(no subject)
It probably surprises no one who knows me that I have major trust issues.
I'm not going to blame anyone for this. I must remind myself. Trust is a two-way street, yes, but I have to make that decision to trust someone too, when they prove themselves trustworthy. Of course, since I slammed that particular door shut, it'd be easier to dance the can-can into Fort Knox than it is to gain my trust.
I don't trust easily. Oh, I can tell you my whole life story if you asked. No skin off my back. I was brilliant, I fucked up majorly at various points in time -- still fucking it up actually. Making a right mess of my own life. As usual. I can cry on command if I just push the right buttons...or have them pushed for me. But it doesn't change a thing, does it? The talking, the crying, the wisecracking. Doesn't change a whit about me, about the shitstorm that's always going on inside my head. Y'know, my very own teeny weeny Bermuda Triangle. In and gone, no explanation necessary.
I bawled like a baby once at this one story, see, it's about soldiers and holding it together and family and all that good stuff. Plus all the fun pack dynamics and social drama of acceptance and what-not. 6 years down the road I read the same story, and feel fucking nothing. I think I've gone and chipped off a few more crumbly little edges. Not sharp enough to cut, not unless you drive yourself full force onto them. I'm pretty cuddly despite the glowering, really. Cuddling. When was the last time that took place?
I'm no good at this talking crap. Sometimes I do want to talk about things, but then I look around me and wonder...who can I talk to? Who in this world can I really relax around? Who can I trust to not judge me? Who can I trust to give me that kick up my behind when I need it, and to tell me that no, I'm not always fucking it up (even if I am doing it now), that I can do good and not have to run away when things get piss-hard? I always run away from my problems. Bad habit. I shut out the world and people who could probably help me...this much I acknowledge. I know there are people who will listen. Who might actually give me the time of the day. It's not them who won't help. It's me. It's me who won't open up to them. Who can't. Who is fucking terrified that anyone who sees the real me will hate me. That they'll look at me and think "what the hell is up with this creep?", "who does she think she is, some kind of martyr, when all she is is some kind of whiny loser who can't help herself".
Cos I'm really afraid of needing someone. Of becoming dependent on them. I can't be dependent on someone. It's an awful thing. I don't want to need someone. Wanting and liking people, I can handle. Needing them, not so much. I can't be a burden on them. I'm afraid that if I need someone, my need will take over and I might suffocate them with my dependency. I can't do that. I'm not sure if I can control myself. I don't want to be needy. That's awful. No one should have to suffer that. I can't stand needy people, and I don't want to have any more reason to dislike myself.
So I wind up isolating myself. It's completely counterproductive but I have no idea how to break out of it. I can't trust anyone. I feel like a caged dog tearing at its own leg in frustration. I self-medicate with idols cos...cute, funny girls. Can't go wrong with that. Heh. Good distractions. I feel my foundation crumbling around me, I know what I can be capable of if pushed. I'm too sane to lose it. Except I've already gone off the deep end. Pew! Pew pew! Blasters have nothing on me. I don't have to be lured to the Dark Side; I'd already jumped in headfirst. Go me, huh?
Point of this post? I'm not sure. I think there was a point at the beginning, I seem to have misplaced it along the way. This happens with distressing frequency. I forget what day of the week this is.
Oh, right. Trust. Yes. Major issues there. How does it work anyway? How do I trust people? I seem to have learned how to lie along the way, well enough to interact smoothly in public without having to give anyone the keys to my soul. No, those belong to me, with me, and even if others can pierce my flesh, they can't have what's inside. My madness is mine. My darkness is mine. That churning turmoil of confused motivations? All mine.
Besides, if not even alcohol can loosen me up, nothing will. I find that the only capability I lose is motor skills when I drink. I can walk in a relatively straight line. Just not for long. Damn lightweight at it, I must admit. But even if I do talk a bit more if engaged while drunk, I remember exceedingly clearly what I say and better still, I can still hold a decent conversation, as long as no walking is involved. I guard my secrets even when inebriated. What else can I say? Kevlar has nothing on my hairy heart.
I batter down the hatches and smile at the world. Everything's fine. Moving on now.
I'm not going to blame anyone for this. I must remind myself. Trust is a two-way street, yes, but I have to make that decision to trust someone too, when they prove themselves trustworthy. Of course, since I slammed that particular door shut, it'd be easier to dance the can-can into Fort Knox than it is to gain my trust.
I don't trust easily. Oh, I can tell you my whole life story if you asked. No skin off my back. I was brilliant, I fucked up majorly at various points in time -- still fucking it up actually. Making a right mess of my own life. As usual. I can cry on command if I just push the right buttons...or have them pushed for me. But it doesn't change a thing, does it? The talking, the crying, the wisecracking. Doesn't change a whit about me, about the shitstorm that's always going on inside my head. Y'know, my very own teeny weeny Bermuda Triangle. In and gone, no explanation necessary.
I bawled like a baby once at this one story, see, it's about soldiers and holding it together and family and all that good stuff. Plus all the fun pack dynamics and social drama of acceptance and what-not. 6 years down the road I read the same story, and feel fucking nothing. I think I've gone and chipped off a few more crumbly little edges. Not sharp enough to cut, not unless you drive yourself full force onto them. I'm pretty cuddly despite the glowering, really. Cuddling. When was the last time that took place?
I'm no good at this talking crap. Sometimes I do want to talk about things, but then I look around me and wonder...who can I talk to? Who in this world can I really relax around? Who can I trust to not judge me? Who can I trust to give me that kick up my behind when I need it, and to tell me that no, I'm not always fucking it up (even if I am doing it now), that I can do good and not have to run away when things get piss-hard? I always run away from my problems. Bad habit. I shut out the world and people who could probably help me...this much I acknowledge. I know there are people who will listen. Who might actually give me the time of the day. It's not them who won't help. It's me. It's me who won't open up to them. Who can't. Who is fucking terrified that anyone who sees the real me will hate me. That they'll look at me and think "what the hell is up with this creep?", "who does she think she is, some kind of martyr, when all she is is some kind of whiny loser who can't help herself".
Cos I'm really afraid of needing someone. Of becoming dependent on them. I can't be dependent on someone. It's an awful thing. I don't want to need someone. Wanting and liking people, I can handle. Needing them, not so much. I can't be a burden on them. I'm afraid that if I need someone, my need will take over and I might suffocate them with my dependency. I can't do that. I'm not sure if I can control myself. I don't want to be needy. That's awful. No one should have to suffer that. I can't stand needy people, and I don't want to have any more reason to dislike myself.
So I wind up isolating myself. It's completely counterproductive but I have no idea how to break out of it. I can't trust anyone. I feel like a caged dog tearing at its own leg in frustration. I self-medicate with idols cos...cute, funny girls. Can't go wrong with that. Heh. Good distractions. I feel my foundation crumbling around me, I know what I can be capable of if pushed. I'm too sane to lose it. Except I've already gone off the deep end. Pew! Pew pew! Blasters have nothing on me. I don't have to be lured to the Dark Side; I'd already jumped in headfirst. Go me, huh?
Point of this post? I'm not sure. I think there was a point at the beginning, I seem to have misplaced it along the way. This happens with distressing frequency. I forget what day of the week this is.
Oh, right. Trust. Yes. Major issues there. How does it work anyway? How do I trust people? I seem to have learned how to lie along the way, well enough to interact smoothly in public without having to give anyone the keys to my soul. No, those belong to me, with me, and even if others can pierce my flesh, they can't have what's inside. My madness is mine. My darkness is mine. That churning turmoil of confused motivations? All mine.
Besides, if not even alcohol can loosen me up, nothing will. I find that the only capability I lose is motor skills when I drink. I can walk in a relatively straight line. Just not for long. Damn lightweight at it, I must admit. But even if I do talk a bit more if engaged while drunk, I remember exceedingly clearly what I say and better still, I can still hold a decent conversation, as long as no walking is involved. I guard my secrets even when inebriated. What else can I say? Kevlar has nothing on my hairy heart.
I batter down the hatches and smile at the world. Everything's fine. Moving on now.