where the heck I have been

going to post something here because I am psychologically unable to get off of tumblr right now for some completely unknown reason. My mind is either lagging or projecting into my next movements onto my hands right now… This post may make little to no sense.

Been pretty much lost for the past month or more, again.

I’ve come to realize what all this stuff and people in my head was doing, psychologically speaking. I mean if we were thinking about it from that perspective. Compartmentalization. Scaffolding. Support structure. I could easily figure out where I problem was coing from with the median - what part of me is pissed upset. Without that, I am lost and  I have no idea how to fix things and they fester. The others were the same thing but with tools to fix it, only because they were external, because they somehow operated outside my ego, or sense of self, they could harness things that I am crap and using. Like control that I don’t have - seeing as I can’t get the fuck off of tumblr, even though I can’t keep my eyes open and I am really starting not to feel good.

Like Riku could just push things that hurt away, and comfort me, and use a voice of caring that I guess I can’t find for shit And well, I don’t think they’re presence was as much a tool kit as the median was, but it helped a lot. Because it was like a constant second opinion. Or at least another half opinion. Or something.

Over thanksgiving break, zexion,or a set of thoughts that were a lot like that, were there for a bit. In class today, I found my hands writing the way Erena used to. Maybe things are coming back> Whatever they were.

Basically for the past month, I have been 100% sure that there is not a single solid cohesive self in my head. There is definitely not a person in control. There are definitely other forces, other wants, desires, whatever. Like I have lost control - I have broken down and watched myself do things and revert and become a little kid, I have felt younger voices forcing their way out of me. I have been stuck on tumblr at 8 in the morning god dammit… But no names, no space, no shape, no structure, just a bunch of pseudo Freudian urges and drives and forces with voices and wants, and different personas.

I want it back, when it was ordered structured, had names, ages, categories. Without categories I don;t know who I am going to be the next second. I don’t know who I am.

So maybe that is all it is, at least as teh median ever was. A set of 6 or so most comment denominators. Now everything is a mess and there are no solid entities, like the others were, to hold anything down.

How did I get this way? Why am I like this? I know I have been asking this question for a long time. I know I’ve been conscious of it since at least sixth grade when I scribbled in the margins of Prozac Nation “shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP – you DO have a reason to be depressed. WHAT ABOUT ME?”

I guess in tumblr language I was/am privileged. Other people might call it lucky. A stable home, loving parents, food, shelter, a good school. Sure I was picked on in school. But what the fuck does that amount to. I was never beaten up. Never explicitly laughed out of class or anything. Kids are cruel, cliques happen. Sure my parents didn’t get everything right. There were issues. There was guilt. There were misunderstandings. But they loved me. And they did their best. What more can I ask?

What the hell made me, per my mothers recollection, say I wanted to kill myself at age 6? Why, in third grade was pain and anxiety bad enough that I was thinking about suicide? Why was I hospitalized in sixth grade? Why do I dissociate? Why do I lose control? Why do my thoughts spin out from under me, why do I lose track of time? Why do I get flooded with memories, vivid memories, like I’m reliving them, of the most mundane things? Why do need or have these other people in my head? None of it makes any sense.

Brain chemistry, they tell me. And I want to believe it. I want to feel like it can all be explained that way. That I just got a bad roll of the dice. But everywhere I turn I feel like that isn’t enough. That everyone else can explain it better. That there is some wound, some trauma, some REASON. And that if I can’t do it, I must be lazy, stupid, some sort of failure. After all, the only thing stopping me is brain chemistry. Nothing really happened. Nothing real. Nothing tangible. Nothing anyone else can nod their head at and stop asking about, stop pushing, stop demanding more and more. Come on, why can’t I just – I mean, it’s not like anything should really be stopping me.

If people can make it through, be successful with so much REAL things, so many real horror stories, that who am I to sit here and cry. Who am I to be sobbing at my computer screen, with all my privileges, with all my affordances, with my cushioned, lovely life. How dare I not have pushed through. How dare it be getting harder. How dare I. And I read about these other people, people whose lives, compared to mine, have sucked, and I feel like such a whiny little bitch. And I think about how weak I must be, because I fall so far with nothing even pushing me. Brain chemistry. And if life, real life, anything like what these people went through gave me a shove… I would probably never move again.

it would be really nice not to be anxious for once

(via the-orchestra-system)

feel broken and useless

feel spoiled and lazy and ungrateful for thinking that

feel alone, feel like I deserve it

feel stupid and self centered and manipulative for even putting feelings into words

don’t know where to turn

mask

What is this mask of sanity we keep hiding behind. Whatever it is, there are too many cracks now. Too many even for so many different hands and so many different pieces to hold it up forever. It’s like we break with the mask, so the cracks can’t show anything. We press the mask close in, we feel it rasp and dig into our various skins, but it hurts more to let in the dark or let in the light. We scream through the in between faces at night, alone, to each other. We sort things out, put the round pegs in the square holes because the holes need filling. We hold on so tight. We catch what escapes and pull it back in, the rogue memories, the bad thoughts, the chaos, so much chaos. It slams from inside, but at least it doesn’t show. We try to contain the leaks, the water, the tears. At least until no one can see.

But we’re being slammed against the pavement now. Smashed head on with bats and beaten and they don’t know about the mask, the mask that keeps cracking every time. They don’t know what’s behind it. What they are letting out, letting go, letting free.

-writer.