shocked, even, when someone says they like me, or that they'd miss me if I left--like if I quit my job or something, they'd miss me. Why? I don't miss them. Even the people I like the most and was closest to at work, when they're gone I don't really miss them. They're gone.
I miss Doug. Because I think I let him in a lot closer than most. Ironically I didn't let him in entirely, even though I thought I did at the time. I certainly did keep a lot from him though. And I had trouble...Well. I guess I had trouble being honest with myself.
I feel I should expand/explain that comment. Since it seems so cryptic.
That's another method of staying closed off. Saying cryptic things and not explaining them. It's hard to say this. I almost feel that I used Doug. I latched on to him. Was in a bad situation and needed to find a way out, and he was it. I stayed with him because I loved him. But not like a boyfriend. Not really.
I loved him because he took care of me. I loved him because he was a good friend. I loved him because I admired him, looked up to him. I loved him because we had so much in common, and complemented each other in many ways. But we always had trouble with intimacy. We were good friends, but... Well. Best way to explain it...We were boyfriends without benefits.
I always wanted someone to just...be close to. Share space with me. Be close, and not feel awkward about it. Usually, that was too intimate for Doug. He'd feel awkward, and I'd know it. We were like roomates. And whenever we tried to be boyfriends it was weird. For both of us, I guess. Doug because he had trouble with being intimate, me because I was just using Doug to feel safe, loved, comfortable, etc.
Now, it's been a year or so. More I guess. Do I miss him? Yeah. I miss my friend. If that's what it takes to become friends with me, no wonder I have so few. I meet people. All kinds of people. I even meet people I like, respect, want to be friends with. Then I systematically sabotage every connection the person attempts to make, and wonder why I have no friends.
But at least no one is hurting my feelings, right? Do I have those?
I have emotions, sure. But when was the last time someone was close enough to me to be able to hurt me? My sister was. My mother was. My brother was. My father was. They all hurt me quite a lot.
Now I'm very safe, it seems. Doug couldn't even really hurt me. He could piss me off, he could make me worried and fearful, but actual emotional pain? Never. He was never in a position to. I wouldn't allow it. All the while, I called myself a very open person and someone who is in touch with his emotions.
When was the last time I cried? ...Not too long ago, but those tears were of loneliness, depression, anxiety. These are things I deal with myself. But when was the last time I cried because of someone else?
Not when my father died. Not when my mother was in the hospital because of kidney failure. Not when my sister was weeping on the phone calling me a horrible person for not coming to see my father. Not when Doug and I broke up.
Part of it is depression, I guess. But it's been a life-long struggle, so I can't very well blame depression for it. I mean. I've been depressed my entire life. So I guess I don't really know what normal is. Well. There is no normal. I don't know.
I wrote a poem. No that's not accurate. I woke up with a poem in my mind. My dreaming mind wrote a poem.
All I know...
is...life is cold.
We reach for warmth and light
But tragically
unerringly
We're all fated to die.
Is this a poem about death? No. It's a poem about hopeless struggle. Hopeless in that you will never reach warmth and light that you strive for, and pointless in that you're going to die one day no matter what you do. And whatever small fragment of light and warmth you might have found will be snuffed out...Life is cold. Death is colder.
Oblivion is a really terrifying concept on its own, but for a lifetime of struggle to end in oblivion without ever having accomplished anything is more terrifying.
I guess that's at the root of my fear. I feel like I'm failing. Like what I want is right in front of me, but it's out of reach, and I'm stuck. But time is running out.
I keep thinking about how far I've come, but my mind always returns to my failings, and how far I've left to go. The goal is in sight. But I don't have the power to reach it. I'm wasting my 20's. Alone. And depressed. I wasted my teen years alone and depressed. I'm going to waste my thirties alone and depressed unless I make progress.
Ticking clock. Yet I stay in bed and hide. Too much to take sometimes.
I was thinking, on my way to the discussion (before I said 'fuck it') that no one would miss me if I wasn't there. Then the phrase repeated in my mind, and took on another meaning. "No one would miss me if I wasn't here."
Ah the ever-present thought of suicide. It's been a while. Prozac has been helping keep these thoughts at bay. I used to think it normal to gravitate towards suicidal thoughts. But now I've lived for big stretches of time without them. Then they occasionally pop up, like this.
If no one would miss me, that's my fault. That doesn't make it better. I'm too hard on myself. I'm not as bad as I was, but I'm still too hard on myself. I'm trying to force myself to grow up, I guess.
Whatever. Enough of this crap for now. More later probably.
So be it.
I'm sitting here in the computer lab at school...I came here to waste time, and also to blog.
I had class today, but didn't attend. I had a discussion today, but didn't attend. In fact, I arrived a half hour late for my hour-long discussion (which are mandatory for the class) and I said "fuck it" and came here instead.
I've been stressed out. The whole first week of school was stressful. What I wonder, though, is why? Why am I experiencing so much anxiety?
I need to write out my thoughts. All of them. So they can stop crowding my brain and making me anxious and, worse yet, stuck in neutral as they fight each other.
It's like I have so many worries that there isn't room for them all, and my brain is getting overloaded.
Of course now that I'm thinking about it, having spent the weekend trying to calm down, I probably won't be able to articulate them all.
I stayed in bed today. I could have gotten up. But I didn't. I pulled the covers over my head, and just stayed in bed. Awake, asleep, it didn't matter. I dreamt about my past. Weird stuff. Random day-to-day stuff that I hadn't thought about in a long time. As if memories that were repressed and buried were surfacing.
Yeah. I suppose that's it. I dreamt of my dog, Star. She's dead. I dreamt of my father. He's dead. I dreamt of my sister, mother, my teachers at school, my grandparents, their house, etc. They're all alive. Don't mean to imply otherwise. I just mean...I dreamt about social experiences with my family and school teachers.
Been thinking a lot about my social life. Well. My lack of one.
I'm guarded. Someone mentioned that. He's right. I am. I'm distant. I'm afraid to get too close to people. I have many, many ways of distancing myself. One is that I come off as arrogant to people who I haven't let in. Arrogant...detached...as my mother says, heartless. Cold.
It's ironic. I consider myself to be such an open person. But I'm not, really. Not at all. I'm quiet, distant, and emotionless on the surface. Sometimes, anyway. Most of the time.
When I'm not acting like that, I'm nervous and scared and awkward. I guess being calm and detached is a way to not feel afraid. A way to feel in control.
I'm always surprised...shocked, even, when someone says they like me, or that they'd miss me if I left--like if I quit my job or something, they'd miss me. Why? I don't miss them. Even the people I like the most and was closest to at work, when they're gone I don't really miss them. They're gone.
I miss Doug. Because I think I let him in a lot closer than most. Ironically I didn't let him in entirely, even though I thought I did at the time. I certainly did keep a lot from him though. And I had trouble...Well. I guess I had trouble being honest with myself.
I feel I should expand/explain that comment. Since it seems so cryptic.
That's another method of staying closed off. Saying cryptic things and not explaining them. It's hard to say this. I almost feel that I used Doug. I latched on to him. Was in a bad situation and needed to find a way out, and he was it. I stayed with him because I loved him. But not like a boyfriend. Not really.
I loved him because he took care of me. I loved him because he was a good friend. I loved him because I admired him, looked up to him. I loved him because we had so much in common, and complemented each other in many ways. But we always had trouble with intimacy. We were good friends, but... Well. Best way to explain it...We were boyfriends without benefits.
I always wanted someone to just...be close to. Share space with me. Be close, and not feel awkward about it. Usually, that was too intimate for Doug. He'd feel awkward, and I'd know it. We were like roomates. And whenever we tried to be boyfriends it was weird. For both of us, I guess. Doug because he had trouble with being intimate, me because I was just using Doug to feel safe, loved, comfortable, etc.
Now, it's been a year or so. More I guess. Do I miss him? Yeah. I miss my friend. If that's what it takes to become friends with me, no wonder I have so few. I meet people. All kinds of people. I even meet people I like, respect, want to be friends with. Then I systematically sabotage every connection the person attempts to make, and wonder why I have no friends.
But at least no one is hurting my feelings, right? Do I have those?
I have emotions, sure. But when was the last time someone was close enough to me to be able to hurt me? My sister was. My mother was. My brother was. My father was. They all hurt me quite a lot.
Now I'm very safe, it seems. Doug couldn't even really hurt me. He could piss me off, he could make me worried and fearful, but actual emotional pain? Never. He was never in a position to. I wouldn't allow it. All the while, I called myself a very open person and someone who is in touch with his emotions.
When was the last time I cried? ...Not too long ago, but those tears were of loneliness, depression, anxiety. These are things I deal with myself. But when was the last time I cried because of someone else?
Not when my father died. Not when my mother was in the hospital because of kidney failure. Not when my sister was weeping on the phone calling me a horrible person for not coming to see my father. Not when Doug and I broke up.
Part of it is depression, I guess. But it's been a life-long struggle, so I can't very well blame depression for it. I mean. I've been depressed my entire life. So I guess I don't really know what normal is. Well. There is no normal. I don't know.
I wrote a poem. No that's not accurate. I woke up with a poem in my mind. My dreaming mind wrote a poem.
All I know...
is...life is cold.
We reach for warmth and light
But tragically
unerringly
We're all fated to die.
Is this a poem about death? No. It's a poem about hopeless struggle. Hopeless in that you will never reach warmth and light that you strive for, and pointless in that you're going to die one day no matter what you do. And whatever small fragment of light and warmth you might have found will be snuffed out...Life is cold. Death is colder.
Oblivion is a really terrifying concept on its own, but for a lifetime of struggle to end in oblivion without ever having accomplished anything is more terrifying.
I guess that's at the root of my fear. I feel like I'm failing. Like what I want is right in front of me, but it's out of reach, and I'm stuck. But time is running out.
I keep thinking about how far I've come, but my mind always returns to my failings, and how far I've left to go. The goal is in sight. But I don't have the power to reach it. I'm wasting my 20's. Alone. And depressed. I wasted my teen years alone and depressed. I'm going to waste my thirties alone and depressed unless I make progress.
Ticking clock. Yet I stay in bed and hide. Too much to take sometimes.
I was thinking, on my way to the discussion (before I said 'fuck it') that no one would miss me if I wasn't there. Then the phrase repeated in my mind, and took on another meaning. "No one would miss me if I wasn't here."
Ah the ever-present thought of suicide. It's been a while. Prozac has been helping keep these thoughts at bay. I used to think it normal to gravitate towards suicidal thoughts. But now I've lived for big stretches of time without them. Then they occasionally pop up, like this.
If no one would miss me, that's my fault. That doesn't make it better. I'm too hard on myself. I'm not as bad as I was, but I'm still too hard on myself. I'm trying to force myself to grow up, I guess.
Whatever. Enough of this crap for now. More later probably.