June 2022
October 2022
14/06/22
Self-expression is a hard thing to do when one's sense of self is fleeting. I try to give advice to people but don't actually apply it to myself. My paintings have become less colorful and more distorted, less creative.
Existential dread has made itself a more permanent home in my gut and at times I feel as though vomiting it out might get rid of it but I know it won't. I want to do so many things (learn a third language, learn to sew, boxing?, write stories, etc.) but I lack the energy, can't entirely exorcise my crippling perfectionism, feel too uneasy being in the same house as mother (as much as she's changed my mind hasn't registered the change yet and still thinks its body to be in physical danger).
Therapy is helping. Besides being able to talk about everything and work through it to some extent, it also provides routine, structure. But whenever I get there words to accurately describe my emotions fail me. Even though I usually script what I'm going to say beforehand, since I'm roughly aware of the questions I'll be asked.
But what I tell them, although true, feels dishonest, sometimes wrong. I'm not lying. I am doing fine, sometimes good, even. But saying that feels disingenuous. Maybe I need to raise my standards for what being "alright" is.
Do I think I'm completely fine, simply because I'm doing significantly better than a year ago? If that is the case, should I let it be for now, since hightening that standard might lead to my brain perpetuating my perfectionism when it comes to my mental health? Maybe this is me still not allowing myself to be happy, either because I seemingly don't deserve it, or because it "doesn't suit me", as I've been told on multiple, seperate occaisions, and there's now a deep sense of shame everytime someone notices my happiness?
I've decided to take this journal(?) with me to therapy, that might help me get these ideas across. I'll mark the most important bits with highlighter.
15/06/22
I'm sitting in front of the museum. My old school is right around the corner. I find myself imagining what meetings with old friends would be like, what I'd say to them;
"I go by █████ now", or
"No, I don't have a job, I've decided I'd rather live a fullfilling life than torture myself with a job I don't like."
What would he say? Would he even recognise me?
No, he probably would.
I'm watching the clouds drift by, recognise figures in them. It makes me feel a bit giddy. Of course, I can't have nice things for too long so I start chiding myself for such "childish behaviour".
Why can't I enjoy something for once, without feeling guilt? I think I should be allowed to.
My legs were falling asleep, so I rearranged them, feeling pins and needles under my skin. This somehow reminded me to check the time.
14:44.
Good a time as any to head home.
17/06/22
Sometimes, at night, my brain is too tired to keep out the thoughts that I try not to think about during the day. They keep me awake, fill me with dread. And, every now and then I think about her dying.
I wouldn't call it fantazising since that would imply a positive experience. It's not. Though I wouldn't call it a nightmare either.
I feel nothing.
It concerns me sometimes. Other times, however, she says things that make me think she does remember everything she did to me, that she just pretends to be ignorant so I can't confront her because she'd call me a liar. My sister doesn't remember either. She was too young.
And on those occasions where mother smirks, sneers at me like she's just daring me to say anything, I feel justified in feeling nothing.
Sometimes I think I'm a bad person. Well, most of the time. I know I'm not good. But I realized it's completely irrelevant.
Good and Bad blur together very easily when you're not looking at the gradient under a microscope.
18/06/22
I've realized that I've become more conscious of the media I consume.
I'm rewatching a series which I first watched 3 years ago, now I can point out awkward dialogue, plot holes or set inconsistencies.
Very interesting how much my brain has developed over the past few years.
19/06/22
It's important to learn to introspect instead of always blaming everyone else.
But you can't blame yourself for everything either. A lot of the time there's no one to blame at all.
I figured this out a couple of years ago, and, yes, it seems obvious, but I've found that not a lot of people apply this to their lives.
My mother, who's in her 50s, for example, hasn't yet realized that she's mostly making herself miserable.
Both fascinating and sad.
20/06/22
When I was 13 (I think) I crushed a metal can with my hands and cut myself in the process. I don't remember whether that was intentional or not, but I wasn't phased.
In a stroke of genius, I decided to just let it bleed, to see if people noticed, how they'd react.
They did notice. And, yes, ignored it.
I got pissed off at that (naturally).
Looking back, I think I went out of my way to find things that confirmed my worldview of "Nobody Cares. Nobody helps anyone. They all suck."
I always did my best to find things to make me even more miserable.
Comfort in misery.
In sadness. In anger.
"Why won't they help?"
I'm guessing they assumed you were aware you were bleeding. You didn't look like you needed help. What were you expecting? You can't blame them.
-----
I wouldn't be who I am now without the hardships I experienced.
Yes, it was unnecessary, was unfair, and I didn't deserve any of it.
But I'm wiser because of it and stronger in spite of it.
It shaped me, but I won't allow it to control me.
27/06/22
Spent the weekend with dad.
My sister wasn't there.
We built a new battery into the motorcycle, then took her for a spin. We drove north first, ended up eating at a Chinese restaurant, and then went swimming in a nearby lake.
The next day we drove south, found a spot to take a walk through the woods, drank something at a cabin we came across, then went swimming in another lake.
It was honestly very... normal.
We haven't spent time together like this in a very long time.
We also watched some movies.
I'm painting my motorcycle helmet.
29/06/22
Things have been... fine?
I'm not used to it. Letting my guard down.
My brain seems to think it's a bad idea and has helpfully decided I should start getting flashbacks.
Trying to keep me on my toes.
Don't slack off.
You'll get hurt.
24/10/22
I want to rip off my skin.
I want to pop my eyes out of their sockets.
I want to tear out my heart and cut it up into small pieces.
what have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done
what have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done
what have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done
what have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done
what have you done what have you done what have you done what have you done
need to be quiet need to not make a sound she'll hear me she can't hear me i
need to be quiet i'm so small i'm scared i'm scared i'm weak she's going to come
in i didn't do anything i was just reading i didn't do anything i'm sorry i'm sorry
why are you yelling at me what did i do i don't know what i did to make you mad
i'm sorry i'm sorry it won't happen again please don't i'm sorry please don't hurt
me please please i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i
I
wish
I
never
had
you
31/10/22
In spite. In spite? in spite in spite inspiteinspiteinspiteinspite???
No. NO. NOT IN SPITE.
not in spite. BECAUSE. because. It's what keeps you going, no??
you WANT her to ███ ███ █████.
boohOO I'm just not uuuuused to
shut up. shut UP. bullshit. beeee quiet.
As an exuse to scream and cry and yell and scratch and bite draw blood fight back because you're old enough to understand that this is not supposed to be happening and you want to draw blood draw blood draw blood draw blood draw blood draw blood draw blood draw blood draw blood draw blood draw blood draw blood draw blood draw blood draw blood
survive.
and who can blame you for that? They can't blame you for that. You shouldn't blame yourself for that.
But, alas, you always do. Always blame, always shame. shame shame shame.
idiot.