life

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You can’t break down if you’re already broken throughout. And you can’t lose your shit if you don’t have your shit together consistently.

It caught me a little off guard with how simple and true this is.

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I laugh like a maniac. Louder and longer than necessary, in many cases. And when I do I often ‘float’ outside my body, and get a little scared watching myself laugh because it feels unnatural, and like I can’t control myself, and like I try to laugh too hard because I’m either afraid I’m not doing it right or that it’s going to be the last time.

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Me, sitting up an saying to myself in a stern no-nonsense voice, practically biting out:

“And now I’m going to sit up, and take my medicine, and go brush my face and wash my teeth and go to bed and not think about all this mess at all!”

…and I can’t even talk myself down without sounding like and idiot. True story.

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Sometimes I feel like I’ve never grown out of the baby-talk. Not the one adults use to talk to babies, but the one when babies can just babble on and on by themselves or at someone, and when people speak back to them, they may have a genuine desire to communicate, but they kind of speak in entirely different language, about entirely different thing, without noticing. And sometimes I feel like I keep talking out loud because I’m waiting for someone to not only speak back in the same language, but also say something that I didn’t already hear the voices in my head say like 50 times before. Preferably something nice.

I howl. And I listen back.
And when someone answers but doesn’t say the right thing I, depending on my state, either sigh tiredly and turn away, or snarl back. And it’s stupid and not fair to anyone, but is life. Sort of. And sometimes I’m sorry for not being adult and sane enough to interact with everyone reasonably (and be properly grateful for everyone who tries to respond whether they’re helping or not), but sometimes I’m not sorry anymore, and I forget to care about pushing blameless people away, because I’ve been howling into the emptiness practically all my life. Yet still too stubborn to just shut up.

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Sometimes I just feel like shit for speaking. It doesn’t matter what I say or to whom, I just feel like shit after every time I have opened my mouth to talk to someone. And then I start looking for some way to shut myself away to stop myself from wanting to communicate. Very healthy working attitude.

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I never quite learned how people communicate with each other on personal topics correctly.
When I’m trying to do the ‘I’m going to be polite and not pry into your personal life if you don’t want to tell me, but I’m open to listen to whatever if you do’, 
I somehow always end up in ‘I can know people for about ten years and meet semi-regularly, but have no idea what so ever about anything personal (even things like marital status sometimes, yes, I’m that awkward), and get very surprised when I hear or see something from a third source, but then pretend like I didn’t notice anything, because I feel it would be rude to act like I know things they didn’t tell me themselves’.

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I felt like a pretty dirty-minded person… when I found myself secretly taking a picture of a hair product on a shelf in my hair salon. 
But I just couldn’t help it. 
First, I saw the title and thought… “well. okaaay…”
… but then my eyes wondered over all the ‘xxtra hard’, ‘keep it up! all day!’ and ‘try it! you’ll like it!’, and I almost lost my eyebrows, because I didn’t even know what I was looking at anymore…
I probably need to try harder to keep my mind out of the gutter…

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Sometimes wanting to bitch/rant means wanting to go into some long-winded and complex logical explanation monologue of why you feel like that, why something sucks so much, and why everyone should agree with you that it sucks and shouldn’t exist. And pretend like you’re all logical and rational about your ranting, und thus completely justified.

And sometimes you just wish you could look someone in the face and say something like “My fucking eye hurts so fucking much.”
(… and also expect that someone to understand that it means that most of your head, brain, and face, and all, are actually hurting, and it hurts even more just because while it is all hurting it means you can’t write or read because of it … and that maybe perhaps you could also go on to list a dozen with a tail other things that also hurt in this exact moment, but kinda hurting too much to be able to.)

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Contradictory cravings/feelings are extremely frustrating. 
Like when you’re extremely hungry but actually really don’t want to eat anything.
Or when you desperately want to read something, but your brain feels so raw you don’t really want to read anything.

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My mind is falling apart and I sort of want to write it somewhere on a wall in big red letters because, hello, cliché, and because I’m really not good at screaming.

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Can I please order food without having the delivery person ask me where I am from?! EH?!

That’s like the easiest way to get the ‘go fuck yourself’ reaction from me. And there are not many of those, actually.

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I can neither take nor give praise correctly. 
Some say that’s messed up. Perhaps.
But I prefer people who’d look at something attentively,
and give constructive criticism,
and point out all the things that they think need to be corrected,
than kissass.
Also, absence of points of criticism makes me feel like people didn’t even care to look.
Basically, it’s hard to think of something where there’s no more room for improvement,
and I’d prefer people to focus on that. What to make better and how.
And when people ask me for my opinion,
and I can see that what they mean is that they want someone to pet them on how well they have done and encourage them, I seriously have no idea what to do.

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My very sick and boiling mind graced me with a colourful (and easy to understand, I hope…. but I’ve been very wrong about ‘easy to understand’ many times before) and very stupid (I’m allowed to have as much stupid as I want this week, so if you don’t get it, stfu) metaphor to describe how I’ve been feeling. So I’m going to just dump it out here. Because I need to dump out at least something of all the things I made myself keep in.

Imagine. Something is bringing you to an orgasm. Without you having much control over it. But it’s persistent. And it brings you closer and closer, and harder and harder, and just as you think that you’re going to get your release, you realise that you are physically unable to. And won’t be able to. Never. It’s not a denial game, and there’s no one who is doing this to you, no one who is in power to have mercy. You’re alone and your own body is torturing you. And it all has nowhere to go. So it almost breaks you apart, and since there’s nowhere to go it sort of settles back down, slowly. But after it get’s low enough, it starts to build up again. And now you know how this is going to go. And you dread it.
Imagined? 
Now imagine doing all the things you do on your normal day while feeling like that. Walking, working, talking, smiling.
Good?
Now replace reaching an orgasm with wanting to shoot your own brains out. Because they are burning inside of your scalp and have nowhere to go. And there are destructive thought that attack you if you drop your guard for a second, and there’s screaming, vomit and chaos. And it’s all inside.

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It always amused me how easily we accept that we live in a world where ‘depression and suicidal thoughts’ are listed as a side effects of the medication which you take against the depression and suicidal thoughts.

It’s a small example of a big world-standard pattern, but I hope some will get what I was trying to say.