Sometimes I feel like I'm such an angry person and my judgment just clouds over and I'm just snappy. I don't really mean to be sometimes, but I'm just filled with the stupid rage and everything just irritates me and I just hate everyone and I wish they would just leave me the fuck alone.
Sometimes it will be triggered by something, but not always. Like today. So apparently the bitch that is my aunt separated from and is no longer living with her fucking shitty ass motherfucking exbf. But she still fucking him. Which is just like UGH, could you not? could you stop being so fucking pathetic and disgusting and horrible. God I fucking hate that bitch. And I know that what I feel for her is more like rancor that I just am not willing to let go of. I don't even want to think about forgiving her because that fucking bitch doesn't deserve it. She can go fuck herself. Like seriously. She should go fuck herself.
I just wish that she was either not part of the family, or at least that they disowned her and never mentioned her again.
But I guess I kind of have to put up with her because my cousin is mostly ok and I like her, so I have to see that disgusting ass bitch every once in a while. At least I may be able to avoid that motherfucker now. Ugh. So disgusting that it makes me feel dirty.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Wander back
Sometimes I look back at places like these and I wonder if this ever helped me. If pouring my thoughts out, unabashed, unedited, helped me heal in some way. I know that I can handle my emptiness better than I could when I started writing about it, but it's hard to say if that was because of the writing or because that's just what happens when you live with something for so long. You just sort of learn to deal with it.
I don't know, really.
I'm kind of grateful for remembering this place exists, after so long. It's nice to have a place free of people that I know or interact with on a regular basis. It's a nice sort of freedom to have. I've been too scared to write things because all of my outlets have been overcrowded with people that I know.
I know that I used to want people to read what I wrote, I wanted them to pay attention. But the more attention they pay, the less freedom I have to say whatever I want. The more I start to silence myself so that they may not be hurt. But they will be hurt anyway because I'm not a very good person. I try, but I can't.
It's so tiring having to interact with people all the time. Like a true introvert, I suppose.
But I am also terribly afraid of being alone. So afraid, gripped with fear. And maybe it's just a matter of fact, something that happens when your depression lapses, when you don't have very many actual friends.
I guess that's been one of the hardest things so far. To finally have a confirmation of something that I've always known, to finally put a name on it, and to also not be able to tell anyone about it.
I'm not quite sure what I'm afraid of. Am I afraid that they won't understand?
I've always been afraid to acknowledge it to others, I guess. I can acknowledge it in writing that they probably won't see. But in some ways I really don't want to be confronted about it. I don't want people to try to get me to talk about it, because I'm tired of talking about it. I'm tired of crying over it.
In many ways, it's like I'm afraid that I'll cry in front of them because they'll see me as weak.
And I know that it has to do with the fact that I don't want my family to find out about it. I don't want them to know that their actions have hurt me, that they have power over me. I don't want to feel like I'm giving them that power.
But I really don't know what's kept me from killing myself for so long. It's almost like I made a pact, like I promised someone that I wouldn't hurt myself. It's almost like a sort of religious devotion and it's incredibly bizarre.
And I guess those are my thoughts for now.
I don't know, really.
I'm kind of grateful for remembering this place exists, after so long. It's nice to have a place free of people that I know or interact with on a regular basis. It's a nice sort of freedom to have. I've been too scared to write things because all of my outlets have been overcrowded with people that I know.
I know that I used to want people to read what I wrote, I wanted them to pay attention. But the more attention they pay, the less freedom I have to say whatever I want. The more I start to silence myself so that they may not be hurt. But they will be hurt anyway because I'm not a very good person. I try, but I can't.
It's so tiring having to interact with people all the time. Like a true introvert, I suppose.
But I am also terribly afraid of being alone. So afraid, gripped with fear. And maybe it's just a matter of fact, something that happens when your depression lapses, when you don't have very many actual friends.
I guess that's been one of the hardest things so far. To finally have a confirmation of something that I've always known, to finally put a name on it, and to also not be able to tell anyone about it.
I'm not quite sure what I'm afraid of. Am I afraid that they won't understand?
I've always been afraid to acknowledge it to others, I guess. I can acknowledge it in writing that they probably won't see. But in some ways I really don't want to be confronted about it. I don't want people to try to get me to talk about it, because I'm tired of talking about it. I'm tired of crying over it.
In many ways, it's like I'm afraid that I'll cry in front of them because they'll see me as weak.
And I know that it has to do with the fact that I don't want my family to find out about it. I don't want them to know that their actions have hurt me, that they have power over me. I don't want to feel like I'm giving them that power.
But I really don't know what's kept me from killing myself for so long. It's almost like I made a pact, like I promised someone that I wouldn't hurt myself. It's almost like a sort of religious devotion and it's incredibly bizarre.
And I guess those are my thoughts for now.
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