i'm me...isn't that enough?
I shouldn't be posting right now. But since when do I do anything I'm supposed to do anyway? I started this entry with a sentence fragment, and I'm not supposed to do that, either. Bring on the ranting, right?
I am an emotional wreck right now and I'm shaking so hard I can barely type this. What triggered this, you may ask? Oh, it was perfectly normal, don't worry. See, I was watching this episode of the show "Criminal Minds" (which always traumatizes me in some way and WHY don't I ever learn not to fucking watch it) and the very opening sequence had this old man strapped down to a stretcher being wheeled down this dark, dirty hallway. The old man was cut and obviously hurt, and he way crying out in pain, asking questions, like "where are you taking me?" and saying "Help me!" and at one point he asked in this timid, shaking voice, "Is this a hospital?" (that's the part that really got to me) all the while this guy keeps whistling, wheeling him down this hallway, ignoring his pleas, and then he reaches this room and the old man sees all these implements of torture (scalpels and other surgical implements that look horrible to me) and he starts crying and this guy, the killer (we presume) puts the old man's glasses on his face so he can see himself be tortured, and then the scene fades out with the old man weeping...
And I FREAKED. I started bawling and I had to turn the show off and I was sitting there crying trying to yell at myself. "Hey, you freak, why can't you even watch a TV show without breaking down? What's wrong with you? Your pastor was right, you're an emotional basket case." Yes, my pastor in college said that to me once. He also said that I wouldn't be able to function in the world because I couldn't even make it through a church service without crying, and he'd been praying for years for me to change but he didn't see me changing and that hurt him, and blah blah blah.
Yep, that's right, folks, today's mental breakdown was brought to you by an episode of a TV show. This isn't really new to me. There's this book called "Night" by Elie Wiesel that I can't read. It's about the author's experiences in a concentration camp during the holocaust, and I can't read it. I can't make myself get past a few pages...once in class I happened to glance down during someone's presentation on the book and I read a portion of one of the chapters, and I freaked out and slammed the book shut and started crying. It was so horrible that I couldn't bear to think of it for YEARS without feeling this sinking feeling in my gut and this pain like my heart was breaking because the scene in the book was so horrible that I had trouble breathing sometimes when I'd think of it. It took my breath away. I have similar reactions to the book "And the Band Played On," a book about the AIDS epidemic. I bought it with good intentions and I try to read it sometimes but I can't get more than a few pages in without tossing the book across the room because it's so horrible. I read about these people suffering and dying and wasting away and I think of my Aunt dying that way and it makes me want to vomit. A guy at work the other day said that he wanted to solve the AIDS epidemic by shooting everyone with AIDS and dropping them in the ocean, and I wanted to vomit in his mouth. I watched the movie "Paranormal Activity" the other night and I actually CRIED at one point because I was so scared (and I watch a lot of horror movies). My cat was freaking out, too...every time a noise would happen onscreen she'd jump, and by the end she was staring at me with her eyes huge and shaking because she was so on edge. When I turned the movie off, neither she nor I could get to sleep. Every noise in the house was something from the movie coming to get me. I actually rocked back and forth and sang hymns at one point because I was so scared and nothing else could get my mind off my fear.
All of this, of course, means that I'm insane. And that my pastor was right. I can't function in the world. What's wrong with me? Normal people don't react this way, normal people can read a book and watch a TV show without collapsing into hysterics. Why can't I just be normal for fucking once? Why do people ask "What's wrong with you?" ten times more than they say anything else to me?
Here's the thing, though. As insane as it is, I know why I freaked out so badly today. That poor old man was sick and hurt and bleeding, and he'd been homeless for a long time, and here he was, crying out in pain while the sicko wheeling him around was WHISTLING, totally oblivious to his pain. And when the old man asked "Is this a hospital?" it was so...sad. Hospitals are supposed to help you. The old man had probably not been in hospitals much in his life (and he probably knew he wasn't in one now) but he was timidly calling out, holding onto a last shred of hope that maybe he was in a place where someone was going to help him, not hurt him. Maybe he wasn't going to die. That's pretty fucking horrible, don't you think? I've felt that way before. I've even been in hospital settings while horrible things happened to me that keep me up at nights sometimes and rob me of sleep. No, I'm not normal for reacting the way I did, but I do know WHY it affected me so deeply. And "Night" is a book that's SUPPOSED to elicit a reaction from people. What happened to people during the holocaust WAS horrible. Maybe it's not normal that I can't even bring myself to READ the book without freaking out, but the book isn't supposed to be a fun summer read you can take to the beach or anything. And the book "And the Band Played On" is supposed to make people pissed off and sick to their stomachs. AIDS is a terrible disease, and so many people had to die before anyone would admit that there was an epidemic, it's supposed to be sickening. My Aunt had to die because back in the 80s people decided that AIDS was a disease that you DESERVE, so they turned their backs on thousands of people withering away and dying before their eyes and pretended it was ok because we're all normal and moral enough to be safe. I can't even talk coherently about the disease without getting sputtery with rage, and that's not normal, but it's not normal NOT to care either, is it? And the movie "Paranormal Activity" scared a LOT of people. This big, macho guy at work said after he saw it he wouldn't sleep with the lights off in his house. I'm not normal, but neither is he (neither are a lot of people) so at least I'm not alone...right?
That's the thing. I carry these voices around with me, these ideas that there's something wrong with me because of how I react to things, and I can't shut them off because even though I know they're wrong, they're still in my head. I still hear them reinforced every time someone asks "What's wrong with you?" and reinforces the idea again that yes, I'm insane. There's something wrong with me. I'm not normal. My friend Elijah used to tell me that it was good that I was more sensitive than he was, that it helped me have this special gift of empathy, and that the world was better off because of people like me. What a crock of shit, right? But at least I have a good voice mixed in there with the bad ones, you know? At least some people think it's good that I'm me instead of someone else.
On days like today, though, I have trouble agreeing with him. I wish I could just watch TV or read books or watch movies like a normal person. If this is a "gift," I'd like to return it.
I just wish I didn't feel so alone sometimes, with every "What's wrong with you" echoing in my heart reminding me that I'll never be like everyone else.
Im'a go cry now. Or something. I'm freaky that way.
I am an emotional wreck right now and I'm shaking so hard I can barely type this. What triggered this, you may ask? Oh, it was perfectly normal, don't worry. See, I was watching this episode of the show "Criminal Minds" (which always traumatizes me in some way and WHY don't I ever learn not to fucking watch it) and the very opening sequence had this old man strapped down to a stretcher being wheeled down this dark, dirty hallway. The old man was cut and obviously hurt, and he way crying out in pain, asking questions, like "where are you taking me?" and saying "Help me!" and at one point he asked in this timid, shaking voice, "Is this a hospital?" (that's the part that really got to me) all the while this guy keeps whistling, wheeling him down this hallway, ignoring his pleas, and then he reaches this room and the old man sees all these implements of torture (scalpels and other surgical implements that look horrible to me) and he starts crying and this guy, the killer (we presume) puts the old man's glasses on his face so he can see himself be tortured, and then the scene fades out with the old man weeping...
And I FREAKED. I started bawling and I had to turn the show off and I was sitting there crying trying to yell at myself. "Hey, you freak, why can't you even watch a TV show without breaking down? What's wrong with you? Your pastor was right, you're an emotional basket case." Yes, my pastor in college said that to me once. He also said that I wouldn't be able to function in the world because I couldn't even make it through a church service without crying, and he'd been praying for years for me to change but he didn't see me changing and that hurt him, and blah blah blah.
Yep, that's right, folks, today's mental breakdown was brought to you by an episode of a TV show. This isn't really new to me. There's this book called "Night" by Elie Wiesel that I can't read. It's about the author's experiences in a concentration camp during the holocaust, and I can't read it. I can't make myself get past a few pages...once in class I happened to glance down during someone's presentation on the book and I read a portion of one of the chapters, and I freaked out and slammed the book shut and started crying. It was so horrible that I couldn't bear to think of it for YEARS without feeling this sinking feeling in my gut and this pain like my heart was breaking because the scene in the book was so horrible that I had trouble breathing sometimes when I'd think of it. It took my breath away. I have similar reactions to the book "And the Band Played On," a book about the AIDS epidemic. I bought it with good intentions and I try to read it sometimes but I can't get more than a few pages in without tossing the book across the room because it's so horrible. I read about these people suffering and dying and wasting away and I think of my Aunt dying that way and it makes me want to vomit. A guy at work the other day said that he wanted to solve the AIDS epidemic by shooting everyone with AIDS and dropping them in the ocean, and I wanted to vomit in his mouth. I watched the movie "Paranormal Activity" the other night and I actually CRIED at one point because I was so scared (and I watch a lot of horror movies). My cat was freaking out, too...every time a noise would happen onscreen she'd jump, and by the end she was staring at me with her eyes huge and shaking because she was so on edge. When I turned the movie off, neither she nor I could get to sleep. Every noise in the house was something from the movie coming to get me. I actually rocked back and forth and sang hymns at one point because I was so scared and nothing else could get my mind off my fear.
All of this, of course, means that I'm insane. And that my pastor was right. I can't function in the world. What's wrong with me? Normal people don't react this way, normal people can read a book and watch a TV show without collapsing into hysterics. Why can't I just be normal for fucking once? Why do people ask "What's wrong with you?" ten times more than they say anything else to me?
Here's the thing, though. As insane as it is, I know why I freaked out so badly today. That poor old man was sick and hurt and bleeding, and he'd been homeless for a long time, and here he was, crying out in pain while the sicko wheeling him around was WHISTLING, totally oblivious to his pain. And when the old man asked "Is this a hospital?" it was so...sad. Hospitals are supposed to help you. The old man had probably not been in hospitals much in his life (and he probably knew he wasn't in one now) but he was timidly calling out, holding onto a last shred of hope that maybe he was in a place where someone was going to help him, not hurt him. Maybe he wasn't going to die. That's pretty fucking horrible, don't you think? I've felt that way before. I've even been in hospital settings while horrible things happened to me that keep me up at nights sometimes and rob me of sleep. No, I'm not normal for reacting the way I did, but I do know WHY it affected me so deeply. And "Night" is a book that's SUPPOSED to elicit a reaction from people. What happened to people during the holocaust WAS horrible. Maybe it's not normal that I can't even bring myself to READ the book without freaking out, but the book isn't supposed to be a fun summer read you can take to the beach or anything. And the book "And the Band Played On" is supposed to make people pissed off and sick to their stomachs. AIDS is a terrible disease, and so many people had to die before anyone would admit that there was an epidemic, it's supposed to be sickening. My Aunt had to die because back in the 80s people decided that AIDS was a disease that you DESERVE, so they turned their backs on thousands of people withering away and dying before their eyes and pretended it was ok because we're all normal and moral enough to be safe. I can't even talk coherently about the disease without getting sputtery with rage, and that's not normal, but it's not normal NOT to care either, is it? And the movie "Paranormal Activity" scared a LOT of people. This big, macho guy at work said after he saw it he wouldn't sleep with the lights off in his house. I'm not normal, but neither is he (neither are a lot of people) so at least I'm not alone...right?
That's the thing. I carry these voices around with me, these ideas that there's something wrong with me because of how I react to things, and I can't shut them off because even though I know they're wrong, they're still in my head. I still hear them reinforced every time someone asks "What's wrong with you?" and reinforces the idea again that yes, I'm insane. There's something wrong with me. I'm not normal. My friend Elijah used to tell me that it was good that I was more sensitive than he was, that it helped me have this special gift of empathy, and that the world was better off because of people like me. What a crock of shit, right? But at least I have a good voice mixed in there with the bad ones, you know? At least some people think it's good that I'm me instead of someone else.
On days like today, though, I have trouble agreeing with him. I wish I could just watch TV or read books or watch movies like a normal person. If this is a "gift," I'd like to return it.
I just wish I didn't feel so alone sometimes, with every "What's wrong with you" echoing in my heart reminding me that I'll never be like everyone else.
Im'a go cry now. Or something. I'm freaky that way.