I could stare in the mirror for hours and find no connection between my thoughts and the face staring back at me. He seems more like a poorly casted actor whose eyes show his disdain for his role. And yet he smiles. He leads an exceptional life with above average grades and social skills. I just wish my real life were more like the person radiating from his smile. Other people seem like actors and actresses in the same sick drama, almost unreal to me. I have to remind myself when I speak to them that it is the actor they see and mot an image more fairly representative of my thoughts. I feel like a renegade separating myself from my intended role, and yet my misery seeks no company. I consider myself too humane to invite stable minds into my thought, like enticing the healthy into a leper colony. I therefore suffer in silence, longing to be understood but refusing to share such a nightmare with the unknowing. It is a lonely place in the mind of an unwilling actor.

-Hurt (emphasis mine)

I don't know how to put into words the way that I feel. There is a definite underlying anxiety, almost terror. That's what keeps me paralyzed. As I cycle back and forth between consciousness I refuse to entertain thoughts of reality. That's nice, while it lasts.

I guess I am not quite catatonic, I did manage to take my clothes to the laundromat today, but the time it took me to draw myself together doubled the time spent on the chore itself. The usually rage showed up and my only method of consolation was to tell myself that after the laundry was done I could do something.

I don't want to ask for help, because at this point I don't have much faith in those that say they can help. Withdrawing into myself until an end seems tempting, but there is a strong voice of responsibility that won't let me quit. So again, I go back to repeating those words, to myself, to God, to the darkness...

"I don't know what to do."

i need sleep

Have you ever used fingernail clippers to cut off a lie bump from your tongue?

That's why I am Macgyver.

Popsicle please...


**edit: further research indicates that it was most likely a benign fibroma, as determined by its position on the tip rather than the upper surface of the tongue.

Another question...why am I not asleep after taking a Lunesta, half an Ativan, and 25mg diphenhydramine?

Edit #2...5 hours later and still no sleep. The darkness has control of my mind which means dangerous actions are inevitable.

I'd call for help...but there's no one to call...

Revisiting Perks

I am very interested and fascinated by how everyone loves each other, but no one really likes each other.


I really think that everyone should have watercolors, magnetic poetry, and a harmonica.


I think it was the first time in my life I ever felt like I looked "good". Do you know what I mean? That nice feeling when you look in the mirror, and your hair's right for the first time in your life? I don't think we should base so much on weight, muscles, and a good hair day, but when it happens, it's nice. It really is.


I'm just thinking too fast-- much too fast.


I have to stop writing now because I am too sad.


Something really is wrong with me. And I don't know what it is.


I know that I brought this all on myself. I know that I deserve this. I'd do anything not to be this way. I'd do anything to make it up to everyone. And to not have to see a psychiatrist, who explains to me about being "passive agressive." And to not have to take the medicine he gives me, which is too expensive for my dad. And to not have to talk about bad memories with him. Or be nostalgic about bad things.

I just wish that God or my parents or Sam or my sister or someone would just tell me what's wrong with me. Just tell me how to be different in a way that makes sense. To make this all go away. And disappear. I know that's wrong because it's my responsibility, and I know that things get worse before they get better because that's what my psychiatrist says, but this is a worse that feels too big.

-Stephen Chbosky

Secrets, Control, and Blogging.

I like to keep secrets.
Actually, what I like is to be in control of when and how I release personal information.

For the most part this isn't difficult. People are busy, distracted, and let's face it, self-centered. They could care less about my rambling thoughts and opinions and emotional dramarama.

PostSecret has proved that sharing secrets is cathartic. Blogging gave me a way to release my thoughts and feelings and to process life. In the beginning it was easy. I only knew of a few close friends who read my blog, and these were people that I probably share most openly with anyway.

About two week ago I discovered that my mom had found my blog. Suddenly I had no secrets. I have no control.

I don't know why it bothers me so much. Part of me wishes it didn't. But now every time I sit down to write something my brain turns on this uber-filter, and in the end, nothing comes out. I feel like I lost a bit of my privacy.

I don't know if I'll get over this. It may be the death of this blog, or all blogging for awhile.

no words

I haven't felt very bloggy lately.


Here's a photo instead
courtesy of mr andre jordan

I haven't felt very bloggy lately. I haven't felt creative at all really.

I bought a Blazer. Its not new, but its nice. Buying it totally stressed me out instead of making me feel like a big kid and independent.

I've lost about 5 lbs this week. Of course, it only took 2 or 3 days to gain those. Stupid Zyprexa. My doctor doesn't know I quit taking it (neither does my mom...until now that is. She blog-stalks me now. Hi Mom.) I'll be ok without it, as long as I get enough sleep. Ha.

• I spent the majority of my week car shopping. Actually, thats a lie. I spent a lot of time thinking about car shopping, and a lot of time being completely freaked out and overwhelmed.
  
• I bought a blazer yesterday. Gwatney Chevrolet has excellent customer service.
  
  
• "Sometimes monkeys die."
  I don't think everyone in my small group knew I was quoting Friends when I said this. And by everyone I mean anyone. But they learned to just small and nod at me a long time ago.
  
• Brendan Frazier wasn't always a crazy man. With Honors was touching enough to overlook some ridiculousness ("Know why you hate me so much Jeffrey? Because I look the way you feel.")
  
  Plus, its got Moria Kelly from The Cutting Edge and Patrick Dempsey with a jheri curl.
  
• 
  

Does this make me a snob?

From craigslist:

"I have a 4-door ford taurus. It drives really good. It has about 140k. Cloth seats. Automatic windows, locks, and is a great family car. Call 501-538-3858"


I immediately dismissed this listing because they used "good" rather than "well."

mustache plates and heavenly high-fives

Today was the fullest day ever...I don't have time to blog, why am I not in bed???

• I might be back in my boss' good graces...He winked at me today, not the kinda creepy hitting on me wink like the Dillards guy though. I deserve it, I wasn't originally scheduled for today but I showed up at 8:20(AM!).

• I traded the truck for a G6. I'm getting spoiled and I like it...
  

• The Circuit City going-out-of-business sale is disappointing.

• I think the economy is even affecting thrift stores...I spent $40 at Savers today...how is that even possible??? (but I got a copy of Mike Yaconelli's Dangerous Wonder for $1. My copy is too marked up to lend it out, but I highly recommend this book and would LOVE to give the new one away to anyone interested. Its amazing, he's amazing. Giving away books makes my day).

• The most disturbing thing I saw at Savers:
  

• Speaking of recommending, don't use Asher Wrecker...Their fees are ridiculous and they're incredibily rude. I had to get my junk out of my trunk (seriously) today so I got a few photos of the damage:
  
  My front bumper was in the backseat...I was sad that the hubcaps were gone...the ones for that model car fall off easily, so they sell great on ebay!
  It was so close to the next car that I had to maneuver in and out through barely opened doors, so I kept dropping stuff, including a tampon. As a passive aggressive act of vengeance I left it on the ground as a nice present for one of the not-so-nice men. (What? Who does that?? Oh, me...)

• I went to the doctor today since things have been going downhill...well, except for the past two days. I realized yesterday that I felt better, more like myself, than I had in awhile, even before the wreck. The reason? Zyprexa, the newest ingredient to my pharmacutical cocktail.
  

• I got two amazing surprises at the doctor's. My insurance was just changed and it actually covers my doctor now...I only paid a $30 copay! Thats the least I've paid in the 7-8 years I've been seeing this guy.
  The second surprise was a bag of gold. Ok, not really, but might as well be. Another one of my doctor's patients had been using the same drug as me, the one I pay at least a $150 copay for, but he's getting off it and thanks to my doctor's quick thinking I get his leftovers. He used one of those 3-month mail order pharmacies, so there's a ton of it...like over a thousand dollars worth of medicine. Yeah. That was, like , 12 high-fives from God.
  

seulement

Saturday was a bad day. I won't go into detail, but I ended up only working 2 of my 8 hour shift, and my boss is not my biggest fan right now. Sleep + xanax + a little productivity helped some. I decided I needed to make myself get out of my apartment so I watched a movie with some friends at Summit. It was surprisingly easier than I thought. I would even dare to say I had a good time.

I don't know what I expected tonight when I went to church. Again, it was something I didn't feel like doing but I made myself go. The time between the girls' bible study and the main service is always awkward for me. I know that that's when I'm supposed to be meeting new people and bond with those I already know, but I'm really uncomfortable with 3 minute stand-up small talk "hi how are you" conversations. How do you get past this? What does a real conversation feel like? I don't even know anymore.

I've never wanted to be that girl, the one who pours out her sob story when asked "how are you?" But tonight I was standing there and all I could think was "I can't do this. . . I can't stand here and pretend everything's fine when its not." I can talk about the frustration with my car and being nervous about my new job, but thats not whats really going on. Whats really inside my heart is too dark and heavy for a three minute dialogue. I'm not just frustrated, I'm absolutely overwhelmed. I'm more than nervous, I'm completely terrified. . . I'm depressed. I'm lonely. I can't find God, much less myself. But I get the feeling that's more than you're ready to hear in this setting.

So, I left. In doing so, I felt like I was ripping up a piece of the bridge that I've been building in order to be apart of this community. I was making progress, but I've let myself get skip out on so much lately that I feel like I've pulled up nearly every plank I'd nailed down. It felt more like a room full of strangers tonight, rather than a warm gathering of friends.

If there is fault to be found it is with myself, for giving up too easily, focusing too much on myself, for not trying harder or pursuing relationships more purposefully. . . but this is me. I am awkward and self centered and lazy, bust mostly tonight I am mostly just lonely.




I find it hard to tell you,
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very
mad world. . .
mad world. . .



. . . The catharsis of writing baffles me. . .