Rambling, thoughts, whining, woe
It's twelve-thirty. It takes me half an hour at least to get to sleep, and I'm wide awake right now. I have to be up by eleven.
I haven't spoken aloud in hours, and I'm beginning to feel strange. The room is hot and it makes me feel hot, makes my breath burn the inside of my nose and my cheeks and arms burn like I'm blushing down to my fingertips. Or maybe I'm just sick, or getting sick.
I'm sitting here thinking about myself. I'm wearing a new bra, and I feel sexy, and I feel uncomfortable, and I feel ugly, and I feel undesirable, and I feel worthy of love, and I feel like no one likes me and they shouldn't. I feel like I like the green bra better. I have a red coat and I imagine, for a moment: I sit here, typing silently away, with that coat hung over the back of my chair, and people recognize me, because I'm always here. Always with that coat. My laptop is broken and I keep forgetting, then remembering and feeling strangely vulnerable. I feel cut-off. I feel scared because it might be my fault, and I might not want to explain, and even though the chance is a thousand to one, I can just imagine it and imagine the recriminations. I'm scared because it was expensive and I know we can't afford to go around buying things all the time. I can't keep money and I don't understand how it goes so fast. I bought a gift for my brother and I regret it now. I buy myself things and then feel sick with remorse for doing it.
I'm thinking about my sexuality and my gender. I'm not comfortable with either one of them. I can't handle other people's sexualities and prefer not to contemplate my own. I pretend to be at ease with myself when really I'm just coasting along on the surface, never looking down. I never gaze deeply into myself, because I'm not prepared to wrestle with self-actualization. I love to talk and think about myself, but only in the most superficial ways. Deep emotions make me uncomfortable. I skim the surface of everything. Admitting this makes me feel pretentious and strange. Sometimes I feel like a pretender.
Lately I've wished, so much it makes the pit of my stomach hurt, that I had a penis. Am I trans? Am I some kind of genderqueer? I have to try so hard to be even sort of comfortable with my body. My self-confidence is a thin veneer over a black, twisting mess of self-hatred. There are parts of myself I don't want to think about. It feels somehow wrong to consider my own emotions.
I have a philosophy book next to me. I should be doing homework, but I'm not. It's too late. As the semester draws to a close, my willpower gets weaker and weaker. I'll end up going to bed without doing this assignment and feeling guilty about it for the rest of the day.
I feel like my life isn't going anywhere and I don't know how to fix it. I'm afraid that everyone else knows what they're doing and I don't. My friends are going to go to different schools than me, and I don't know how to make new ones. Whenever I'm with people, I feel like there's a thin pane of glass between us, separating me from the rest of the crowd. I have no idea how to break it. I sit in public spaces without saying a word and eventually I've kept my head down for so long that I'm scared to raise it again. People look at me and I feel like they judge me and find me lacking. I find myself lacking. I feel immature, selfish, shallow, and unintelligent compared to everyone else I know. I make fun of people because at least then I can have something. I think everyone is prettier than me and I don't understand why.
I miss my cats more than I miss my family. Sometimes I think I don't know how to love. I can't say "I love you" to a human being. I loved someone once and I think I lost my chance when we stopped speaking. I don't want to spend my life alone, but I'm not ready for a relationship. I don't know if I'll ever be, and thinking about it terrifies me.
Sometimes I think I'm very sick. I worry that there's something terribly wrong with me that I don't know about, and I'm going to die young. I'm scared of not existing. I wonder how many people will truly miss me.
I feel distant. I think I've withdrawn from some people and I'm sorry. I feel like I need to make an effort to reconnect with friends, but it's hard. I want to sleep a lot, but I also want to go do something all the time. I could go outside now and walk around. It's very cold and I think it would be bracing, especially with how hot this room is. I could get in my car and drive home and just not come back.
I wonder how the other people in the lab feel. Someone just came in and is sitting at the computer next to me, fidgeting. I wonder what he's doing and why it needs to be done so quickly. I wonder how many other people are hurt, are depressed, are happy. I wonder how many of them are in love or have been loved or long for someone, silently. I wonder how many of them are longed for. I'm surrounded by small tragedies and joys every day, and I hardly ever think about them. I feel terribly self-centred sometimes. The world is amazing and I wonder how other people see it. I used to wonder if the world looked different through different-colored eyes. I wonder what everyone's story is; what they're like on the inside. I want to know what makes them laugh and what makes them cry and why they're here. What have they been through? What have they done? What will they do? I wish I could write it all down. I wish I could just read the universe.
Sometimes I think I'm just completely crazy. Sometimes I feel detached, like the world is half a foot ahead of where I am, and I'm falling backwards and can't catch myself. Sometimes I think I think a certain way on purpose, to make myself seem like a better person, like someone is reading my thoughts and judging me on them. And then I think I'm only thinking about how I think for the same reason.
I wonder if I'm only posting this so someone tells me that it's okay and there's nothing wrong with me, or so that someone realizes how very intelligent and thoughtful I am. I don't know. I enjoy getting these thoughts out of my head, enjoy the act of writing them down and trying to pin them with words, but I'm also cynical towards my own motives. And I worry that I'm only saying something so you don't think I'm being selfish and trawling for compliments or reassurances, and so on and so on.
In conclusion, I love the way my philosophy book smells and I'm going to do homework and then go to sleep and try not to think for a while.
I haven't spoken aloud in hours, and I'm beginning to feel strange. The room is hot and it makes me feel hot, makes my breath burn the inside of my nose and my cheeks and arms burn like I'm blushing down to my fingertips. Or maybe I'm just sick, or getting sick.
I'm sitting here thinking about myself. I'm wearing a new bra, and I feel sexy, and I feel uncomfortable, and I feel ugly, and I feel undesirable, and I feel worthy of love, and I feel like no one likes me and they shouldn't. I feel like I like the green bra better. I have a red coat and I imagine, for a moment: I sit here, typing silently away, with that coat hung over the back of my chair, and people recognize me, because I'm always here. Always with that coat. My laptop is broken and I keep forgetting, then remembering and feeling strangely vulnerable. I feel cut-off. I feel scared because it might be my fault, and I might not want to explain, and even though the chance is a thousand to one, I can just imagine it and imagine the recriminations. I'm scared because it was expensive and I know we can't afford to go around buying things all the time. I can't keep money and I don't understand how it goes so fast. I bought a gift for my brother and I regret it now. I buy myself things and then feel sick with remorse for doing it.
I'm thinking about my sexuality and my gender. I'm not comfortable with either one of them. I can't handle other people's sexualities and prefer not to contemplate my own. I pretend to be at ease with myself when really I'm just coasting along on the surface, never looking down. I never gaze deeply into myself, because I'm not prepared to wrestle with self-actualization. I love to talk and think about myself, but only in the most superficial ways. Deep emotions make me uncomfortable. I skim the surface of everything. Admitting this makes me feel pretentious and strange. Sometimes I feel like a pretender.
Lately I've wished, so much it makes the pit of my stomach hurt, that I had a penis. Am I trans? Am I some kind of genderqueer? I have to try so hard to be even sort of comfortable with my body. My self-confidence is a thin veneer over a black, twisting mess of self-hatred. There are parts of myself I don't want to think about. It feels somehow wrong to consider my own emotions.
I have a philosophy book next to me. I should be doing homework, but I'm not. It's too late. As the semester draws to a close, my willpower gets weaker and weaker. I'll end up going to bed without doing this assignment and feeling guilty about it for the rest of the day.
I feel like my life isn't going anywhere and I don't know how to fix it. I'm afraid that everyone else knows what they're doing and I don't. My friends are going to go to different schools than me, and I don't know how to make new ones. Whenever I'm with people, I feel like there's a thin pane of glass between us, separating me from the rest of the crowd. I have no idea how to break it. I sit in public spaces without saying a word and eventually I've kept my head down for so long that I'm scared to raise it again. People look at me and I feel like they judge me and find me lacking. I find myself lacking. I feel immature, selfish, shallow, and unintelligent compared to everyone else I know. I make fun of people because at least then I can have something. I think everyone is prettier than me and I don't understand why.
I miss my cats more than I miss my family. Sometimes I think I don't know how to love. I can't say "I love you" to a human being. I loved someone once and I think I lost my chance when we stopped speaking. I don't want to spend my life alone, but I'm not ready for a relationship. I don't know if I'll ever be, and thinking about it terrifies me.
Sometimes I think I'm very sick. I worry that there's something terribly wrong with me that I don't know about, and I'm going to die young. I'm scared of not existing. I wonder how many people will truly miss me.
I feel distant. I think I've withdrawn from some people and I'm sorry. I feel like I need to make an effort to reconnect with friends, but it's hard. I want to sleep a lot, but I also want to go do something all the time. I could go outside now and walk around. It's very cold and I think it would be bracing, especially with how hot this room is. I could get in my car and drive home and just not come back.
I wonder how the other people in the lab feel. Someone just came in and is sitting at the computer next to me, fidgeting. I wonder what he's doing and why it needs to be done so quickly. I wonder how many other people are hurt, are depressed, are happy. I wonder how many of them are in love or have been loved or long for someone, silently. I wonder how many of them are longed for. I'm surrounded by small tragedies and joys every day, and I hardly ever think about them. I feel terribly self-centred sometimes. The world is amazing and I wonder how other people see it. I used to wonder if the world looked different through different-colored eyes. I wonder what everyone's story is; what they're like on the inside. I want to know what makes them laugh and what makes them cry and why they're here. What have they been through? What have they done? What will they do? I wish I could write it all down. I wish I could just read the universe.
Sometimes I think I'm just completely crazy. Sometimes I feel detached, like the world is half a foot ahead of where I am, and I'm falling backwards and can't catch myself. Sometimes I think I think a certain way on purpose, to make myself seem like a better person, like someone is reading my thoughts and judging me on them. And then I think I'm only thinking about how I think for the same reason.
I wonder if I'm only posting this so someone tells me that it's okay and there's nothing wrong with me, or so that someone realizes how very intelligent and thoughtful I am. I don't know. I enjoy getting these thoughts out of my head, enjoy the act of writing them down and trying to pin them with words, but I'm also cynical towards my own motives. And I worry that I'm only saying something so you don't think I'm being selfish and trawling for compliments or reassurances, and so on and so on.
In conclusion, I love the way my philosophy book smells and I'm going to do homework and then go to sleep and try not to think for a while.