Things to make me go hm.
I let myself get far too worked up about the tiniest things. I never used to think I was so sensitive-- selfish, yes. Are they the same thing? I'm starting to feel like it is.
I have problems that not only can I not handle on my own, but that I also can't accept on my own. One day I'd like to find someone who can love me for who I am beneath them and who I have the potential to be, and be understanding and caring enough to be the person to shove me in the directions that I can't shove myself. Unfortunately, it's a well-established rule that not only do people not help those who can't help themselves, but men don't like unconfident, unstable women, either. And that while I want someone, the thought of anyone putting moves on me weirds and squicks me out to not end.
On that note... I had a note, but it got lost on the train of thought.
It makes me sad that people are... fuck there it goes again. Wait.
It makes me sad that there are people out there who go almost their entire lives without finding anyone. The people who do go through so many people before they find the right one. I know, I know that I'm young and have barely started my life (will my life ever start?), and that there are those out there who've had it far worse than me, but...
Dear men who are out there who are in love with who I am as a person: Please pipe up and find me. Not all at once, that would get messy. But in small doses, I think you'd do fine.
Being alone in a house is glorious, in some ways. Nobody to harp on you, relaxation. Nobody rushing you, nobody screaming GO GO GO, why aren't you out looking for a job? Why aren't you doing all the things you should be doing? All the things that you should be able to do if you weren't so lazy and selfish? But on the other hand... lonely isn't the right word for it. I'm not lonely. I like this silence. It's more comfortable to wallow in solitude than it is to wallow behind a door with people just waiting outside, like pirhanas of opinion and judgement the moment they see signs of tears or the weight with which one pulls their feet. Maybe it's in knowing that you're alone, nobody needing you, and really accomplishing nothing yet again, that creates the little embers of upset to keep smouldering when your heart is already in the pit of your stomach.
I wonder if I'm just getting more descriptive and poetic as the night goes on, because I'm thinking deeper, or just out of ego. Huh. I don't know. At this point, I'm kind of just... mind dumping.
I wish the internet meant something. I love the people here so much, but... even the ones I've met, it doesn't feel important. I think I'm touch deprived, hug deprived, because I love them so much, and yet... I miss having friends to hug. Nevermind, the vast majority of the people I know... they're no more stable than I am. Less than. Maybe not. I tend to hide my unrest in different ways from them.
I don't understand how on one hand, I can act so sure of myself and come off as so confident to the people I know online, when faced with people who would try to snub their noses at myself or others or any variety of thigns that I would deem as unfair or unrequired (And this, I believe, was the train of thought that ran the tracks earlier on), and at the same time, in the same medium be so utterly and absolutely weak and insecure? How do I manage to be like a brick wall, but at the same time flimsy as wet paper, strong to stand solid when people spit in my face but at other times melting into nothing by the same sorts of attacks, or what I percieve to be.
I've suspected there is something really, truely wrong with me for a while. Depression? Perhaps. It's not so rare nowadays. But it's presumtuous and almost egotistical to self-diagnose like that. Wouldn't everyone like an excuse to do the things they do? Deplace the blame? "No, really, it wasn't me, it was PMS/I have depression." Wouldn't that be a convenient excuse for all the things I can't push myself to do. I've heard about people who went on meds, and then suddenly, with their depression medicated, found the willpower out of nowhere to do the things they used to not be able to push themselves to do. The will. The concentration. Wouldn't that be convenient?
Another thought train lost. That's what I get for backpedaling and adding to an earlier paragraph. Maybe it will come back to me, maybe not.
I keep wanting the good things to fall into my lap. Maybe I'll get lucky. I have no understanding of the term "work." I was a very smart child, even if I had anger management problems. Even then. Maybe it was because I percieved myself as so smart. I never learned to study, I passed everything with straight A's with flawless ease. That was when everyone learned what it meant to work, to achieve. I never had to work, and so I never learned. And I continues on like that through high school, cruising. It stopped working so well. By the end fo grade 12, I had failed three courses-- I only needed to pass one to graduate, why bother? I wish I hadn't been so smart-- I wish I wasn't so smart. Well. I'm not smart. Intuitive, perhaps? No. Not even that. I'm not sure what to call it. But I wish I wasn't, or hadn't been.
I think that's enough... ruminating. And my thoughts come back around fullcircle-- Where are the people to stand by my side with the confidence and surity I've never had, to show me step-by-step how to be what I need to be. Simple: They don't exist. You can't help those who can't help themselves, they say. And it hurts, that phrase, being on the side that wants to help themselves, and has everyone telling them how from the outside of the glass bubble they're trapped in, but doesn't have the strength to smash the bubble themselves and follow the advice. What if those people need help breaking the glass? What if they need someone to break through for them, and take their hand and lead them out of the broken slabs and splinters? What if the ones outside can't hear them asking for that help, or even understand that it must be done when the prisoner is too weak to say it aloud?
... That's an apt comparaison. The soundless glass bubble. Maybe, someday someone will understand and be capable of doing what I desperately need someone to do. It takes more than spoken advice. I may be 19, I may be expected to handle things on my own, but I can't. Whether I should or not, I can't. And that's the truth of it, as pathetic or not it may be.
It's so easy to analyse oneself, looking at themselves from the outside and pretending it's someone different, while familliar. Calling them, "that friend of mine," or, "them" even. It makes it feesible to write these things down. Or maybe it's the time of night. 3 am, now. Time to sleep, and hope Frodo keeps me company. I think he knew I was upset today; he came up onto my lap a couple of times. But maybe it was also the rain.
Gorgeous day, today, don't you think?
I have problems that not only can I not handle on my own, but that I also can't accept on my own. One day I'd like to find someone who can love me for who I am beneath them and who I have the potential to be, and be understanding and caring enough to be the person to shove me in the directions that I can't shove myself. Unfortunately, it's a well-established rule that not only do people not help those who can't help themselves, but men don't like unconfident, unstable women, either. And that while I want someone, the thought of anyone putting moves on me weirds and squicks me out to not end.
On that note... I had a note, but it got lost on the train of thought.
It makes me sad that people are... fuck there it goes again. Wait.
It makes me sad that there are people out there who go almost their entire lives without finding anyone. The people who do go through so many people before they find the right one. I know, I know that I'm young and have barely started my life (will my life ever start?), and that there are those out there who've had it far worse than me, but...
Dear men who are out there who are in love with who I am as a person: Please pipe up and find me. Not all at once, that would get messy. But in small doses, I think you'd do fine.
Being alone in a house is glorious, in some ways. Nobody to harp on you, relaxation. Nobody rushing you, nobody screaming GO GO GO, why aren't you out looking for a job? Why aren't you doing all the things you should be doing? All the things that you should be able to do if you weren't so lazy and selfish? But on the other hand... lonely isn't the right word for it. I'm not lonely. I like this silence. It's more comfortable to wallow in solitude than it is to wallow behind a door with people just waiting outside, like pirhanas of opinion and judgement the moment they see signs of tears or the weight with which one pulls their feet. Maybe it's in knowing that you're alone, nobody needing you, and really accomplishing nothing yet again, that creates the little embers of upset to keep smouldering when your heart is already in the pit of your stomach.
I wonder if I'm just getting more descriptive and poetic as the night goes on, because I'm thinking deeper, or just out of ego. Huh. I don't know. At this point, I'm kind of just... mind dumping.
I wish the internet meant something. I love the people here so much, but... even the ones I've met, it doesn't feel important. I think I'm touch deprived, hug deprived, because I love them so much, and yet... I miss having friends to hug. Nevermind, the vast majority of the people I know... they're no more stable than I am. Less than. Maybe not. I tend to hide my unrest in different ways from them.
I don't understand how on one hand, I can act so sure of myself and come off as so confident to the people I know online, when faced with people who would try to snub their noses at myself or others or any variety of thigns that I would deem as unfair or unrequired (And this, I believe, was the train of thought that ran the tracks earlier on), and at the same time, in the same medium be so utterly and absolutely weak and insecure? How do I manage to be like a brick wall, but at the same time flimsy as wet paper, strong to stand solid when people spit in my face but at other times melting into nothing by the same sorts of attacks, or what I percieve to be.
I've suspected there is something really, truely wrong with me for a while. Depression? Perhaps. It's not so rare nowadays. But it's presumtuous and almost egotistical to self-diagnose like that. Wouldn't everyone like an excuse to do the things they do? Deplace the blame? "No, really, it wasn't me, it was PMS/I have depression." Wouldn't that be a convenient excuse for all the things I can't push myself to do. I've heard about people who went on meds, and then suddenly, with their depression medicated, found the willpower out of nowhere to do the things they used to not be able to push themselves to do. The will. The concentration. Wouldn't that be convenient?
Another thought train lost. That's what I get for backpedaling and adding to an earlier paragraph. Maybe it will come back to me, maybe not.
I keep wanting the good things to fall into my lap. Maybe I'll get lucky. I have no understanding of the term "work." I was a very smart child, even if I had anger management problems. Even then. Maybe it was because I percieved myself as so smart. I never learned to study, I passed everything with straight A's with flawless ease. That was when everyone learned what it meant to work, to achieve. I never had to work, and so I never learned. And I continues on like that through high school, cruising. It stopped working so well. By the end fo grade 12, I had failed three courses-- I only needed to pass one to graduate, why bother? I wish I hadn't been so smart-- I wish I wasn't so smart. Well. I'm not smart. Intuitive, perhaps? No. Not even that. I'm not sure what to call it. But I wish I wasn't, or hadn't been.
I think that's enough... ruminating. And my thoughts come back around fullcircle-- Where are the people to stand by my side with the confidence and surity I've never had, to show me step-by-step how to be what I need to be. Simple: They don't exist. You can't help those who can't help themselves, they say. And it hurts, that phrase, being on the side that wants to help themselves, and has everyone telling them how from the outside of the glass bubble they're trapped in, but doesn't have the strength to smash the bubble themselves and follow the advice. What if those people need help breaking the glass? What if they need someone to break through for them, and take their hand and lead them out of the broken slabs and splinters? What if the ones outside can't hear them asking for that help, or even understand that it must be done when the prisoner is too weak to say it aloud?
... That's an apt comparaison. The soundless glass bubble. Maybe, someday someone will understand and be capable of doing what I desperately need someone to do. It takes more than spoken advice. I may be 19, I may be expected to handle things on my own, but I can't. Whether I should or not, I can't. And that's the truth of it, as pathetic or not it may be.
It's so easy to analyse oneself, looking at themselves from the outside and pretending it's someone different, while familliar. Calling them, "that friend of mine," or, "them" even. It makes it feesible to write these things down. Or maybe it's the time of night. 3 am, now. Time to sleep, and hope Frodo keeps me company. I think he knew I was upset today; he came up onto my lap a couple of times. But maybe it was also the rain.
Gorgeous day, today, don't you think?