(no subject)
Just me ranting behind the cut (no surprise eh?);
When does my inability to function as a person (not just as an adult, but as a person in general) stop being my parents fault and start becoming mine? I hate when I get anxious because I get these kind of thoughts if given enough alone time to think. At what point in raising me in the terribly misguided way she (or they depending on my age) raised me and how it effects me stop being her fault for doing it and start being mine for still letting it screw with my head. I used to think if I understood things better I'd be able to function better because I would understand why I was so necrotic. It doesn't work that way; and I know that now but I had always held onto the hope I would be able to fix myself.
When I was young I had aspirations to do so many things with my life (Mainly something to do with Art or Film, as those have always been my two greatest loves); and now while I'd still love to do something like that when I think about it makes me want to cry because it feels like I've started too late. That if I wanted to make something of myself I'd have done it before now, I worry because when I think of the things I enjoy and want to do I feel terrified, completely terrified of failure. I know, now, a lot of it is because when I expressed these desires or attempted to do such things when I was younger my family was not only unsupported but told me if I tried to do what I wanted I would fail. That I would never survive in the real world with what made me happy.
I took two years of theater because I loved it, the first year I learned basics and did tech, and the second year I took the Drama side and participated in running (and occasionally acting) in a few plays. I thought it was brilliant (except when I was helping read lines, that put me to sleep). I ran around and tried my best only to hope that my family would show up, congratulate me, do all that stupid-cheesy-shit you see in movies because they're proud of you; my mother gave me a half assed pat on the back and my step-mother told me my father fell asleep. Which, above all, was not something she needed to tell me. But she was a bit of a bitch in her own right so I shouldn't have been surprised. Still it hurt, like everything else, it hurt.
Those of you know know me irl, or at least personally enough, know in the past... three years I've gotten a little out of shape (by a little I mean 30 pounds out of shape) and you'll also know it makes me insane. I realize now when I was younger I had a good figure and never enjoyed it because my mothers need to constantly nit-pick everything about me made me miserable; and more importantly made me hate myself. If I wore baggy jeans I looked like a boy, if I wore tighter ones I looked fat, if I wore black I looked like "one of those kind of girls" and I might get raped. Really Mom. Really.
I've got so many issues that it feels like I'm not even able to handle real life anymore which just makes me cry. I want to be able to. There's so much I want to do, so much I want to see, and it's not anything I'll be able to accomplish if I'm too scared to go out and try. I want to be able to talk to people and not be completely terrified, I want to be able to relax and enjoy myself. I want to be like I was before, when I dressed how I wanted, loved myself a little bit more and still had the wherewithal to take the risks to try and get into a career that would make me happy. But I just feel so lost and broken, just the thought of trying makes me have an anxiety attack.
I mean I don't feel comfortable outing my "deep dark secrets" as I can only sarcastically refer to them as; and I'm probably not ever going to on my blog unless I have another night like this-- but I've just been through so much shit it feels like I can't get better. That I can't ever fix it and I'll never achieve what I want because I'm standing in my own way; that I'm letting my fear stop be and god what I wouldn't give just to be fixed.
When does my inability to function as a person (not just as an adult, but as a person in general) stop being my parents fault and start becoming mine? I hate when I get anxious because I get these kind of thoughts if given enough alone time to think. At what point in raising me in the terribly misguided way she (or they depending on my age) raised me and how it effects me stop being her fault for doing it and start being mine for still letting it screw with my head. I used to think if I understood things better I'd be able to function better because I would understand why I was so necrotic. It doesn't work that way; and I know that now but I had always held onto the hope I would be able to fix myself.
When I was young I had aspirations to do so many things with my life (Mainly something to do with Art or Film, as those have always been my two greatest loves); and now while I'd still love to do something like that when I think about it makes me want to cry because it feels like I've started too late. That if I wanted to make something of myself I'd have done it before now, I worry because when I think of the things I enjoy and want to do I feel terrified, completely terrified of failure. I know, now, a lot of it is because when I expressed these desires or attempted to do such things when I was younger my family was not only unsupported but told me if I tried to do what I wanted I would fail. That I would never survive in the real world with what made me happy.
I took two years of theater because I loved it, the first year I learned basics and did tech, and the second year I took the Drama side and participated in running (and occasionally acting) in a few plays. I thought it was brilliant (except when I was helping read lines, that put me to sleep). I ran around and tried my best only to hope that my family would show up, congratulate me, do all that stupid-cheesy-shit you see in movies because they're proud of you; my mother gave me a half assed pat on the back and my step-mother told me my father fell asleep. Which, above all, was not something she needed to tell me. But she was a bit of a bitch in her own right so I shouldn't have been surprised. Still it hurt, like everything else, it hurt.
Those of you know know me irl, or at least personally enough, know in the past... three years I've gotten a little out of shape (by a little I mean 30 pounds out of shape) and you'll also know it makes me insane. I realize now when I was younger I had a good figure and never enjoyed it because my mothers need to constantly nit-pick everything about me made me miserable; and more importantly made me hate myself. If I wore baggy jeans I looked like a boy, if I wore tighter ones I looked fat, if I wore black I looked like "one of those kind of girls" and I might get raped. Really Mom. Really.
I've got so many issues that it feels like I'm not even able to handle real life anymore which just makes me cry. I want to be able to. There's so much I want to do, so much I want to see, and it's not anything I'll be able to accomplish if I'm too scared to go out and try. I want to be able to talk to people and not be completely terrified, I want to be able to relax and enjoy myself. I want to be like I was before, when I dressed how I wanted, loved myself a little bit more and still had the wherewithal to take the risks to try and get into a career that would make me happy. But I just feel so lost and broken, just the thought of trying makes me have an anxiety attack.
I mean I don't feel comfortable outing my "deep dark secrets" as I can only sarcastically refer to them as; and I'm probably not ever going to on my blog unless I have another night like this-- but I've just been through so much shit it feels like I can't get better. That I can't ever fix it and I'll never achieve what I want because I'm standing in my own way; that I'm letting my fear stop be and god what I wouldn't give just to be fixed.