(no subject)
At last, I figured out why I can't write. I've been trying to journal more here, just straight journaling, none of the fannish crap and whatnot. I just need to get shit out since I really don't have a good place to do that right now. Talking to my parents makes me feel guilty(ier, technically), I have only one friend I feel I can talk to and she's too screwed up right now to really listen to much of anything. What other friends I have, or had in some cases I think, are too busy with their own lives and work and whatever, so I don't feel comfortable even initiating contact, let alone ACTUALLY talking. And therapy, you know, with a counselor and questions and all of that shit is not only practically inaccessible where I am, it just doesn't do much for me.
Every time I try and write anything, I just can't. There is so much blocking me, mainly myself and my lack of being able to concentrate for longer than ten seconds. Except when it comes to what's in my head. I can get going pretty well, get the stuff out, start to almost get to a point where I might be able to release some really good shit. Of course, then I start fucking CRYING. Which means one of two things: either I'm going to end up blubbering and even more depressed than when I commenced trying to get things out, or I stop even trying so as to avoid getting even more depressed and incapable of doing anything whatsoever for a couple of days.
Quick rundown: I'm faking a lot of shit these days. I literally bite my tongue or use going outside for a cigarette as an excuse so I can keep myself from crying. Right now, I'm watching How I Met Your Mother and fighting the desire to simply give in and cry and hide. I'm waiting for the moment my mother finally goes to bed and I can start getting baked. (And she doesn't really even care that I smoke weed, which I limit myself to only smoking at night because it really does help me get to sleep, but I admittedly enjoy the happy times that come with marijuana.) I've wrapped myself up in a fucking television show while also getting very tired of some of my fellow fans, and then letting that drag me down. It's pathetic. I seek validation from strangers, I feel like I'm stuck in the mindset of a young adult, and I'm nearing 35.
Well, that's enough for now. Maybe I got enough out that I can do something other than watch television while reading fic and refreshing twitter and facebook and tumblr and picking at my cuticles and wishing I wasn't here. Mind, "here" can mean anything, and it's completely dependent on exactly how melancholy I am. Right now? "Here" stands for either Lake County OR this planet. I'm leaning towards the former, because it did snow today here, and it might snow more either tomorrow or maybe next week, and snow makes me happy. I grew up on the California coast, so snow is a rarity along the lines of a decent movie with Nicholas Cage in it these days. (God that's bitchy and judgmental, something I am beginning to have a very big problem with, both my own and others.)
This fucking sucks. I'm very tired of this. And I desperately want out. I'm just not sure if I'm capable of "faking it 'til I'm making it" anymore. But hey, at least I managed to keep the tears from actually falling; I can deal with the burning eyes, and I'm getting better at distracting myself temporarily as to avoid them. Maybe that's a sign?
Every time I try and write anything, I just can't. There is so much blocking me, mainly myself and my lack of being able to concentrate for longer than ten seconds. Except when it comes to what's in my head. I can get going pretty well, get the stuff out, start to almost get to a point where I might be able to release some really good shit. Of course, then I start fucking CRYING. Which means one of two things: either I'm going to end up blubbering and even more depressed than when I commenced trying to get things out, or I stop even trying so as to avoid getting even more depressed and incapable of doing anything whatsoever for a couple of days.
Quick rundown: I'm faking a lot of shit these days. I literally bite my tongue or use going outside for a cigarette as an excuse so I can keep myself from crying. Right now, I'm watching How I Met Your Mother and fighting the desire to simply give in and cry and hide. I'm waiting for the moment my mother finally goes to bed and I can start getting baked. (And she doesn't really even care that I smoke weed, which I limit myself to only smoking at night because it really does help me get to sleep, but I admittedly enjoy the happy times that come with marijuana.) I've wrapped myself up in a fucking television show while also getting very tired of some of my fellow fans, and then letting that drag me down. It's pathetic. I seek validation from strangers, I feel like I'm stuck in the mindset of a young adult, and I'm nearing 35.
Well, that's enough for now. Maybe I got enough out that I can do something other than watch television while reading fic and refreshing twitter and facebook and tumblr and picking at my cuticles and wishing I wasn't here. Mind, "here" can mean anything, and it's completely dependent on exactly how melancholy I am. Right now? "Here" stands for either Lake County OR this planet. I'm leaning towards the former, because it did snow today here, and it might snow more either tomorrow or maybe next week, and snow makes me happy. I grew up on the California coast, so snow is a rarity along the lines of a decent movie with Nicholas Cage in it these days. (God that's bitchy and judgmental, something I am beginning to have a very big problem with, both my own and others.)
This fucking sucks. I'm very tired of this. And I desperately want out. I'm just not sure if I'm capable of "faking it 'til I'm making it" anymore. But hey, at least I managed to keep the tears from actually falling; I can deal with the burning eyes, and I'm getting better at distracting myself temporarily as to avoid them. Maybe that's a sign?