(no subject)
I feel depressed tonight and I don't really know why.
Normally, I don't mind feeling all down, but I'd like to have a reason.
I just... don't know whats wrong with me. Maybe I'm just not meant to be a social person. But goddamn, sometimes I wish I was. What do I do for fun? Nothing. I don't hang out with friends... mainly because I can't seem to find anyone who would want to hang out with me. I don't do team activities. I act, but not at the moment. I don't even talk to people on the phone. How completely lame is that? I have no close friends. Nobody that I can talk to. Sure, there are people who will say that I can, but it never ends up that way. I wonder if that's because of my unwillingness to open up, my discomfort around people, or if it's because people really will say anything and they really don't give a shit. (Or am I setting up one of those either/or things Eleveld was talking about?)
Most of the time, it doesn't affect me. I kind of ignore it and move on. Who needs people, right? Not me. I can do just fine on my own. And that much is the truth. If I had to, I could get through life and do well without anyone else. But sometimes, as true as it is, I don't want to live my life like that. I don't want to end up like Vivian Bearing... with cancer and not a single visitor. I don't want to end up cold and unattatched.
But even now, I'm cold. I look at myself in the mirror and I look at my eyes and I see nothing. I look so empty. I feel so empty. I am, I think. Cold. Unemotional. Unattached. Unloved. Unliked, even. Apathetic. Closed off.
But how can I not be? After everything, how can I expect myself to care? How can I expect to not be so afraid of getting hurt? I've been hurt for so much of my life, how can I try to pretend that it hasn't affected me. Sometimes I wonder if it's really worth it. If pretending to be fine all the time really does any good, has any affect. I wonder if people just see through it, the act that it is. It feels so flimsy. Like at any moment my "mask that she keeps in a jar by the door" will fall off and I'll end up as a helpless heap of emotional baggage.
And that scares me. More than I think I can express. I do not want to be helpless. Ever. I have been thrown in situations where I have been helpless for such a long time. I don't want to feel that anymore. To me, it's the ultimate defeat.
My thesis paper on Eleanor Rigby stated that lonliness was a choice that she made. Am I making the same choice? Am I going to end up like her, no one but the priest at my funeral? It feels like it. Like if I had to make a list of people that would be there, it would be short. Sam, Lynn, Nana, Zachary, Vickie & the kids, Tom & Julie, Kallan & Val maybe, DeBo. Mom wouldn't be there. She'd probably be in the damn hospital. Dad would be with her. And Sean wouldn't care enough to be there. Bri doesn't care anymore. Neither does Katey. I wonder if they ever did. James would be there, provided someone told him I'd kicked the bucket. Maybe I'd ask Bev to play. Have Sacred Hear Choir sing. Have Val play her flute.
Aren't I morbid?
I wrote that Eleanor Rigby was paralyzed by her fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of change. Fear of failure. She was lonely but she was too afraid to do anything about it. I wasn't talking about Eleanor Rigby.
I'm not good with people. I never have been. I feel awkward, unwanted, left out, strained in conversation. And I don't make the first move with anything personal unless I have to. Maybe that's why I do this; pour my heart out to my LJ. And yet, I'm still holding back. Because I know that people might read this, provided they care enough to scroll this far down on their computer screens, and because I couldn't bear it if someone decided to use it against me.
I feel like I'm being smothered by my own emotions, or lack thereof. I feel like I'm smothing myself with the pressure I feel to be perfect. Perfect in school. Perfect in some kind of social life (Social? What is that?), perfect on stage, perfect offstage, perfect in my fucking sleep. And it's not pressure put on me by others. It's self inflicted. I guess I feel the need to amount to something. Something big so that I can feel good about myself. If I'm not perfect, that won't happen. If I'm not perfect, I'll have failed. If I fail, what good am I?
So I do everything I can to be perfect, or at least to seem perfect. The plastered on smile, the real-sounding laugh, enough class participation for people not to think anything's wrong. But I feel hollow. Like I have nothing to live for. Nothing that matters. Like there's no point to my life. I'm just taking up fucking space.
I think I belong in the looney bin, with all the other crazies, singing karaoke.
On the bright side, I saw a guy at Blockbuster that looked almost identical to Boles. Same non-hair, long beard deal. But this guy was like 10 years younger and had an earring or two.
This is my life. *sigh*
Normally, I don't mind feeling all down, but I'd like to have a reason.
I just... don't know whats wrong with me. Maybe I'm just not meant to be a social person. But goddamn, sometimes I wish I was. What do I do for fun? Nothing. I don't hang out with friends... mainly because I can't seem to find anyone who would want to hang out with me. I don't do team activities. I act, but not at the moment. I don't even talk to people on the phone. How completely lame is that? I have no close friends. Nobody that I can talk to. Sure, there are people who will say that I can, but it never ends up that way. I wonder if that's because of my unwillingness to open up, my discomfort around people, or if it's because people really will say anything and they really don't give a shit. (Or am I setting up one of those either/or things Eleveld was talking about?)
Most of the time, it doesn't affect me. I kind of ignore it and move on. Who needs people, right? Not me. I can do just fine on my own. And that much is the truth. If I had to, I could get through life and do well without anyone else. But sometimes, as true as it is, I don't want to live my life like that. I don't want to end up like Vivian Bearing... with cancer and not a single visitor. I don't want to end up cold and unattatched.
But even now, I'm cold. I look at myself in the mirror and I look at my eyes and I see nothing. I look so empty. I feel so empty. I am, I think. Cold. Unemotional. Unattached. Unloved. Unliked, even. Apathetic. Closed off.
But how can I not be? After everything, how can I expect myself to care? How can I expect to not be so afraid of getting hurt? I've been hurt for so much of my life, how can I try to pretend that it hasn't affected me. Sometimes I wonder if it's really worth it. If pretending to be fine all the time really does any good, has any affect. I wonder if people just see through it, the act that it is. It feels so flimsy. Like at any moment my "mask that she keeps in a jar by the door" will fall off and I'll end up as a helpless heap of emotional baggage.
And that scares me. More than I think I can express. I do not want to be helpless. Ever. I have been thrown in situations where I have been helpless for such a long time. I don't want to feel that anymore. To me, it's the ultimate defeat.
My thesis paper on Eleanor Rigby stated that lonliness was a choice that she made. Am I making the same choice? Am I going to end up like her, no one but the priest at my funeral? It feels like it. Like if I had to make a list of people that would be there, it would be short. Sam, Lynn, Nana, Zachary, Vickie & the kids, Tom & Julie, Kallan & Val maybe, DeBo. Mom wouldn't be there. She'd probably be in the damn hospital. Dad would be with her. And Sean wouldn't care enough to be there. Bri doesn't care anymore. Neither does Katey. I wonder if they ever did. James would be there, provided someone told him I'd kicked the bucket. Maybe I'd ask Bev to play. Have Sacred Hear Choir sing. Have Val play her flute.
Aren't I morbid?
I wrote that Eleanor Rigby was paralyzed by her fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of change. Fear of failure. She was lonely but she was too afraid to do anything about it. I wasn't talking about Eleanor Rigby.
I'm not good with people. I never have been. I feel awkward, unwanted, left out, strained in conversation. And I don't make the first move with anything personal unless I have to. Maybe that's why I do this; pour my heart out to my LJ. And yet, I'm still holding back. Because I know that people might read this, provided they care enough to scroll this far down on their computer screens, and because I couldn't bear it if someone decided to use it against me.
I feel like I'm being smothered by my own emotions, or lack thereof. I feel like I'm smothing myself with the pressure I feel to be perfect. Perfect in school. Perfect in some kind of social life (Social? What is that?), perfect on stage, perfect offstage, perfect in my fucking sleep. And it's not pressure put on me by others. It's self inflicted. I guess I feel the need to amount to something. Something big so that I can feel good about myself. If I'm not perfect, that won't happen. If I'm not perfect, I'll have failed. If I fail, what good am I?
So I do everything I can to be perfect, or at least to seem perfect. The plastered on smile, the real-sounding laugh, enough class participation for people not to think anything's wrong. But I feel hollow. Like I have nothing to live for. Nothing that matters. Like there's no point to my life. I'm just taking up fucking space.
I think I belong in the looney bin, with all the other crazies, singing karaoke.
On the bright side, I saw a guy at Blockbuster that looked almost identical to Boles. Same non-hair, long beard deal. But this guy was like 10 years younger and had an earring or two.
This is my life. *sigh*