(no subject)
I feel so crazed right now. My life is still, unsurprisingly, in boxes. I don't talk to my friends anymore, I rarely see my mother, I'm woken up nearly every morning around 9:30 by my dad and his girlfriend having sex, I technically have three jobs right now, but I'm not making hardly any money, I'm bored and lonely and hungry and... done.
I really really need a backrub. I've got knots for miles and a crick in my spine that (I think) is making strange bits of my skin go numb, which I'm definitely not a fan of. I say I'm "a fan" of things far too often for it to be acceptable anymore. I'm not around anyone enough for them to notice. The only person, other than a family member, that I've seen since the beginning of August has been Miranda and while she and I manage to be exactly the same sometimes, I miss being social.
I miss being in school and learning. It's heartbreaking to read about my friends doing homework and writing papers while I'm going to work and dealing with sleazy men that hit on me and bosses that never made it past a 13-year-old maturity level and slowly dying inside. I don't know how I'm ever going to live a steady life with a home and a husband (or wife? who the hell knows?!) and children and a job and... things that anyone with any sort of consistency should eventually have. I can't stand routine, normalcy, regularity... I crave spontaneity so badly it hurt. It's this deep, depressing ache in the center of my chest that acts as my diaphragm sometimes and when it gets to be too much, I can hardly breathe and I just want to run and scream and cry and do anything. I want someone to understand this, to share this with me. To hold me when I can't figure out what I'm doing or why I'm doing it. I want to consistently type in complete sentences, for fuck's sake.
I'm a mess. I'm a total, irredeemable mess. Everything I do is so pointless, so hopeless and unnecessary. I don't understand why I feel the need to cry, why tears are so forcefully pushing against that mysterious boundary created by your open eyelids when you're trying your hardest not to show emotion... you know, when you just want to break down and sob and yet, something is holding that flood of tears back even though your eyes are open wide, as if fighting off the pity or the confusion you know you'll see in everyone else's eyes. Maybe you don't know. Somebody's gotta know, though. Someone's got to understand this mysterious, nameless, desperate feeling (there isn't a strong enough word to describe the primal desperation that seethes and roils in the very center of me) because this is what people writes songs, books, poetry about. This is the feeling that drives every writer, artist, musician to put forth everything they have to make that one word, line, note practically ooze with the perfect emotion. If only I was good enough at anything, I could channel this into something productive. Instead, I dally around with a musical half-talent, with artistic ideas but no motivation, with these half-formed sentences that are pure and yet never make any sense when put onto paper, onto screen, into ears or eyes.
Seriously, though... these feelings are why I took antidepressants as a kid. Well, I started taking them in 7th grade after I had this uncontrollable fit of sobbing in the middle of Meijer after registration for classes for my first year of junior high. I literally would break into these sobs that would tear me apart every 10 minutes or so for absolutely no reason and it was scaring the shit out of my mother and me both. Shortly after that, my mom took me to the doctor, where we got these pills that promised to make me all better, normal, happy. For three months straight, I felt like I had only one emotion: generally happy. Nothing made me ecstatic, but nothing made me sad. It freaked my friends out, but it relieved my mom. She didn't know how to handle me, so she pretty much didn't. Without telling her, I stopped taking the pills, and dealt with it on my own. One of my closest friends "let it slip" to pretty much everyone we knew that I was taking the pills, so I kind of withdrew from people, and have been that way ever since. I don't want to take pills that remove my ability to have my own emotions, but I can't keep up with myself anymore. I strangely love this wild abandon I get when I feel these heady, overwhelming emotions, but since I have no medium through which to release them, they get pent up and kind of explode at the most inopportune moments. I tried smoking weed a couple of times a few weeks ago and that... I feel like that would help if it didn't feel quite so extreme. Perhaps I'll try it a few more times, see if I get a little more comfortable with it, but really... I'm almost desperate for something to help. I feel like smoking is just like taking pills, but the smoking is only temporary and can be controlled, while the pills are 24/7 and like this bleak statement of "you're unnatural and incapable of handling yourself." Honestly, I don't know exactly what's off about my mental processes, but something must be. It's not necessarily a bad thing but I need to be able to manage it. I want to embrace who and how I am, not try to temper it with chemicals that I must ingest. As a friend of mine once said when discussing how she considered me a great positive influence in her life, "You live your life with so much raw emotion and so much passion for what you truly believe in that I know you will someday rise above whatever you have to go through now." Most people would consider that something negative, but I genuinely love that I feel so much and so extremely and so purely. I just need to figure out what to do with it, how to channel it. The arts is exactly where I want to put it, but I'm not quite good enough or motivated enough at anything for that to be successful.
Perhaps the very first step I should take it learning how to truly and consistently motivate myself. That could solve a lot of my problems.
I need to go to bed. An interview tomorrow, then orientation for a new job at Staples. Perhaps I'll start actually making money.